My home office

"Jesus Christ, will you sit down already?"

This is H yelling at me most Sunday mornings as we try to enjoy coffee and catalogues in the family room.  Instead of caffeinating and perusing the ridiculous kitchen gadgets in Williams Sonoma, I keep popping up from the couch like a Jack In the Box.  Btw, an olive stuffer?  You really have too much free time and storage space if you own one of these.  OK, or you live my fantasy life.  Anyway, what am I doing?  What I do every day.   I'm working.

Being a stay at home mother, in addition to no pay or sick days, you get the added benefit of living in your office.  This means while H can sit peacefully at the kitchen table and read recipes, I sit there and notice my pile of papers on top of the microwave - permission slips, coupons, registration forms and bills - is growing massive. Or alternately, I look over H's shoulder and notice the pantry, left open by the kids, is looking particularly like cabinets in his college apartment after a wild Saturday night with cereal boxes and cookie packages on their sides, half-open, ready to spill their contents all over the shelves , and an overflowing recycling bin. I think to myself I should probably put a dent in these tasks while the kids are playing nicely and I have another adult in the house to run interference.

A lot of this, I know, is my own fault.  Now that my work is taking care of the kids and keeping the house, there is always something to do and procrastination has never been part of my personality.  My thinking process is the more I get done now, the further ahead of the game I will be come Monday.  However, as I say to H, imagine if he had to spend the entire weekend in his office and not only refrain from doing any work, but have four other people actively adding to his load as he sits there idle.  He'd be twitching come Sunday morning too.  In the business world, a pause button is pushed, for the most part, over weekends and holidays.  My work world is more like Lucille Ball in the candy factory*.  It just keeps coming and coming, and forty-eight inactive hours results in my shoving the chocolates in my mouth and down my bra Monday morning trying to keep up.

Even I know that all work and no play make Jack a dull boy.  And I am trying.  Look at me now, for instance, ignoring the detritus from the girls' cookie decorating playdates, and writing while they are still occupied with their friends in the basement.  But that's only because the mess is in the dining room. Maybe that's the trick.  To just walk away from the mess.  Out of sight is out of mind.

What do you think H would say to my not entering the kitchen at all Saturday and Sunday?


*I don't know why, but I have always felt H and I have a strong Lucy and Ricky vibe going on.