I’ve just had a chicken pita with caesar salad. Delicious and satisfying. Fella won’t be happy; he was hoping to use the chicken breasts for something else. Or hoping I would use them for something else; he brought the recipe home from his mother’s today after seeing I was thawing the chicken. It was too late; I already had my heart set on the chicken caesar pita, which was on the menu when I worked as a cook at a restaurant in Alberta.
That job probably lasted three to six months, and was done after my former husband got home from work, and on weekends, so that he could stay with the kids. I didn’t mind the work, but what undid me was having to clean the hot grill at 10 pm when the restaurant closed, when I was tired and it was often sweltering in the kitchen.
Other jobs I did while married with children:
1. daycare in my home
2. baked and sold whole wheat bread to the store in town and to private customers
2. made and sold chocolate fudge and caramel corn, bread, etc, at farmers’ markets
3. worked in a commercial greenhouse, transplanting seedlings, watering plants, and helping customers
4. worked weekends at the concession booth of a busy arena, selling popcorn, coffee, hot chocolate, mocha, french fries, burgers, pop and candy
5. copyeditor, proofreader, a little bit of page layout and formatting
And my ex thinks he brought in all the bacon! I was a busy enough girl.
It’s just been suggested that I might be able to get more hours in at my editing job, now that a new funding contract is in place. And while I prefer my half-time hours, lately I’ve been racking my brain to come up with new ways of increasing my income so that I can contribute more financially to the renovations and repairs around here.
I’ve had a number of ideas and am researching and thinking about a particular one, but haven’t made a commitment. Also, it’s something that would start small. So if more hours are approved at my present job, that would be a more-than-suitable answer, I guess. So I’ve said yes, please request them. And we shall see what happens.
It could ruin my dream life if they offer me full-time hours, but I would have more money. Frickin’ money. Sigh. I guess it wouldn’t have to be forever. A couple years of it and the stuff would be paid for. A couple years goes by pretty quickly.
I’m getting ahead of myself aren’t I.
Pet what time should I expect you on Saturday? Can’t wait.