After my redundancy 6 weeks ago, the quest to find a job was proving very quiet, and I had gotten my head around the idea that nothing was likely to happen on the work front, and I should think positively about enjoying the summer with my children. “Take summer off”, a few friends advised.
Summer off? Choose to not work? The idea was alluring, but at the same time, naughty. I didn’t want to change the childcare arrangements for the kids, I wanted continuity. It could take months though before I might find something, so I set a deadline of September in my mind. Summer with the kids, settle Missy G into big school, and hopefully start work mid-month. Perfection. And if not, then perhaps Fate was telling me that I should be a SAHM until Mini G was ready for nursery in January. Either way, it all seemed to make sense, and equal a few months in the sunshine. A summer off? Really?
But someone had other ideas.
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