I KNOW lots of other women do it, but

Let's go back....to 1938.

My mom's dad died at age 40, leaving my grandmother with a newborn, a 3-year-old and four other kids.  She had to work, and my mother knew it. But I spent my formative years hearing the story of how my mom loved the days when her mom was off of work because her mom was home when she got in from school.  This experience in my mom's life made her insist on being at home with her kids during their formative years. She worked part-time at my elementary school after my brother started school for many years until her breast cancer diagnosis in 1996. 

If there is any other refrain that still plays in my head, it is my mother saying repeatedly, "I will NOT raise my grandkids." This was part of her badger-your-daughter-to-death-so-she-doesn't-accidentally-get-pregnant" plan.

Fast forward to me.  I didn't even want kids when I married, nor did D, but we adopted my mom's advice to live on one salary from the second we married so that IF we ever had kids, I could stay home with them IF I wanted to.

I didn't think about childcare until I was newly pregnant with N and did some summer portfolio scoring with another newly pregnant teacher who also had an 18-month-old.  It was then that my eyes were opened to the "You mean I have to pay a daycare in the summer even though I'm not working during the summer?" situation.

By the time I told others I was pregnant, I had decided to be a stay-at-home mom. I knew the grandparents would not "raise" my kids, and I knew I didn't trust anyone else besides myself to do it well. 

Being a stay-at-home mom was the best and the suckiest experience of my life. It gifted me years of time with my children and stole years of salary and professional experience from me. 

I have spent this past school year subbing pretty frequently at my former middle school---three days this week--and it has made me miss it terribly.  

But not terribly enough to go back full-time.  

When I am asked about returning full-time (and I am, often), I come out with a comment like,
"I'm still freakishly attached to my children."  And that is true.  This morning, M called my cell phone because he misses me when I sub too many early mornings in a row, and it killed my heart a little bit to know this. 

And subbing is not my only job.  I want to teach at the cottage school because of the freedom I have there.  And I want to write for the magazines because I love to write. And I want the flexibility of being able to visit with my mom, who just turned 79 and will not live forever.

I think I feel like I'm letting someone down, even though I'm not.  Some group of nebulous students who don't know they miss having me as a teacher?  A group of teachers who might like the idea of working with me because I seem pretty great?  Is that why I feel guilt, like I'm letting them down because I am not working with them full-time?  It is stupid to feel guilty for feeling this way, but I think I do.  

Maybe guilt isn't even what I'm feeling.  If that is the case, then I don't know what to call it.  

Maybe longing is the right word.  I feel a longing to do something I left a long time ago but don't want to do full-time, at least not right now. 

When I think about my experience, and I think about what I will tell my own daughter about her own career path and her parenthood path (if she chooses it), I'm not sure what to tell her.

You can have it all, but not all at once?

You can have it all, but you will be freaking tired and feel like you're not giving anything 100%?

You can have most of it, but you will still feel guilt and longing and like you missed out on something even though you wouldn't change it if you could go back again?

Just give up the idea that you can have it all because no one has ever had it all in the history of humankind.  It is a myth?

And I know that LOTS and LOTS of other women have been teachers and have managed to do it, but I haven't managed to do it, which makes me feel like maybe I suck.  Hell, I haven't even tried to do it. I just flat out said, "I'm not even going to try because I think it would be dismal for me and my family because I know how I am." 

(I'm the sub who left sub plans for tomorrow's sub---that is how freakishly organized and anal I am.)

Maybe I'm just a big pussy? Maybe that is what I feel?  Ashamed?  

But this that I am doing, this cottage school teaching and this minimal subbing and this freelance writing, is as close to having it all as I can figure out at the moment.  

Science in da house!!!

Today, as on most days, I compare living with two little boys to being part of a band of wild and potentially rabies-infected primates.  

However, after seeing a highly entertaining and enlightening live show of scientific experiments (Doktor Kaboom), I thought I'd try to see a day with my boys through the lens of scientific discovery rather than the lens of a tired momma.

The day began with one of G and M's favorite activities----having me put their stuffed animals on the fan blades and then watching them fly off as they laugh uproariously.  Through the lens of ROCKET SCIENCE:  Newton's Law of Motion (for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction) it was much less aggravating than it normally is.  

The little scientists.

The enthusiasm of the little scientists is growing.

The baby wolf is down!

The horse looks like he's gonna land on the wolf!

There goes Mickey!

And Urse the Black Bear isn't far behind.....

The mommy wolf has flown off to the front of the frame.  

Minnie Mouse and Beary the Black Bear hold on for dear life!

After running errands, we walked down to the creek, picked up sticks and watched ducks float in the water.  I have decided that a law of nature is "BOYS NEED TO GET OUTSIDE EVERY SINGLE DAY."

Both in the morning and again in the afternoon, the boys engaged in one of their newest exploits:  blowing milk bubbles and popping them.  Did you know that milk proteins make the bubbles last longer than those bubbles blown in water or other drinks?  And once milk has warmed up it makes smaller bubbles.

