Woes From The Salt Mines

Throughout my years as a writer, I’ve maintained my nursing license by working part-time, here and there at a clinic. However, due to some recent and, ahem, sudden staffing shortages, I’ve been needed on a more routine basis. I could use the money and am happy to help, so it works out well. I only have one complaint. Working is hard, y’all. 

This is such a news flash that CNN is bound to pick up this article at anytime.

My mantra has always been, “Don’t work too hard,” and I’m proud to say I’ve stuck to that principle, until recently. I’ve been working about three days a week at the clinic. On my off days at home I write music reviews for the paper, and do my best to keep my blog current. Then there’s my husband who follows me around asking questions all the time like, “Lori, what do you want for dinner?” and, “Lori, do you have any whites that need to be washed?” Omg! I can’t make every decision by myself!! 

Could you feel the sarcasm there? Yeah, my husband is kind of awesome. He works about fifty hours a week AND does all of the laundry. On his days off he cooks dinner. He’s a grat Dad and is kind of, really attractive. You know what else? He doesn’t complain. I can’t believe he’s still married to me, either. 

When I got home from work the other night I walked in on him having a conversation with Luke (4).

Luke: “Dad, tell me a spooky story.”
Brantley: “It was a dark and stormy night when the power went out. Suddenly, the lightning flashed. It lit up our dark bedroom and I saw someone standing there. It was your Mom, and she didn’t have any makeup on!!” 
Then, they both screamed and Luke laughed so hard he fell out of his chair. 

So I’m working on getting over myself and becoming a better multi-tasker. I will close with a conversation I had with one of my patients this week.

Patient: “It smells weird in here.”
Me: “Yeah, that’s my body. I emit an odor when I’ve worked close to eight hours in a row.”

Marital Bliss

I’m constantly juggling being a wife, a mom, and a writer, while my husband works full time as a pharmacist. Anyone who has tried working from home AND being a mom will tell you that your work always comes last. My husband struggles (aka acts like a baby) over any time that is spent writing, and not with him. This, as you can imagine, leads to many a fine discussion on the matter.

The following is an actual account of a recent conversation between the two of us.

Me: I’m going to do some work for a minute while you watch Luke.

Brantley: (With a smirk AND an eye roll, like a thirteen year old girl?) Yeah, ok.

Me: What’s that supposed to mean? Is something funny?

Brantley: No, nothing. Just make sure you buy yourself something nice on your next payday…whenever that is.

He had thrown down the gauntlet. It was on.

Me: Oh, cute. Real cute. You think you’re such a hot shot. You count pills for a living and you can’t even count by fives.

Brantley: I can count to a hundred by threes faster than you could by tens!

Me: You’re not even a real doctor.

I could smell the tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Eureka! I had found his Achilles heel.

Me, again: If I fell out dead on the floor you wouldn’t even know what to do.

Brantley: Sure I would. I’d file an insurance claim and buy a boat.

Me: Man, I wish we had a boat.

Brantley: Me too. We would be such bad asses.

Me: We could call it the S.S. Peesa Schmidt!

Brantley: I thought you wanted to name it the S.S. P.O.S.??

Me: Either one would work.

Brantley: You’re good at naming things.

Me: Thanks. I’m sorry I made fun of your counting method and said I wished you had never been conceived.

Brantley: You didn’t say that.

Me: But I thought it really hard.

And with that, the argument was over. Feeling somewhat victorious, I retired to my office to do “some work,” while Brantley and Luke read stories and played with puzzles.
Nothing seems to quench the flames of a fiery argument like a discussion over what to name our non-boat.
This may not be a day in the life of a typical freelance writer/stay at home mom, but it’s my little piece of heaven.
Don’t worry. I’m not going soft on you. We still have our seven year itch coming up and that will give me plenty to write about.