My mother is here for Thanksgiving. Tomorrow, my daughter will come. I’m taking turns with my work partner and I will work Tuesday and Wednesday, and she will work Friday. This is the first year for our agency that Friday, the day after the American Thanksgiving, is not a “holiday.” We are not happy! It’s part of what we’ve had to give back in the bad economy. Less time off for us, and more billable time for our clients. But even as I grumble, I’m very aware that at work I am beyond blessed. Beginning with the fact that my work place is safe and warm and cleanable if not clean, going all the way up to fact that I get paid (a little, but in the terms of the world, a lot) to do very meaningful work, I am very very lucky there.
And at home, again, my mother and my kids will be here. And I’m still glad to be sharing all of this with Carole. The pets are all healthy today. The people are relatively healthy. What’s wrong with me and with Carole could probably be taken care of by better living. My mother is just old.
After I post this, I’m going to spend some time trying to figure out what to get my son for Christmas. Twenty-four years old. My daughter is easy, and he is hard, but my mother’s impossible.
Luxury problems indeed.