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My husband is dropping my kids off at camp every day this week. He’s also picking them up. And packing their lunches. And feeding them breakfast. And sun screening them. And finding out about upcoming fieldtrips, and…and…and…thank God. Because its too fucking hot in New York for any of that shit.
I’m a lucky lady. My husband is always helpful. But this is cray-cray.
The thing is, HE’S STOLEN MY JOB AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF!
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Ok. Maybe I do. Maybe I use this week as an opportunity to, say, get to work on time, as opposed to my normal waltzing in at 9:30. (What?! It’s as early as I can get there from school drop off. Seriously. Put that stink eye away.)
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Maybe, I focus on my stress management skills with the side of my brain that’s usually reserved for Working Mom Strategizing. Like, I could start exercising in earnest again, or try out some guided meditation programs, or…ummm…get my hair dyed. There’s a crapload of gray up in here. Evidently, I carry my stress in my hair follicles.
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Or maybe I could start proactively scheduling the fall: signing my kids up for after school classes, arranging play dates, figuring out how I’m swinging those first few days of kindergarten that end at noon. (At NOON. What. The. Fuck?)
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I mean, at the very least, I could use my “extra time” this week to get rid of the three broken vacuum cleaners that are currently camping out in the entryway of my apartment.
Yes, I said three.
I don’t wanna talk about it.
I could do all that stuff. I totally could. But, ummm, I started writing this blog post on Monday. Now it’s Friday. The week has escaped. I no longer have the time I once did. (See paragraph four.)
And also? I’m beat. I work hard for my money. Ya know?
Oh, well. Best laid plans blah blah blah.
I think I’ll just sit here and drink this glass of Pinot…