A woman's work...

I've volunteered to work an extra day from September. Obviously this goes against all my principles of simple (cheap) living, anti-corporatism and general idleness. It means I'll be working Sunday to Wednesday afternoons and evenings. The work was there; I thought I might as well make a bit of extra money while I can. I need to boost my car replacement fund. I should probably set up a private pension. I'd like a woodburning stove. And an electric guitar. I don't have any job security since I don't have a contract so it makes sense to take the cash now in case it's not there in a few months' time.

Little man is with his daddy on Sundays and Mondays anyway. Daddy has only worked four days a week since he was off with various psychological issues. I knew he had been looking out for a new job, so I had to check he wasn't about to start working Mondays and have been reassured that Mondays are a Ben day for him. This doesn't really explain how he's going to get out of a job that is contributing to making him miserable but he doesn't do discussions of important subjects as they are too upsetting. So that leaves an afternoon with each set of grandparents until next Easter when he will get some free time at nursery, provided it hasn't been axed by the government before then and that I can find a nursery I like the look of. Even then, someone else will have to pick him up, give him his tea and put him to bed because I don't get home until about nine.

Maternal possessiveness notwithstanding, I think it's actually good for little man to be looked after by a small group of close family members who really care about him. It's more of a whole tribe effort, a la the Continuum Concept. Even if it means mummy is only there at bedtime two or three days a week. And it means I get to sit down at a desk without being pestered. I was going to mention the importance of adult conversation, but the banter in work could not be classed as mature. So I'll settle for the fact that I can get all my swearing done without worrying about the boy picking any of it up. We have a profanity guide on the wall at work, the words we have to put asterisks in: fuck, shit, cunt, wank and twat. The conversation may not be mature but it is highly amusing.