So for one week a year, I work full time. This is the week. I am coaching the youngest girls section at our friend's soccer camp while our 7 all attend camp as well. I am exhausted. Completely, utterly exhausted. Maybe it's the being up until midnight washing soccer clothes so there will be enough to go around for all 7. Maybe it is the being up at 6am to pack a cooler full of food to feed 7 hungry soccer players. Maybe it's that a body nearing it's 40th year has no right to be on the soccer field for 6 straight hours.
Honestly... age old debate aside, I don't know how working mothers do this. One week a year is enough for me. More than enough. Plenty. Today was the only day I could take Kaleigh to finish shopping for her upcoming camping trip. Fitz had a camp show tonight, so after rushing home from camp, I showered all the stinky, sweaty players, sent some off with him, took a couple with me and headed to Target. Buying travel sized toiletries reminded us that she needed a haircut before the trip, and this was our only free time to do it. It was late by then and we hadn't eaten so we ran through the drive through. This reminded me that if my own soccer players wanted to eat lunch, I needed to buy bread for tomorrow. One more quick run to the store before we headed home.
On the drive home, I was trying to figure out how people manage this. And I decided if I was ever to work full time, I would need to have a really well-paying job, so I could hire a housekeeper. And a cook. And a laundry person. And after a day like this a masseuse. Yes, defintely a masseuse.