Just about every time I would think about quitting 911, I would have this recurrent fantasy: standing at the kitchen counter, making dinner from scratch, maybe even making a pie. Not that I had ever made a pie. This was just my fantasy.
Last night, I made a pie. It was a peach pie, to be exact, using peaches picked from local orchards (not by me, but still). I also whipped up some Zoom bread in the bread machine (whole wheat bread using Zoom cereal), and made artichokes and chicken-fried steak and garlic-sauteed yellow squash. If that sounds goddamed near domestic, well, it is.
It was very, very hard to leave my 911 job. It was important and it paid well and it had awesome benefits and I liked the people and besides, someone has to answer 911. But in the end I knew it was the right thing to do, because I just wanted to go home.
And I have to report: although my kids do drive me batshit sometimes and Scott and I have had to rework our daily habits so we're not always together, this being-home thing is a big success. My kids are happy. My kitchen is clean. My laundry is still piled in the laundry baskets but you can't have everything. I have been making lots of artwork, reading good books, and we have plenty of cleaning business to keep us in the black. So things are working out.
And to celebrate, I think I'm going to go and have me a slice of pie.