Toots spilled water everywhere this morning and when I asked her to mop it up she said with disdain, “That’s grown-up business.”
Indeed it is. Grown-up business. Yesterday I signed an agreement that added 12 hours a week to my work schedule, which is already chock-full of 20 freelance hours and water mopping. Then, there’s the grocery shopping, half-assed cleaning, Internetting, and stay-at-home-momness. I’m also a wife, occasional lover, and writer in progress.
I don’t know why I did it. Other than I respect and like the woman I’ll be working with, who just started her company last year and has already taken it national.
I like her. I really do.
She’s zen.
That could be good for me.
It’s work I’d enjoy.
More writing.
Also good.
Good, good, good.
Right?
It sounds good as long as it’s what you really want. Sometimes I find myself getting roped in to freelance gigs because I have a hard time saying no. I’m working on it, though… “no. No. NO!” There. ;)
“That’s grown-up business.”
I think you’re going to have another 12 hours per week of negotiating added to your schedule when this child hits the teen years.
Right.