Work falls into my lap every now and again. Which is a pretty awesome thing right there. To receive things without having to seek them out. And I usually accept work eagerly. For a few reasons. I like it. It’s great to make my own money from time to time. And somewhere in the back of my mind I think I also like that Riley sees me doing work as well. I am happy to stay at home, and I am happy not to work. But I’m also glad that she aslo knows that I work outside the home sometimes. For some reason that’s important to me. I don’t know if it should be.
And the nature of freelance work is that it tends to be a flood or a drought. Or it is for me. There are periods where everything piles on top of one another and the house looks as messy as my brain feels. And there are other times when I do nothing and I get into the swing of routine and pottering and mess of the intentional child play kind.
When I am working I live for the pressure of the deadline. Always have. Deadlines are a good kind of stress to me. And when I’m not I revel in the fact that there are no deadlines.
The best part of this is that when I am in a work phase I no longer feel guilty about it. Occasionally I feel sorry for my husband who walks into a house that looks like a bomb has hit it, knowing that he is incapable of relaxing until he (or I) tidies it up. But we are a team and he tolerates it pretty well. Occasionally I feel sorry for myself, knowing that the vast, vast majority of all the stuff I do get around to doing goes unnoticed because it’s hidden by the mask of children who make mess every 5 seconds.
But I don’t feel like the kidlets are missing out anymore. There are phases when I have all the time in the world. Time to bake bread in the morning, time to paint in the afternoon, time for every puzzle and time for every book. And then there are phases when I only have time to feed them, clothe them, clean them up and comfort them.
I suppose as they get used to the fluid nature of my work, so do I.