I don’t have a j-o-b, I have a b-l-o-g

This morning my husband ran out of clean undershirts. Apparently I have not been keeping up on laundry duties. I’m guessing this is hard for him to understand given I am home all day. Add to that the fact that he sees me frequently checking Twitter or blogging – as if it’s my job.

Because let’s be honest, I’m sort of pretending that it’s my job. Last night he came downstairs to tell me something, and I shoo’d him away because I didn’t want to be distracted as I finished a blog post. A BLOG POST.

I have an average readership of three people, two of whom live in this house. I doubt the world will end if I don’t publish my deep thoughts about unicorns or my bunion in a timely manner.

But it brings to light the fact, albeit a sad one, that my Internet activities are the one thing I do just for me these days. I obviously knew that quitting my job would mean the loss of regular adult conversations and the end of using my brain in any strategic capacity.

But I didn’t consider the many other little ‘me’ things I would lose. Like riding in the car by myself on the way to the office. Or getting a latte by myself. Or going to the bathroom by myself.

I’m not complaining. That’s a lie. I am complaining a bit. But in proportion to the amount of complaining I did when I was working, this is minor.

I remain so grateful that I am able to take this hiatus, spend more time with my kids, and change the pace of my life, even if only for a short while. And I truly love grocery shopping at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday with my fellow senior citizens.

But if I return to work in a year, I do wonder whether I will look back on this as that weird phase when I turned to the Internet for camaraderie and laughter. Ohmygodthatsoundssolame.

Kind of like I wonder if I’ll look back on this as the year my husband slept in the basement instead of our bed. Coincidence?

Geezus when I look at those two statements, it’s shaping up to be a banner year for our family.

After I told Twitter it wasn’t the boss of me a few weeks ago (ohmygodthatsoundssolame – savemefrommyself), I do feel like I’ve stayed true to my pledge to make sure it doesn’t conflict with my life priorities. For instance right now my oldest child is watching TV, the baby is floundering around in her pack-n-play, and I just let a pot of boiling water overflow on the stove because I wanted to finish this post.

Just kidding. (No I’m not. But once the water spilled I stopped writing and now I am finishing this post after the kids are asleep in their beds and my husband is asleep on the couch.)

Anyway, I am looking at this blogging escapade as a chance to offload all the words that would otherwise junk up my brain, and free therapy while I figure out what the hell to do with myself next.

In the meantime, I need to at least make sure my husband has clean underwear every day.

4 thoughts on “I don’t have a j-o-b, I have a b-l-o-g

  1. wow. I was just having a conversation with my husband about this (sort of) very same thing. The Internet/Blogging/Twitter/Facebook have become my career/social life replacements now that I am a mom, home with the kiddo and responsible for laundry, dishes, dinner. I’m obsessed with getting one more friend/follower/reader and will spend countless hours trying to score what I like to think of as “points” or stepping stones to advance my not-going-to-get-me-anywhere-fast blogging (pretend) career. It’s weird, right? I just need some kind of goal to keep me sane between the diapers, the grocery shopping, the friends who have lives, and the lack of interesting conversation. This is all about survival. Mental survival. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

    • Agreed! I figure if I enjoy it and it gives me something to look forward to, what the hell. I just need to keep boundaries on it so it doesn’t eat up too much of my time. You know, so I can make sure I bathe and feed my children.

  2. We have a ton in common. I left work after my second born too, except he’s a boy. My husband would be way better at staying home too– he’s the cook and the patient one and the messy one. I can only make a passable pad thai and some questionable tacos. I am so so so with you. Keep the posts coming. You’ve got one more reader here in Chicago! and i love banana wheels.

  3. Pingback: Swinging a little higher | Banana Wheels

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