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Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
i'm not cut out for being a working woman
A few weeks back I was offered a temporary (almost) full time janitorial position.
I weighed the pros and cons. And in the end chose to accept. It was only three weeks and they agreed to my request of only working those 30 hours in three days. I still had my other 9 hour per week job, and my other cleaning job as well. Lots of hours. Lots of cleaning.
And from what I've now learned. Little sleep.
I wake at 1:45 AM and am out the door by 2:10 and am at work at 3:00. I work for 8-10 hours vacuuming, scrubbing toilets, sweeping, mopping, folding laundry, washing coffee pots, and dumping lots of trash.
I do not have to deal with too many people, and those I do, are pleasant. But by the end of my work day I am fried.
I thought I knew what tired was. For crying out loud I had a baby that didn't sleep for nearly two years, I have known tired.
But that tired didn't cause me to run stop signs or forget mid-sentence what I was talking about. It didn't cause me to sit on my bed and let someone else take my socks and shoes off because I was incapable of doing it myself.
This has been a tired like I've not known.
Mondays have proven hard because though I go to bed at 8:30, I wake up about 11:30 and cannot fall back to sleep. This means I end up being awake for close to 24 hours before I get to bed. This is not healthy. Thursdays are hard too. I get up at 1:45. Get to work a little before 3:00, work til about 1:00, drive 45 minutes home, get a few things done around the house, or take a quick cat nap, and then I drive the girls 40 minutes to gymnastics, where I sit in bleachers for two hours. Two weeks ago I decided to just lie down and sleep there.
Two weeks ago my car wouldn't start after gymnastics. I was near hysteria. So tired, no way home, and chatty little girls excited about what they've learned in class. It was my fuel pump. The rig had broken down a couple of times in the days before and Josh told me that if I just pounded on the fuel tank, it might start. So I crawled under my rig, pounded on my fuel tank. Sat back in my van and pounded on my steering wheel, and then I turned the key. It started. I started to calm down, but I still had a 40 minute drive home, and I needed to be up in five hours to go to work.
I got home and collapsed on my bed. My sweet Alison came in and took my shoes off. Then my socks. Then she tucked me in.
This is not how it should be. I should be taking care of her. Of all of them.
Tomorrow is my last day. The weight will soon be lifted.
Though this has been one of the hardest things I've ever taken on, it's been a blessing. I have a nice chunk of money to buy my girls some fun Christmas presents, and Josh too. I cannot wait to go shopping this Saturday, cash in hand, buying them fun things that I know they want and will love.
And knowing how hard I worked for these gifts, well, that part feels pretty freaking good.
I weighed the pros and cons. And in the end chose to accept. It was only three weeks and they agreed to my request of only working those 30 hours in three days. I still had my other 9 hour per week job, and my other cleaning job as well. Lots of hours. Lots of cleaning.
And from what I've now learned. Little sleep.
I wake at 1:45 AM and am out the door by 2:10 and am at work at 3:00. I work for 8-10 hours vacuuming, scrubbing toilets, sweeping, mopping, folding laundry, washing coffee pots, and dumping lots of trash.
I do not have to deal with too many people, and those I do, are pleasant. But by the end of my work day I am fried.
I thought I knew what tired was. For crying out loud I had a baby that didn't sleep for nearly two years, I have known tired.
But that tired didn't cause me to run stop signs or forget mid-sentence what I was talking about. It didn't cause me to sit on my bed and let someone else take my socks and shoes off because I was incapable of doing it myself.
This has been a tired like I've not known.
Mondays have proven hard because though I go to bed at 8:30, I wake up about 11:30 and cannot fall back to sleep. This means I end up being awake for close to 24 hours before I get to bed. This is not healthy. Thursdays are hard too. I get up at 1:45. Get to work a little before 3:00, work til about 1:00, drive 45 minutes home, get a few things done around the house, or take a quick cat nap, and then I drive the girls 40 minutes to gymnastics, where I sit in bleachers for two hours. Two weeks ago I decided to just lie down and sleep there.
Two weeks ago my car wouldn't start after gymnastics. I was near hysteria. So tired, no way home, and chatty little girls excited about what they've learned in class. It was my fuel pump. The rig had broken down a couple of times in the days before and Josh told me that if I just pounded on the fuel tank, it might start. So I crawled under my rig, pounded on my fuel tank. Sat back in my van and pounded on my steering wheel, and then I turned the key. It started. I started to calm down, but I still had a 40 minute drive home, and I needed to be up in five hours to go to work.
I got home and collapsed on my bed. My sweet Alison came in and took my shoes off. Then my socks. Then she tucked me in.
This is not how it should be. I should be taking care of her. Of all of them.
Tomorrow is my last day. The weight will soon be lifted.
Though this has been one of the hardest things I've ever taken on, it's been a blessing. I have a nice chunk of money to buy my girls some fun Christmas presents, and Josh too. I cannot wait to go shopping this Saturday, cash in hand, buying them fun things that I know they want and will love.
And knowing how hard I worked for these gifts, well, that part feels pretty freaking good.
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