School’s out for the summer, and for perhaps the first time in my life as a parent, my kids are old enough that—if I needed them to—they could be left to their own devices most of the time without starving, burning down the house, or tormenting one another to death. The reality is that I could continue my “regular” schedule and the kids would be able to entertain themselves while I work. I don’t have to send them to camp or schedule a babysitter. If I need to work a solid eight hours, I can do that.
What I’m discovering is that just because I can doesn’t necessarily mean I want to. In fact, this year when the “Gee, I wish I got to have the summer off” twinges of jealousy reared up, I decided to take this as an opportunity to restructure not just the kids’ summer, but mine, too. Isn’t that supposed to be the perk of working for myself? The flexibility? Being my own boss?
And I ask this in all seriousness, as I sit in our dentist’s waiting room as the kids’ get their teeth cleaned. Heh.
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