Quittin’ Time

A funny thing happened the other day. I quit my job.

It came as a shock to a lot of people, and it was a little bit shocking to me, too.

It’s hard to believe I would quit my job after searching for one so desperately a few years ago, but I had a few good reasons, the first being that I wasn’t making any money.

Oh, sure, I got paid. A check was put into my account. But once I subtracted preschool and taxes (paid through my husband’s paycheck) it turned out I netted a little over $200 a month. Once you subtract gas and insurance for the second car, I made just about enough to buy a pizza and a beer every paycheck.

I know a lot of women who willingly work just to cover daycare expenses. It is the only way to get out of the house, continue a career or sometimes simply to have adult conversation that does not revolve around diapers and their contents. So not making money, while a perfectly good reason to quit, was not my only reason.

Working prevented Marti and I from continuing school. I couldn’t move up in my job until I finished my master’s degree, and Marti doesn’t have the flexibility he needs because he isn’t done with school either. That’s two strikes.

Lastly, though, is that the last six months have been rocky at work. Of course I don’t blog about these things; I take Dooce’s advice to BE YE NOT SO STUPID. Suffice to say that there have been several personnel changes as well as my own move to a different branch, and that causes stress, and if my personal life were (ahem) stress free this might not be such a big deal, but, um, how can I put this delicately? I AM REALLY FREAKING STRESSED OUT RIGHT NOW. We’re selling the house. Both cars are dying/randomly breaking down on the way to/from work. The house is constantly breaking, or actively protesting its sale by producing…let’s see…cockroaches (NEVER been infested before), a broken watering system, broken glass on the front lawn, water leaks, cigarette smell (my lovely workers), random stains and anything — anything! — else that can possibly turn off a potential buyer. So the work stress? It put me over on my stress-o-meter. There it is — strike three.

So, in 10 more days I will join the ranks of SAHMs (Stay-at-home mom or see Dooce’s definition). I’m sure in a year you’ll hear me whining about my life again (oh, who am I kidding — give it two weeks).

Meanwhile, I plan to kick bad back and let the job stress roll away. Hey, I might even pay attention to my children while I’m at it. I vaguely remember being able to do those things…like go to the park in the middle of the day. Or hang out at the local coffee shop that has toys for the kids.

Or fight with my house.

Regardless, in a few more weeks I will be officially unemployed for the first time in three years, and for the first time ever — it feels good.