Wednesday, March 20, 2013


So my daughter, Alice (who is seven) thinks I have a job. I volunteer in the school library each week during her library hour. Here's the thing: every time she comes to the library, I'm there. So in her head, I must always be at the library.

So when we were having dinner with friends she said, "My mom has a job now."

"She does?" They seemed surprised I didn't tell them.

"Yeah, she works in the library." And then Alice runs off to play.

But the funny thing is, it is kind of like a job. It's the one time a week I have to be somewhere at a certain time. And I'm almost always late and my husband and the rest of my kids make fun of me that I can't be on time to my job, which--incidentally--is once a week at 10:00 am (volunteer, of course). So all week I gear up for that one hour. It's the one day that I worry about my wardrobe. Do I have the right shoes? Should I curl my hair? I know, pathetic.

This is not to say I'm not busy. I work really hard at home. But I guess at home, no one cares if your hair is curled or if your shoes work with the rest of your outfit. And I said to Dustin yesterday, "I like working in the library. I think I could do it as a job."

And he said, "Well, you could do anything for only an hour a week."

Sigh. "No, I mean a real job."

"Why would you want to do that? You'd have to curl your hair everyday."