It's been just over three months since I didn't get the job, the one that would have thrust me back into the land of pay stubs, dry cleaning and cafeteria lunches this past August.
"There's a time for everything," a good friend reminded me. I shrugged and smiled, doing my best to swallow past my disappointment and relief. In an instant, life just got whole lot simpler. No job meant no Wednesday child care to arrange, a task I was dreading worse than a trip to the gynecologist. My kids have been everything to me for so long, the thought of delegating their care to someone else hurt more than I was ready to admit.
In the weeks that followed, I decided to put my name on the replacement teaching assitant rota and leave fate in the hands of the benign seasonal viruses of Geneva. As luck would have it, child birth got the upper hand. I'm working all this week, save Wednesday, replacing a woman who's just become a granny. And what will I be doing Wednesday, you ask? Taking care of my kids, of course. Yippee! I couldn't have arranged it better if I tried.
That said, I've got some ironing to do.