With each passing day, the drive to and from home provides ample time for thought. I ruminate on the rushed early mornings, the harried late evenings, the feeling of being run down and the endless attention my kitchen demands. The MBA seems like an afterthought. Something I pay attention to when the deadline stares at me in the eye. Unblinking.
On one such ride home this past week, I started questioning the worth of what I was doing. If I took away the $$$ from the equation, I felt there was little else that would prompt me to wake at 5:00 AM each morning, rush through the motions of living and feel overwhelmed by the time I retired for the night.
I started picturing a day without the pressure of having to rush for work. I imagined getting up at 6:00 AM, cooking, probably humming to myself. Packing food, laying out clothes and getting kids ready for school. I imagined waving K and the kids off and settling for a round of coffee followed by the inane chores which are now relegated to the weekends like the laundry or sorting through the girls old clothes and toys. I imagine doing a grocery run or other odd errands or prepping for dinner. I see myself sitting back in the burgundy couch by the open window taking in the sun, reading a book and having lunch. I visualize getting ready to get the girls back home. The afternoon merges into the evening to the background of squealing happy girls and a happy mom. A visit to the park, a relaxed dinner, an occasional movie and of course studies.
Then the alternate picture flashes through interrupting the idyll. Screaming children, a run down mom, a craving for some adult conversation and a break from the chores. A nagging feeling of having done something stupid. A wistful sense of longing when I look at other women who work. And a rather sombre financial future.
I waffle trying to reconcile the two scenes and feeling even more mutinous. Sigh! the battle rages on.