Not much sign of the people in this shot working is there? But I’m sure about 80% of them are…they look like they’re hanging out in a smart restaurant surrounded by some of the most expensive real estate in the City of London…but they are working, oiling the wheels of commerce and all that. The rest of them are skivers and shoppers.
I’ve been pondering about work a bit and, more specifically, my work and why I do it. I’ve worked since the day I graduated and have never been out of work, not even for a day. That’s, ahem, 19.5 years of continuos gainful employment and pension contributions (since I’m that kind of boring person who actually thought about pensions at the age of 21).
More or less I’ve enjoyed my various careers, and there have been three very different and distinct careers. Up and down, good days and bad days of course, but generally I’ve loved it. Mostly I’ve worked with brilliant, clever, funny, inspired and inspirational people…nearly always I’ve felt appreciated and been paid appropriately…only VERY rarely have there been days when I’ve not wanted to go to work, or dreaded it. That’s not bad going for a working life that spans half my life.
That said, I’d really rather NOT work. I’d be perfectly happy not to work, and ‘just’ manage the house and the children and our lives. Instead I work (part-time) AND manage the house and the children. Not on my own, since MrSpud is a brilliant hands-on father of the highest order, but there’s only so much he can do when he is out of the house for 11 hours a day. I don’t have help with the children, I don’t have family help. It’s just me (and, in the interests of transparency, a cleaner and a gardener).
We ‘could’ manage if I didn’t work, but our cloth would have to be cut accordingly and the cut would be a whole lot cheaper than it is right now. The cleaner would go, and the gardner, and non-funded nursery hours for Digs, and fancy holidays and more besides. Our lives would be different for certain, but we could manage it.
I just don’t know how I’d justify walking away from paid work though, and therein lies the issue. Bertie is at school, in September Diggy will be too. I can’t play the ‘my children need me at home’ card anymore although, I’m now finding, it turns out they need you WAY more once they start school although in rather different ways from the early years. I think that’s part of my current angst, that my work needs to be squeezed in to such a short day (i.e. the school day) that there’s no time to breathe what with the school run/work/after school activities/play dates and all that stuff. Soon Bertie will start staying up beyond 7pm and then my evening, as I currently know it, will start to be eroded to. Where in all this is there a little time to just ‘be’?
But, then, where is there time in MrSpud’s life to just ‘be’? The answer is, ‘never’. He gets up, throws milk/breakfast at any child that happens to get up, cycles for 30 minutes to the station, commutes to London for 1 hour and 15 minutes, cycles to his office for 10 minutes or so, works for 6.5 hours, then does it all in reverse, walks in to the house, reads to the boys and puts them to bed, cooks my dinner, hangs out for an hour or so and goes to bed. And then he does it all again the next day. And he never, ever gets a break from it. Ever.
So I work because, although I don’t ‘have’ to, it’s the right thing to do. I do it because it gives us more financial freedom as a family, because it takes some of the pressure off MrSpud, because one never knows what the future might hold and perhaps one day I might have to be the main breadwinner, because it’s folly to turn down paid work in this difficult climate, because my parents taught me the importance of a strong work ethic, because I want to set a good example to my boys, because I like the independence it gives me, because it’s good for my brain, because I was educated to do so, because I’m good at what I do and I’m valued for my contribution, because deep down I think I’d struggle without a role outside of being a stay-at-home-mum. Mostly, though, I work because it’s a habit.
Today Diggy thanked me for ‘letting him stay at home’ with me. I felt pangs of guilt if I’m honest. He goes to nursery for 4 short(ish) days a week during term time but my plan was that I’d keep him at home for an extra day every other week or so. In the meantime I’ve been given more hours at work so I’ve not kept to my plan. But, as MrSpud wisely pointed out today, being OFFERED the extra work doesn’t mean I have to do it. Which is more important, extra ££ that we ‘can’ live without in the short term…or some precious Mummy/Diggy days between now and July? In July Bertie will break up from school for the summer, and in September they will both be at school full-time. These are the last few months of me having time at home, alone, with Diggy. I’ve not had time alone with Diggy since he was a newborn and, honestly, those were dark days.
But these are BRIGHT days, not dark days. I want some special time with my surprise child and the days to do so are in short supply, and they are never coming back. I’m not jacking in the job, for all the reasons above, but I’m not going to feel guilty about working less hours than are on offer. We are lucky to have some flexibility in terms of my hours and our budget, and for the first 6 months of this year I’m going to take advantage of both.
Of course when I win the lottery it will all change ;-)
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