I’m going to be my husband’s bookkeeper. I’ve avoided it for 8 years. But I don’t have anymore kids at home and it makes it easier to get to the office.
Having another child seems a bit extreme just to avoid doing math.
I’m demanding to be paid. That was a really fun conversation. I highly recommend having it with a spouse. You can see the calculations going on behind the eyes on what they can suggest for pay without it being insulting.
Bookkeepers generally make $20-25 with really good ones up to $50. Kevin was hedging to $20, but then I reminded him that I’m an attorney. Attorneys generally bill between $75-300. Kevin stopped talking and just smiled.
I start in a week.
I’m stocking up on office supplies
My schtick is that I am a stay at home mom whose potential is not being fully realized by making sure my clothes are snuggly soft. I sort of just got a job as a freelance writer. It is only sort of because I was given my first assignment and three hours later it was taken away with a promise of more, but with no timeline as to when that more would be. I believe I will be working forty hours… a year.
But it leads to the question: Am I now a working mother? I am working on a manuscript I hope sells millions and makes women all over the world highly unstable because they are addicted to it and thousands of websites are created dedicated to a pasty white Brit who plays the leading male. Wait. My leading male is a rancher. Might be easier to just get Timothy Olyphant. So am I not a stay at home mom now? Am I a severely underpaid working mom? Or a not paid at all working mom? What if I am never published? Am I a stay at home mom whose dream was never realized and therefore more pathetic than the stay at home moms whose main goal is snuggly soft clothes? Not that there is anything wrong with that, but a better goal would be snuggly soft and stain-free. I don’t have that goal. I am an underachiever.
So I guess I am having an identity crisis. I would really just like to be known as “Marianne, that redhead over there”. Not “#1 and #2 and #3’s Mom”. Not “Mrs. Dr. Kevin”. Not “that lady in the blue minivan who sings Glee show-tunes really loud”. (Hopefully soon it will be “that lady in a Honda Pilot who sings Glee show-tunes really loud”.) Just Marianne. Maybe Marianne Hansen, because no matter how long I am married, I believe I will always identify more with the name I have had since birth. Tradition be dammed.
I think I have decided that my identity is still under construction and therefore I do not need to define myself. Because really, it doesn’t matter. Let’s face it: no matter what you call me, I will be making no money, while wearing stained, stiff clothing (who may have a slight addiction to BH 90210).
I have no idea who this is, so I thought it would work for an identity crisis. Maybe I should learn someones name before they apply make-up to my daughter...