This week at work has been a bit of a challenge. My role has changed in that I am an occasional teacher again, but work mostly exclusive to one school. On Monday, I was not able to pick up a job because my son’s daycare closed because of a fever outbreak. I thought all was good on Tuesday, so Daddy dropped him off. After being at work for only ten minutes and just getting settled in the room, I received a phone call saying that Daddy thought it was an unwise decision to have Max at daycare and I was to come home.
A range of emotions came over me. I was upset that the daycare situation was not resolved and that I would be missing out on a day’s pay (again). The Mom in me was also concerned about the little girls at the home daycare and that a mass illness would travel through the small group yet again. But mostly I felt unreliable and stupid because I had to go to the office and say I had to go home. I felt like a big disappointment. My administrators were not concerned at all (two have young children themselves), but it was hard to shake the unreliable feeling.
If “workaholic” was a condition that could be diagnosed, I am pretty sure that I would fall under that category. I love my work and wish (on some days) that I could work more. However, ever since my son was born, work has not been front and centre. Work is still important, but it is not the front and centre of my life anymore. My family is. Many days I wish that I could work more intently on my lesson plans, go to conferences and blog more; but there just isn’t the time. I want to make sure that my son has great days full of adventure and fun. So, even though I could easily throw some toys and work on my laptop, it is more important that I take Max to the park so he can go on the slide twenty times before bed.
So on the unexpected day off. Max and I had a dance party, ate some pizza and played all afternoon. It was a great day.