Bridgewater Soccer Mom's view of the world

Another Friday, another deep breath. Where does the time actually go? My job is hectic but I am really enjoying my co-workers and our nascent friendships. That said, I am not sure how many more weeks I can work 50 hours and not burn out. How do people physically manage even more? What did I do before kids? I remember that in the summer before C was born I regularly worked over sixty hours each week. I rarely cooked and getting home at eight was an early night. Both yesterday and the day before I put in twelve hours. Needless to say I haven't cooked a single meal since Monday. But why? Am I so eager to please my new employers by my display of loyalty? Am I afraid of failing? Am I enjoying the feeling of accomplishment? Or is it my inability to say no? Maybe a bit of all of the above. The truth is, I'm really happy. Even as I stress out about not meeting expectation or not making deadlines. I think this might be just the job for me. Let's hope they feel the same way

It's official. I have a job with responsibilities. So many that I can't even come close to finishing in an 8-hour day. So I've been bringing work home. Which has meant I haven't cooked dinner once this whole week and have spent an incredible amount of time updating spreadsheets and writing "Creative Briefs". Even more than that, I've spent many hours just trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing. It's like joining a complicated dance troupe, I think I know the moves, but I can't get in step with everyone else... yet. I also haven't been reading - and barely know what's been going on in the world. What's that? A cruise ship stuck without power in the Gulf of Mexico with 3000 people and no toilets? The President gave a State of the Union address? And a Republican challenger to Christie? That's the extent of what I've picked up from this week's news. On the inside, however, I'm a sad girl. My Uncle died on

After another good day at the office (Gotta love the honeymoon phase!) I took in the lovely sunset and thought to myself, I love Mondays! Not in an anti-Garfield sense. This morning felt like MONDAY with its dark cloud. My beloved son hadn't finished his homework, which I only discovered it as a fluke a few minutes before he was supposed to leave. Gone are the days when he can get away with half-finished work. His e-Science teacher means business. Requesting forgiveness is futile. So I did what my at-home-self would have done, I said, "Finish it up, I'll drive you." He protested, but resistance was futile. He finished while I showered and off I drove him to school. I love a flexible work schedule. What I meant about loving Mondays is the double-guilty pleasure. Now that Jersey Shore is no more (and I don't watch the spin offs) I watch the trashiest TV of my week: The Bachelor. If I had ever thought about it as a career option, I would have run a match making

Last night we celebrated LLD's 50th birthday with a night of high-calorie binging at The Melting Pot followed by near-binge drinking at an Irish pub just a few steps away. It was sooooooo fun! Hard laughter began with LL's opening her requisite inappropriate gifts, and continued through the night. Mannions (the pub) had two options: a laid-back acoustic guitar singer downstairs and a DJ playing loud dance music upstairs. After about an hour we couldn't take this generation's music and sought refuge with 70s and 80s music downstairs. If there were dancing it would have been perfect. The ceiling looked like it would fall apart at any moment (apparently parking ticket enforcement pays better attention than building enforcement). And, to the guys at the bar: yes, you smell like fart! This morning I managed to be at Father Ron's 8am service. The lessons of reminding ourselves that we live in a world we cannot control resonate strongly. Then, foolishly (especially i