booandbunny

You never know what you're gonna get. Sometimes I re-read my blog and think "What a nut case!" But such is the life of a moody person who types!

"Some Days are Yellow. Some are Blue. On different days I'm different too. You'd be surprised how many ways I change on different colored days."

I’m working my way back to blue, thank you Dr. Seuss. The copyright notes on My Many Colored Days (published in 1996) say by Dr. Seuss Enterprises. The paintings are by Steve Johnson and Lou Fanch. I don’t feel so all-over-the-place any more, but am still worried about money. I had just visited Melba and her post helped me decide it would be OK to share the jumble inside, if for no other reason than to get it out. It certainly was a jumble! And it did help to get it out.

And Melba’s comment was dead on … “You were working and then a company can't afford you (although they can) and now maybe you might be a sham, but are worried about the money” … Yup.

The worst part is the feeling like a sham. I have no aspirations to be a millionaire. No aspirations to write for some big-time magazine. (However, I would love to see my children’s stories in a bookstore!) My philosophy on journalism is that too many of us want to make it to the big-time when the stories that have the most impact on us are the ones in our own towns, schools, houses of worship, that get a blurb by an intern at a local level. I like writing for small publications, but the place I lost was the best paying small publication I worked. A couple grand is a lot of money to this Stay-At-Home-Mom!

I decided it was time to stay at home in 1999, about six months after my second child was born. I jumped off the career ladder of a major metro daily and can’t help but wonder, some days … still after all these years … where we could be financially if I hadn’t kissed my paycheck goodbye. I mean, when a family cuts its income in half it kind of doesn’t matter that you’ve moved to a cheaper city. Half is half.

But then I look at these three amazing people I spend each day with.

I think about who they would be if they’d been in daycare all these years. Or if my mom had continued to baby sit them. (This thought leads to a separate grey, wandering jumble of thoughts better left un-blogged!) I think of all the things I would have missed and I realize that I wouldn’t change any of this for the world.

Not even the feeling like a sham. I feel especially sham-full when I get depressed because of money when I earn none. I CHOSE to earn NONE. So why does it still make me feel so crumby sometimes? But then I look at these three amazing people.

I think about the stuff they ask for and how to teach them that the stuff doesn’t matter. And I think about the debt and the fact that, someday, it will go away. They won’t need a fulltime SAHM forever, especially not if I’ve done that job well, so someday I’ll be fulltime again. I think about our retirement dreams and realize as long as it’s with Hubby I don’t care what we’re doing.

OK, so I’m still sort of all over the place, but at least I’m not plopping.

But while I was plopping I did my annual “Where else can we cut corners?” exercise. Then I think about the stuff in the basement and about a garage sale. But you never earn enough for the time you put in. And Hubby is dead set against them.

“We’re going to be fine,” says the person who brings home every penny I spend. “Stop thinking about only yourself. [That really stung, but shook me out of my plopping.] A garage sale’s a pain in the ass. Besides, how many people could really USE that stuff? Just give the shit away.”

Then came the Scribbling prompt of baggage. Few words are flowing. I just keep thinking about all I have and trying to express gratitude rather than self pity.

So I couldn’t help but chuckle when I sat down at church yesterday and opened the weekly bulletin to a scripture reflection entitled “The Burden of Baggage.”

“It’s not merely the things we stuff in our luggage or carry along with our entourage. It may be all the excess trappings of our power, privilege and money. It may be crusty ideology and pet theories. As an old woman used to say: ‘I’d rather see a sermon lived than talked.’”

So no more plopping. No more piling up baggage. I’ve got it pretty damn good. I’m hungry because I’m trying to lose weight. I’m chilly because the A.C. is on. I’m thirsty because I can’t seem to trade my cup of coffee for a glass of water. I’m loved and I’m valued and I need to feel more of those things for myself instead of stuffing good feelings about myself into a sack labeled “Indulgences.”

And maybe the time I devoted to that client can be spent in better ways. And as I work toward working more there’ll be no more thinking only about myself. I want to find at least one way to use what I write to help someone else, so I’m going to start here.

There is someone to whom I am grateful and for whom I would like to do more. She has been working hard and his halfway to her fund-raising goal as she trains for a three-day, 60-mile walk to benefit the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Foundation and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund. I’ve done the Komen Race For The Cure in the past, but never anything as ambitious as 60 miles in three days! To learn more about my friend and her amazing mom click here.

Thanks for taking in the ups and downs of this blog, which might not be so up-and-downy if I wrote every day. But as my Scarlet works toward blue, "I’ll think about that tomorrow."

// posted by HoBess @ 7/17/2006 02:00:00 PM