 

Why I'm choosing burn-out

So I've been quiet here on the blogging front because I've been thick in the process of stewing.

I was, crazily enough, offered a job.  Out of the blue.  Which brought me a tremendous amount of excitement because I would be teaching again on a part-time basis.

Within 10-12 hours, however, the excitement and enthusiasm was diminished greatly because by that time I was sitting in a vat of hot guilt.

Sometimes I think life gives you exactly what you want just to show you what a dumb-ass you were for wanting what you said you wanted.  Oh, and to make you a better, stronger person.  But mostly the first thing.

I wanted 3 kids, and I got 3 kids, and I love my 3 kids, but I am.....9 years into this stay-at-home mothering gig.....almost SICK TO DEATH OF IT!

I am experiencing full-throttle burn-out.

I'm tired of being with at least 1 of my children constantly.  Every single day.  From sun-up until sun-down.
I'm tired of not having enough time to complete small projects.
I'm tired of grocery shopping at 10 pm on the weekend just so I can avoid shopping with kids in tow (and spending 25% more of my budget just because of their incessant haranguing).
I'm tired of being in the MOMS Club and doing play dates and playing Lego each and every day.
I'm tired of talking to perfect strangers like they are long-lost friends because they might be the only adult I've chatted with in 7 hours.
I'm tired of feeling guilty going to get a haircut or doing anything that is not in some way chore-related.

And yet, as tired as I am of this, when offered a job I declined to take it.

(Smack your hand to your forehead, if you feel the need.  I'll pause.)

Because to do so would mean I would be away from M during his last 2 years before he begins elementary school.
Because to do so would mean I wouldn't have spent a full 5 years with him, as I have with N and G.
Because even considering doing so made me feel stressed and angry and guilty.
Because if I live to be 90 and I look back on my life, I might regret not having that time with him.  What if he dies at age 7?  (God-forbid, but what if?)

I made my choice to stay-at-home with my kids.  For better or worse.  Right now, I'm in that worse spot.  It seems likely that I've been here before (although I don't really remember because chronic sleep deprivation does that to a person).

A valley.  There will be a peak.
I think it will begin on M's first day of preschool when I have some much-needed and long-awaited time to myself.

(And then once I have all three kids in full-time school, you better believe I'm going to start rediscovering the creative, awesome professional Carrie.)

What pride and ego would like me to do, and what is really, truly do-able

So awhile back I blogged about my freelancing job, which I am now calling a job because it has become pretty darn regular.  And that's a good thing.

I have a regular column that I write in TF, plus when my editors like my pitches, I often have an additional article to write.

Last week, I got an email from the editor from another of these local magazines (there are 3 within the same publishing family) who asked if I could write an article for TW .  The deadline was tight--8 days--but I did it.

Yesterday I received an email from this same editor who asked if I would like to become a regular writer for the 3rd magazine, TT.

And while my ego went, "YAHOO!  I am AWESOME!," my heart and the intuitive pit in my stomach went, "Ugh."

Between my twice a week exercise class, my regular freelancing work for TF,  my position on the neighborhood board, volunteer work I do at N's school, piano lessons and now official Girl Scout troop leader, my months and weeks are plum full.  Plus, I have the boy' playgroups and all that regular ole junk associated with being a mom....like laundry and mopping and vacuuming.

I gave up going to monthly bunco and I gave up going out to dinner with a small group of friends who used to be in my MOMS Club group, which I was doing every other month.  G graduating from speech has freed up our Friday mornings.  But I am still very busy.

One of the best parts of being a stay-at-home mom, besides the awesomely comfortable uniform of jeans/sweats/yoga pants, is that I am in charge of the schedule.  I am my own boss.  If I don't feel like doing laundry today, I don't do it.  If I don't feel like sweeping, I don't.  Unless it is a doctor's appointment, if we decide we don't want to do it, we don't do it.

Committing to another writing job would ramp up my stress level and make me feel like I was edging further into the realm of things I have to do.  A nagging voice in my head kept saying things like, "This opportunity may not come around again," and "They are gonna think you aren't committed or a team-player."

I had to remind this naggy voice that I made the decision almost 8 years ago to be a stay-at-home mom, and I am committed still to this decision.  I had to remind the voice that the opportunity to be at home while my children are young will not come around again ever.  It truly is now or never for this.

I feel guilty enough about how little face-time I seem to give my boys when compared with their sister.  And this guilt would be worse if I committed to another writing job.

I really have to hand it to women who work full-time outside the home and manage as much as they do, especially when their kids are very young.  I just don't have it in me.  I sometimes feel that maybe this makes me weak and makes other moms who make different choices strong.

If it is weakness, I feel strong in the knowledge that I know what I can and cannot handle and act on this information accordingly.  

I blow my wad too soon

You'd think I was a man writing about sexual problems.

But my problem has nothing to do with that.

Enthusiasm is great, and my general pattern is to be very enthusiastic about things I begin.  When I began my first "real" job at 21, I completed the 3-month training period in under a month.  I just plowed into the work and got good quickly.  Same thing could be said of my first years as a teacher....I like to think I was mostly stellar.  (My former co-workers can argue with this line of thinking, if they'd like.)

