Is It Friday Yet?

Sometimes I feel like I don’t have a choice but to eat this life shoved down my throat. I’m expected to smile and say thank you, while the dry shards of existence stick to my throat choking and threatening not to go down.

There was a point over a decade ago I kept telling myself I was going through the motions and something had to change. Work, sleep, maybe a bit of fun, repeat. The routine rarely differed. I would plan things like a great trip so I could have something fun to anticipate. Something to break up the mundane. Moving to present day I have been feeling the same. I suppose we all go through ruts where every day feels like the Groundhogs Day movie. Am I doing it over and over again until I get it right? Or maybe my life is this boring.

As a stay home parent going on almost two years now, I am ready for a change. The other day I started to look into full-time jobs again, though the guilt weighed heavy and I stopped. I was never really sure if I was cut out for this stay home mom gig, turns out it is the hardest job on the planet. I’m serious, it is. In your head you might be snubbing me or rolling your eyes, trust me, I have a thankless job that has people touching me and yelling at me all day. To top that off there isn’t a salary.

Before I started to stay home, I worked in Human Resources. It’s amazing the likeness of being a stay home parent and HR. For example, no one listens to me, people yell at me even though I had nothing to do with why they are upset, I’m forced to clean up messes I didn’t create, when I think someone is listening I find they turn around and do the opposite of what I suggested, it’s very rare someone says thank you, and I do the dirty work while others avoid the situation.

What can I do about it? There are a lot of answers here, but only a few that feel good. I’ve committed to my family to be the present parent. I’m going to see it through. Just four more years until all of the kids are in full-time grade school. Sure, no problem. Four more years (insert crazy laugh). A piece of cake—what the F am I going to do?! I don’t think I have four more years of this left in me.

This is me, being force-fed life. The flavor rarely changes and as soon as I choke down one course the next is immediately following. Is it Friday yet? During the weekends I get a break. Stay home parents work for the weekend too. Who knew?

Photo by Luísa Schetinger on Unsplash