Time for a Career Change?

Between hubby and I we have three separate businesses – aside, of course, from the business of raising three teenagers.

I earn a crust by writing marketing materials, and hubby is primarily a landscaper.  However it’s no secret that I’m somewhat freaked out by his second business which has mostly involved investing every penny we have into a tree farm that is now full of trees that must be sold before they get too large to transplant.  We probably have the only pension plan that’s no good if it gets too big.

You might think that the winter months, when this part of the world becomes a frozen, unlandscapeable wasteland, would provide the perfect opportunity for some active pre-selling of said trees, but unfortunately the curling on the television is more compelling.

Unfortunately once the curling ends, and the landscape season approaches, hubby will be running himself ragged dashing from home to the tree farm, 3 1/2 hours from home; trying to both sell landscaping and do landscaping.  There’s not much time left for selling trees.

So, I have devised a full-proof plan which involves hubby more or less abandoning the landscaping and selling trees full time.  I give up writing and become a landscape labourer, delivering and planting trees under the supervision of his more qualified assistant.

It seems like a plan which could work, and it might even save hubby from going crazy trying to run two seasonal businesses simultaneously.

I’m currently harbouring this idyllic vision of myself out in the sunshine, making the world a more beautiful place and getting skinny at the same time.  My enthusiasm may wain somewhat when the wind starts to howl and the rain starts to pour as it does here until about mid July when overnight it becomes cripplingly hot and arid.

I feel as though a career move is supposed to look like a promotion and I’m not sure that marketing consultant to landscape labourer fits the bill, but I’m finding the prospect quite exciting.


Good Times in England

I just got back from an 11 day trip to England with Hoss, my youngest.

This was a tradition I started when Roxy was that age – the one on one trip back to the homeland with a newly hatched teenager.  It was supposed to be a 13th birthday trip, but in all three instances it took me about eighteen months to find the right moment, so it turned into a fourteen and a half’th trip.  Not quite as catchy.

As an aside, I’m still boggled by the fact that I thought travelling anywhere with a teenager was a good idea.  Clearly I had not yet parented an adolescent when I came up with the concept and thought to myself “Why yes, that would be lovely!”.  I am blessed that two of the three (so far) have been fairly easy teenagers, but one (who shall remain nameless) was less than gracious at being forced away from his friends to spend an extended period in close proximity to his appalling mother and her annoying family.

When we arrived it was to the great relief of my poor  homeless sister, who had been nursing our flu-ridden and very ill parents, as well as her own bed-ridden husband, non-stop for the last 72 hours and needed a break.

I feel at this point, I should explain that the tale of my homeless sister is not quite as tragic as it might at first seem.  She and her husband have recently rented out their beautiful country home so that they can spend the majority of their time on their sailboat in the South of France.  Hardly Les Miserables.

Surprisingly, though, we had a delightful trip.  I only say surprisingly because it rained all the time (there’s a shocker!), my parents never made it out of their sickbeds and everything you might want to take a teenager to is closed in the winter.

For the most part we spent our time there eating fish and chips and cream teas, and shopping for chocolate, custard, marmite, bisto and other assorted necessities.  Definitely time well spent.

Sadly, everyone back at home managed quite happily without me – it’s never a good idea to let them know that the incredibly hard life I complain about is actually not that bad at all.  However, it was a jolly good thing I arrived back when I did or SJ would have been forced to choose between putting on a load of washing, or running out of underwear.

I spent a very happy couple of days milking the whole jet lag thing for all it’s worth and generally lounging around the house in my bedroom slippers yawning (apart from doing two weeks worth of washing, of course).  Unfortunately, now it’s Monday and real life has to be faced up to.

Back in the office it appears that the Canadian business community has survived without me, and the internet hasn’t crumbled from the lack of my astonishing web copy.  Oh well, I’m sure it was only a matter of time.