Today is Tuesday. I left the house at 6:50am this morning, drove a block and a half to the Wawa to buy a gallon of milk for breakfasts. We go through 3 gallons of milk per week. Big Dog said that he was going to run out and pick some milk up last night but when I walked in the den at 10pm to remind him he was sound asleep on the couch. No help at all. Because I was in the middle of 9 loads of laundry, I didn't run out either.
So at 10 minutes to seven, I am running out for milk. Of course.
Ten minutes later and I'm officially commuting. My daily drive to the office is one hour (50 miles) one way. I hate it. I hate being on the highway, paying $2 in tolls every time I need to avoid I-95 and getting stuck in traffic tie-ups. I hate leaving home at seven in the morning and not getting home until 6 o'clock at night. I hate never being part of the kids' daily morning routine, being helpless when Big Dog calls to report that Child X had a melt down and left for school in tears. I really really hate it.
But I love my job. More specifically, I love the pay check. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bringing home six figures by any stretch of the imagination but for my profession, my yearly salary is decent.
I love the work too. I work for a large company that is responsible for managing how behavioral health services are delivered to families in my community. In social work classes (over a decade ago now) we learned that my position would be considered "macro social work" because rather than working directly with individuals and families, I am involved with the services on a larger scale. I love having that kind of impact and I don't mind admitting that I don't miss all of the charming things that go along with direct practice including carrying a beeper for on-call coverage, being in families homes that are less than sanitary and parking my car in completely dangerous neighborhoods in order to visit my clients. I have so much respect for the clinicians who choose to do this type of work. I am also very happy that I'm not doing it any longer.
I have worked in the field for over 10 years and I have "paid my dues", so to speak. I've worked in psychiatric hospitals, mental health clinics, nursing homes, treatment programs, etc.... I loved it. I have the best stories about crazy people making insane decisions. These are not clinical descriptions obviously but sometimes you just need to call it what it is. Crazy, insane. And I love it.
I am fascinated with the brain and everything that can go wrong and right. I am amazed by how much impact a person's family can have on the brain's physical development. It is remarkable to witness the amazing resilience that people show in face of life-crushing traumas.
This is not everyone's cup of tea. I know that. I can't usually tell my stories in groups of people who aren't clinicians. "Normal people" are sure that I"m making this stuff up while folks in the field always smile and nod knowingly. Big Dog tells me not to tell my stories to our friends. He's not embarrassed by me, just more aware than I am of how "normal people" perceive them.
Back to Tuesday.
After a relatively calm day at work, the highlight of which was creating a brand-new shiny Excel spreadsheet, I left early (3:30pm instead of 5pm) so that I could be home in time for Big Dog to get to his game.
I pulled into the driveway at 4:30pm, met the crew on the driveway, got hugs from the little ones, and got instructions from Big Dog.
"Micro is at CCD. You need to pick him up at 5:45pm."
I said, "I know."
"Micro and Belle have Tap Class from 6:30pm to 7:30pm."
I said, "I know."
....... (pause from Big Dog)
"Your kids didn't do their homework. There were problems."
I said, "Ok. It's fine."
Big Dog left.
I cleaned up the dishes in the sink. I took out the trash. I picked up everything from the living room and dining room and then vacuumed with help from a few of the little kids who moved chairs out of the way.
"What's for dinner?" asked Belle.
"Food", I replied.
"What's for dinner?" asked Lala.
"Food"
"What's for dinner?" asked Big Bug
Time to figure out an answer...... 20 minutes later and dinner was on the table. 10 minutes after that and I was picking up Micro from CCD. I told him he had 12 minutes to eat. Poor kid.
12 minutes later and everyone was loaded into the car to bring Belle and Micro to tap class. Thankfully there is a library next door. Lala and Big Bug got their homework done there.
Now for showers. ...... Gotta run...
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