People simply do not take your work seriously if you’re not wearing a uniform or sitting in an office. They can see you there, flagrantly sitting at home like an enormous slug. Even though they intellectually know that you are earning a living, they just can’t get past the notion that, since you are at home, your entire reason for existing is to serve them; and when you have performed the required service, you probably back into a storage closet and power down like an off-duty robot until someone needs you to fix the Wii or find their math book or explain the Vietnam war or unclog the toilet. Or make some food. Not this food! Food we like better! Cut into triangles!
Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.
I laughed so hard. My husband did not. 🙂
I was finishing my lunch reading this. Now I have to decide what I’ll make with that 5 pound chub of ground beef for dinner. Before I’ve decided, someone is sure to ask me what’s for dinner. I found out out I’m allergic to some foods so now have to think about what not to eat. Peanut butter has been a staple and now I can’t eat it? I don’t even know if I’ll like almond butter. And it’s more expensive! “Brother Ass” is certainly troublesome.
One of the benefits to my husband working at home is that we can split driving duty. I haven’t earned bilocation privileges yet, dang it. Have laptop, can go sit at the BVM or violin lessons. I don’t feel quite so stressed knowing he can take some logistical burdens on his shoulders. And sometimes he volunteers just so he can get out of the house for awhile.
The current baby is a complete daddy’s boy. I have enjoyed not only seeing the sweetness of their bond, but also seeing that the gap between his and my ability to get anything done in the past 11 years is not entirely due to my laziness. This time around, the baby insists on being held by dad all. the. time. So I have two hands to do things and my husband has one and… yes, the title of this piece hits the nail on the head.
I am not a foodie.