down home coffee and research

I'm back at work. Full-time. And my life is crazy all over again, but instead of just being incredibly hard, it's actually pretty interesting, and exciting, too. Oh yeah... And it's really, really hard.

I'm back at the same place as before, same type of web publishing role, but a different job that I am really enjoying. A good part-time job never panned out and as our savings started dwindling, this opportunity came up and it felt great to take a job I really wanted instead of one I simply just really needed. Sometimes throughout the day I realize that I'm feeling very energized, and yes, it could be the gallons of coffee that I'm back to consuming, but it also could be that I feel happy and driven and good.

I'm committed to not feeling guilty about being back full-time and not being home wth the kids. But being committed doesn't necessarily mean I've hit success yet. I think I shouldn't have to feel guilty because it's glorious to have good health benefits and to not have to buy groceries on a credit card. I think it's amazing to not fight with B about why he paid the bills before they were absolutely due or not feel guilty about buying the name brand Gardenburgers for the kids (they're really so much better) instead of the gnarly generic ones. And I shouldn't feel guilty for enjoying my time at work instead of being miserable because I have to be there.

But guilt is really slimy and I do feel it.
The kids are still adjusting to being back at daycare full-time and they come home sad, whiny, and clingy. And I come home tired. I've been really careful to not bring home work unless I absolutely have to, and I try to come back ready to totally invest in my evenings with them. But they're so hungry by the time they get home and the thought of giving them a nice, home-cooked meal seems impossible. And I must really be turning into a full-fledged mother (instead of the poser "See me mother!" feeling I've carried around for the past four years) because everyday at about 3pm, I start obsessing about what I'm going to make for dinner. Not that actually cooking dinner is an option. It's more like preparing dinner. Or providing dinner. And sometimes dinner is just downright weird, like the time I totally burnt the halibut and once I realized how awful it was, I had to pull the plates away from the kids ("It's not THAT bad, Mommy," S had said sweetly) and replace them with bowls of cereal.

I wonder why B never obsesses about what he'll provide for dinner... I'll have to ask him about that.

There must be a way to figure this out. Maybe I'll have to start cooking on the weekends and freezing meal portions. Or maybe research a great take-out delivery place. I'm good at research.

All in all, I really think I'm doing the right thing for now. Just got to keep up coffee and research.