Sometime I wish my jobs here at home were just a little bit...harder.
It's terrible when I've had one of those niggly, annoying days. The kind of day when it took me Two Whole HOURS to get the the bottom of the laundry folding pile (a trip away will do that) and then I wander in to Peanut playing next door, only to find I now need to refold all Bug's clothes too (Peanut needed clothes for her teddies, apparently. They were very well dressed.)
The kind of day where we escaped the housework and fled to the park, only to find it already over run by a particular local family I find to be totally out of synch with mine - the kind of family where the mother says "oh, I love long day care, it means I can get rid of the kids from 7am until 6pm!" Shudder.
The kind of day when I am expecting Mr A home for family pizza night, but he messages to say he'll be late home at 6, and then calls at 6 to say he'll be even later... Poor Mr A.
And there's the rub.
None of my issues are particularly stressful. Nothing is very hard about folding laundry or park socializing or making pizza solo. And that's the problem!! It might be annoying to me, but do you think I get one iota of sympathy when Mr A staggers in after saving the world, juggling millions of dollars of equipment and organising hundreds of men, sending them to far flung places? No siree Bob. No sympathy.
Not. One. Bit.
I need a harder job, so I get bubble baths run for me.