About a month ago, I got an email letting me know that the daycare center had room for the girls starting immediately. I felt a little panicky. Do we have to send them away now just because we got in? And if they go away, does that mean I have to get a--what d'ya call it?--job? We decided that there was no reason to rush into anything, and got the girls' names moved back to the bottom of the pool. (Or wherever you go when you just got into the pool and have to wait your turn to get out. The metaphor doesn't hold up well when extended.)
And now I have an offer for a job teaching two English classes at a local art college--an Intro Lit class, and an upper-division class about whatever I want ("Rhetoric of Sex and Gender in Multiple Media," anyone?). It's at night so we wouldn't even have to worry about childcare.
I could definitely handle one class, but two would be pushing it. That starts to turn into a lot of paper-grading. And if I taught them both, I would miss the kids' bedtime two nights a week. I'm having a similar reaction to the one I had over the news about getting into daycare. Do I have to take this job just because it's bad form to turn down work in such a crappy job market?
The problem is that I love staying at home with the kids. After eight months, I'm not feeling stir-crazy at all. In fact, I think one reason I should take this teaching gig is to prevent myself from turning into a total hermit. Not that I would mind being a hermit, but it would be embarrassing for my wife and kids.
So my wife and I have been discussing the job offer, and she's trying to talk me out of teaching both classes (I don't think it's an all-or-nothing proposition, so I can probably opt to teach just one). Or at least she's leaning in that direction. She doesn't have to twist my arm much to convince me that tucking in the babies is more important than lulling art students to sleep.
But here's the funny and sweet--and maybe a little pathetic--element of her argument against my taking on too much work: she worries that my blog would suffer. I usually resent it a little bit when people call me "lucky" (or "bright," or a "handyman,"--but those are kvetches to be explored later, maybe), but I have a hard time explaining how else I ended up with such a cool wife.