I don’t like to admit I’m wrong very often. Actually that’s not right, I’ll admit I’m wrong at the drop of a black (I’m sure it was white) hat. What I don’t like to do is take a really firm stance on something everyone has an opinion on and then admit I might have got it wrong.
Warning: There are definitely swears in this post.
I am in a real shit of a mood this week and it’s only Monday. That doesn’t bode well for the rest of the poor gits in my family. There are a number of contributing factors to this shittiness: my ability to keep the house even slightly hygienic was thrown into grim conjecture when I mopped the floors today and found some blue icing in the grout from the Boetman’s birthday. That was seven weeks ago. My birthday is coming up and for the first time in YEARS I can’t throw off the feeling that I am actually ageing… and today the Boetman had his four year-old injections. All of that with maybe a sprinkling of PMS just to really up the chocolate intake.
Warning: This post contains the odd swear word. Because I’m talking about work.
I’ve recently re-entered the world of work and I’m going to be pretty honest- I’m not doing that great at it.
A while ago I wrote a post about the fact that I had too many choices as a privileged, educated woman living in a OECD country. I had the choice to be a Stay At Home Mum which I’d taken up with gusto for the past seven years. I made that luxurious choice mainly because we were in a financial position to exist comfortably on one income. But as the kids don’t seem to be slowing down on the growing up thing, the nappy change rate has dwindled to (almost) zero and financially I’ve started to resent having to justify hide my coffee intake since I’m not up throughout the night anymore, the idea of paid work has started to look appealing again.
White lies. Big lies. Blow your mind lies. I’ve told them all and no, I’m not a pathological liar: just a Mum trying not to lose her mind. Here’s why I do it: Continue reading