Office Space

kitchen2A few weeks ago my husband came home and spoke the words every non-working spouse dreads:

“I have to work from home for a while”.

I started working when I was fourteen, wearing the stink of spoiled soft serve and making blizzards you couldn’t spill at Dairy Queen for $3.25 an hour.  I worked retail, did office work, telemarketing.  I nannied my way through college, taught summer art classes for the NYC Parks Department.  I substitute taught in NYC public school in Brooklyn for a year.   I worked until I had my first son, went back to work the week I found out I was pregnant with my second, and worked until my due date.  I worked part-time freelance until we moved abroad.  And while I wouldn’t say I miss working, there are certain things I miss.  Completed projects, (there are always more dirty socks), a tidy space no one else can invade, (even my Tampax boxes have been dumped out and used for mini spaceships).  Being reasonably sure that no one is going to barge into the toilet while I’m using it is nice too.  Money.  Real shoes.  Adult conversation.  A sense of achievement and accomplishment.  Shoes.

For reasons ranging from tax issues to nursing infants, I haven’t worked in 4 years.  For 4 years I haven’t pulled in a paycheck but I have$(KGrHqJ,!ngE9j(M+,fbBPs+Ng5Qd!~~60_35 pretty whole-heartedly thrown myself into taking care of my home and my family.  And while I am not perfect, I think I do a pretty decent job.  So while my work is at home, domestically engineering and life fairy-ing and all the other good stuff that goes into making a house a home, home is MY OFFICE.  And this is why I had to hide my horror when my husband announced his intentions.  If he works from home, he will be in MY OFFICE SPACE.   I know what you are thinking.  But it’s his home too!   But for the sake of argument, let’s say that during school hours, it’s my office.  Imagine someone coming in and plonking themselves down in your office for a week.  Leaving crumbs and other detritus in a tell-tale trail leading to their half eaten sandwich and their apple core and their mug of cold coffee.  No one would like that, right?

I’m no different.

I have gotten used to the house, during school hours, being my space.  Every morning after everyone leaves, I straighten out all the throw cushions and pick up the 72 remotes that are laying on the floor.  The thought of someone else hanging around, messing up my throw cushions makes me uneasy.  Even if it is my husband.  I have my routines, my schedules, my own quirky way of how I like things done.  I have a haphazard writing schedule and if the sun ever shines in Denmark again, I will be back on my bike.  For the most part, everything gets done, but I am edgy at the thought of anyone seeing how or when it gets done.  Like laws and sausages.  I don’t want an oversight committee coming and letting me know there may be a more efficient way to mop.  And I certainly don’t need to contemplate where the mop handle may end up if such a suggestion was offered.

l_9OeVladies-home-journal-vintage-magazine-cover-october-192There is another issue of course.  Despite the fact that the school keeps trying to suck me into various committees and projects and chaperoning positions, with both kids in school, I finally have some free time.  And while I’m not laying about watching General Hospital swilling champagne and eating chocolate, yes, there is some ‘me’ time in there.  And for some female, Catholic, privileged, mother reason, I feel guilty about it.  My husband would never begrudge me free time.  In fact he heartily endorsed me making free time back when it cost a lot of money to do so.  I’m sure on some deeply unconscious level I fear that he may think what I do all day is not worth keeping me in shoes.  I don’t have the therapy hours or the patience to figure out why having time for myself induces feelings of guilt.  It’s far easier to worry about the state of my throw cushions.

So when the time comes, I will suggest Starbucks.  They offer free wi-fi, better lunches.  And he can mess up their cushions with impunity.  Shame there are no Dairy Queens in Denmark though, he might have garnered a discount on a blizzard.

DairyQueenLogo

Advertisements

10 thoughts on “Office Space

  1. womanunadorned February 10, 2013 / 11:11 am

    Oh I really recognise that feeling! I actually do work from home a lot, and the best bit of the day is that 5 minutes when everyone is out of the house and I can have a cup of coffee *on my own* at my desk. If my husband hangs around (he does occasionally) I feel so resentful! But of course, I never admit.

    Like

    • dhonour February 10, 2013 / 9:02 pm

      Suffer in silence, sister. Suffer in silence. Thanks for reading and commenting!

      Like

  2. Maridith Woodward February 10, 2013 / 11:15 am

    Fear Not My Dear. There are definite plus sides to this that outweigh the downsides. And believe me, these will cloud his mind to any leisure time you have or shoes you may buy during the day. Sure, you are giving up your alone time, but stick him in at a table/desk and let him do his thing. Remember, while he is there, no one else is! Have fun and enjoy your afternoon delight.

    Like

    • dhonour February 10, 2013 / 9:01 pm

      Well gee Maridith–I wasn’t going to go there with the ‘afternoon delight’! Another thing to schedule!

      Like

  3. Patricia February 10, 2013 / 2:55 pm

    I am assuming the broom handle is another word for yardstick?? It is definitely a Catholic guilt,even after working 30 yrs plus still feel I should be doing something with my day!

    Like

    • dhonour February 10, 2013 / 9:00 pm

      Yardstick, broom handle–all the same. Thanks for the guilt, Mom. 😉 Oh, and relax, you’ve earned it!

      Like

  4. barry hill-spragg February 16, 2013 / 1:01 pm

    Hey,you should write a book!…..Twenty two years ago yours truly arrives home and informs the ‘boss’ that we are moveing from our lovely home in a nice little city,to a garage in the middle of the country….thirteen houses a pub a church and us!…I also informed her that I would retire and convert the garage to a home…..she was not happy!
    anyway after twenty two years of falling over each other and going through all that you have quite brilliant explained..we are still together….this village we live in is where I believe is where the Russians used to send there dissidents its that bloody out of the way.Samantha Hall….Dadxx

    Like

    • dhonour February 18, 2013 / 10:36 am

      I am most impressed that after 22 years of falling over each other you are still together! I don’t want to take my chances–falling over could include a corpse if one too many dishes are left unwashed….Thanks for reading!

      Like

  5. rommel February 17, 2013 / 6:20 am

    That’s a darn good record of job histories. I only have two so far. Hope the third one doesn’t come soon. 😀
    I say share the space. Work on it. Think positively. And when thing fails, build a cubicle inside the house. BWahahahaha 😆 Actually, that might be your bet. 😀

    Like

    • dhonour February 18, 2013 / 10:34 am

      Hmmm, one of those nice paper screens….Nah, on 2nd thought, Starbucks is his best bet ;-).

      Like

Talk to me, Goose.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s