The other day, a few of my co-workers were complaining about having to do more work during weekends and vacations. Why? Because their children were out of school and they had to take care of them at home. All of them. At once. Since a few of them were hanging around, my officemate asked how many could do a class on a weekend morning. All of them shrieked "available!", as if fleeing from the trauma of frozen waffles and Saturday morning cartoons. Then they turned to me. The following ensued:
Officemate: Looks like Saturdays are great for everyone, how about you?
Me: Not me. Can't we do it during the week some morning?
Officemate: What, are you busy or something?
Me: Yes, very. Between my friends, my family, my traveling, and the classes I volunteered to teach, I'm booked up for the next five Saturdays.
Officemate: You can be busy on a weekend without kids?
I would like to say that she's still alive and in possession of all her faculties, but I was pissed. Once again, the assumption that the child-free person can work around all the kids in the office was in full force. Also, the assumption that since I don't have kids, my weekends are an empty void of empty emptiness, lacking in all things that make it sooooo worth it (I can buy my own frozen waffles, thanks). I told her in no uncertain terms that I was not giving up my weekends no matter what. If everyone wants to flee their kids that's fine, but my weekends are quietly and happily filled with my own life.
For the record, the officemate in question has five kids. And often says that she wouldn't with motherhood on her worst enemy. And yet, there we are.
