“It’s not going to work,” I say.  “There’s just no way.”

“Why not?”  She asks,
setting a glass of water down on the table for me to drink.

I have been torn the last few weeks, really torn, over what
to do about work.  I need to generate
more income, yet the thought of going back to the corporate world that I came
from makes me anxious.

I recall the days of trying to “juggle it all,” being the
only adult left in the house after 7:00 in the morning, not yet showered, and up
against three rogue kids still in pajamas.  I had deadlines, client meetings to prepare
for, three children under the age of five all vying for my attention, a twitch
in my right eye that appeared at the most unpredictable moments, and a nagging
feeling that crept into my consciousness between work calls, laundry, toddler
tumbling classes, emails, and spraying stain remover on toddler sized
sweatshirts.

On one morning that I remember well, a battle ensued between
the kids, who were hanging around in my bedroom as I got ready. They protested
the noise made by my hairdryer, while they tore the pillows and blankets off
the bed, and rejected any and all weather appropriate clothing suggestions that
I had made to them.  Freshly spilled
orange juice seeped into the mattress. 
My neck-length layered hair which normally required style products and
heat stuck out in every direction. I was twenty minutes behind schedule and
didn’t have time to fix it. August humidity sent my mineral foundation into
chalky streaks across my cheeks and forehead. 
My son blew his nose on my skirt.

 I dragged the children
to the car, half dressed and crying, dropped them off at daycare, half dressed
and crying, and reapplied my runny eyeliner in the daycare parking lot.  Another mom stopped off at my car window.  We gave each other that knowing glance, before
we raced to our jobs, both late.

After my forty mile commute north on the New Jersey Garden
State Parkway in rush hour traffic, I arrived at my office to eight missed
phone calls and sixty new emails. Starving, I realized I had not eaten
breakfast. Every time I passed a mirror, I was reminded of my very bad hair
day.  My husband called to tell me not to
wait for him to eat dinner, which was good, since I realized there was nothing
prepared. 

Suddenly, the thought of living one more day with my hair
became unbearable. I called my stylist. 
She was out of town.  I drove to
the closest salon I could find and commanded the stranger who stood over me to
cut a style that required the least amount of human intervention. I ran back to
the office and raced through my to-do list, as people took second glances at me
as they passed by my desk, most likely thinking, “Didn’t she have longer hair this morning?”

I don’t want to impulsively cut my hair off in the middle of
the day ever again, because I am so fried that I look at it as one more thing
in my life that needs attention. I don’t want to have to choose between being
taken seriously and being able to come in a few hours late so that I can see my
son sing in the winter concert.  I don’t want
to have to choose between spending time with my sick kid or sticking him in
front of the T.V. so that I can get my proposal written.

I don’t want to have to be more worried about missing that
deadline than I am about my sick kid. 
Because that is the worst, worst feeling.

I don’t want to be worried about the other shoe dropping all
the damn time because I have no one to fall back on if it does.   

“Because I have no one to fall back on,” I say out loud to
my friend.

“You have me to fall back on,” she says.

“I can’t ask you to take my sick kids for me.  What about your kids?”

“If you’re in a bind, I’ll figure
it out.  If worrying about not having a
fall back is the only thing stopping you from looking for a good, full time
job, then stop the worrying.  I’m here.”

“But…”

“I got your back. Really." 

I’m still not entirely sold on
going back to work full time, but having a friend that I know I can rely on
makes the thought bearable.

Thank you, Queen (as she likes to
be called) for stepping up, and calming my crazy.

Side note: going back to work
full time will in no way impact my commitment to this blog.

You’re stuck with me.

Namaste, Divas!

© 2012 Ilene Evans

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