It has been nearly three years since I left the work force. While I wake up every morning feeling happy about my place in this world my husband wakes up feeling miserable. Quite frankly he doesn’t like his job. He wakes up slowly and trudges off to work praising the weekends and telling me they never come soon enough.
I often feel guilty for staying home. While I know deep in my heart it is the best solution for our family I also know that a six figure income would certainly take the burden off my husband’s shoulders.
I’m not sure if my husband will stop working when our mortgages are paid off, but as time passes I am happy to see a clear end in sight. In 4 years, 6 months and 24 days the mortgage on our primary home will be paid in full.
That’s not so far away, but it is a miserable 143,942,400 seconds, 2,399,040 minutes, 39,984 hours, 1666 days and 238 weeks away from now.
I certainly don’t wish to speed up time. I’ll be nearly forty-one when that final mortgage is paid, my husband will be forty-two and my son will be seven, but it sure would be nice to be done with it already.
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