Furlough

Had the government shutdown this weekend, Bryan, a non-critical government servant, would have been sent home without pay. 

We would have welcomed a furlough because Bryan could use the time away right now to make one last trip back to the land in Missouri before we sell it.  (Praise God!  We have a buyer!  Perfect timing, too. . .)

And I kind of liked playing up the "buckle down" mentality.  Bryan told the cul-de-sac kids he would pay them to help bag up his dead grass rakings.  He came in to gather their salary and asked, "Do you have any singles?"

I said, "Singles?!  We're facing a furlough!  We should pay them with quarters."

Alas, the gummint men figured something out, Bryan will go to work on Monday and he will have to make his trip on Easter weekend, instead. 

Got me thinking of the nature of "furlough," though.  No pay, but no work, either. 

And how I, personally, can't be put on furlough right now.  The last time I worked regularly during hours that were counted by others was 2003.  And only half of that year. 

Maybe you're thinking, "You do work regularly, Amy, you just don't get paid a salary." 

Eh.  Not really. 

When the kids were babies, yes.  That was work.  It was work I didn't like doing, though I was thankful to be doing it. 

I consider my days now, though.  I get up and dressed before the kids awake.  I drink my iced coffee and eat breakfast while I read the Bible.  (Bryan and I are reading "The One Year Bible" that has all the scriptures arranged chronologically and then divided into daily readings.  It has been a real joy so far.)

Then the kids wake up. 

Gemma comes right down, says "good morning" and makes her breakfast.

Joshua sits on the top step, says, "Good morning, I love you" in a groggy voice and he sags and wavers so much from sleepiness I worry each time that he'll topple right down the stairs.

A few minutes later, he thumps down and sits next to me on the couch, curled up.  Gemma finishes eating.  I'm done reading my Bible.  I pick up theirs and read aloud, then we read library books, then Gemma reads aloud to me, then I read history aloud to them (by which time Josh is ready to make his breakfast and eat).  We practice AWANA verses, then the kids go upstairs to get dressed while I empty the dishwasher.

We have a snack and then go downstairs for schoolwork until a mid-afternoon lunch.

Our kitchen is sunny when we eat.  Sometimes the kids get out their little tray stands and have lunch on the soft rug by our back door, right where the sun is shining in.  They sit with their backs against the glass and feel cozy.

Then we play a game together.  And read more.  Have a quiet time when the kids can do whatever they want except talk to me or put their eyes on a screen. 

Then the cul-de-sac kids get home from school and they all play outside until dinner.  I work out upstairs.  Check e-mail.  Make dinner. 

Bryan gets home at a nice hour nowadays.  Usually by 5, often by 4:30.  After dinner, we play a game all together.  Read more.  Put the kids to bed.

This is my whole day.  It's not work.  It's a dream come true. 

I participated in a phone survey today, mostly because that's the only way to make the survey company stop calling back.  Towards the end of it, she asked me how I would describe my profession.  I told her, "I'm a superhero,"  and she laughed.

Why do people always laugh?

Maybe being a superhero each day is work.  If so, how blessed am I to have found my dream job?  No furloughs here, I'm glad to say.