The downside of this trait is that I tire of things quickly too.  Being extremely gung-ho is simply not sustainable over the long-term.  One cannot continue to operate at this level forever.

Just like my other jobs, I think I've blown much of my mothering wad.

When I only had N, I was gung-ho.....overly gung-ho.  Deeply wounded when I had to be away from her.  Eager to engage with her almost constantly.

Now, two additional kids and almost 8 years later, I find myself easily distracted by my freelancing work.  I find myself spending time planning Girl Scout activities because it engages my mind in learning and educating others.  I religiously attend twice a week exercise class instead of doing music or exercise classes with my boys or taking them places to play as I did with N.

On the one hand I feel sorta guilty about this because I do not give as much of my focus to G and M as I did N.  I recognize that some of this is simply, "The way it is."  It would be impossible to give the boys as much of my time and focus as I did N.  Having three kids triples (at least) the amount of laundry, clean-up, food purchasing and preparation, etc.

I also recognize that it isn't always a good thing to devote so much attention to a child.  M, perhaps because he is the 3rd kid, is really good at occupying himself, and that is a great skill to have.

Finally, I recognize that after 8 years of doing anything, you get tired and bored and need to change things around....hence the freelancing and volunteering and exercise.  I know that working full-time would add more stress and be completely detrimental to me and my family, so I do what I am able to do to jazz things up for me without causing unbearable stress and still allowing my kids to be with me most of the time.

Lord knows, I am still very devoted to my boys.  We do playgroups and read together and snuggle and love on each other.  Based on how my boys act when I've been gone for awhile, they are truly "Momma's boys" who think I am the only one who can care for them properly.

I guess what I need to remember about myself is that maybe I'm not as gung-ho excited about stay-at-home mothering as I was 5+ years ago, but I don't give up.  I try to re-invent the days, switch things up to keep momma happy, and continue on with what I have committed to do.

And that isn't such a bad thing.  

My side gig

For about 18 months or so I have been freelance writing for a local family magazine.  What began as an occasional and unpaid activity has become a regular column that gives me a little extra spending money.  I may begin writing for the magazine's recently launched blog.  

The best things about freelancing for this magazine are that I can do 90% of my work from home, at any time of the day, and I write about family life.

Having been out of the full-time workforce for almost 8 years, it has been a little weird to be "professional" again.  I have become so accustomed to behaving as N, G and M's mom that I don't really remember how to behave as Carrie, the employee.  It is a very loose facade I wear, and I am forever fretting that I may lapse into talking about poop or Optimus Prime or Elmo or Justin Bieber or some other conversation that is completely out of line with what regular grownups in regular jobs discuss regularly.  

I have more or less decided that when M begins kindergarten I will begin subbing at the kids' schools as well as for former colleagues and friends who are still in the ranks.  A couple days a week with maybe one long-term subbing job periodically would be ideal.  I would still be able to do things at home and spend time with my mom.  Within the next five years it would make me incredibly happy to go out to lunch with her and not have to hit the exit within 30 minutes before the kids morph into banshees.  

As much as thinking about doing this sometimes feels like a light at the end of what will be an 11-year tunnel of full-time stay-at-home mothering and its associated drudgeries, I also know how much I sometimes really, really enjoy being home with the boys, our little routine of just us, and how much neat stuff I was able to do with N before she began kindergarten.  

For now, the freelancing gig is perfect.  It gives me a little self-esteem boost and intellectual challenge but allows my heart to stay where it needs to be----at home with my kids.  

A small annoyance related to motherhood

Our house is not dinky, by any means, but we also do not live so grandly that we have tons of extra room.  While I would love to have my own "craft" room with built-in storage and cubbies for all my craft and scrapbook stuff, for the foreseeable future any room that could be used as such is being used as a basement toy/play room and bedrooms for the kids.  (Of course, prior to children I didn't have time for crafts so none of my rooms were used in this capacity anyway.)

What this means is that if I begin any type of small project, like working on the kids' scrapbooks or painting something, I have to use the dining room table or the floor or some other space that also serves another function and can be easily gotten into by the kids if I don't pick everything up and put it away.

What that means is that if I want to work on something I have to give myself time to not only get everything out and work but also time to clean everything up again, even if I'm not finished.  Even if I will work on it again 4 hours later when the kids go to bed.

And so, very often, small little projects get put off and put off, clogging up my mental "to do" list but never actually getting done because of the aforementioned hassles.  Or the project requires a special trip to a special shop (like Archiver's or Michaels) where I need to think without being hollered at to see the Schleich miniature dragons and penguins.

There is always, always plenty that I potentially could get done in any given day, but very often none of it gets done because it is just a pain to even bother with it.

The same goes for housework.  Our bathrooms are right at the cusp between dirty and downright funkay, but it is such an ordeal to clean them.  Which is why most everything in my house is just sorta clean.  It wouldn't pass any kind of inspection but it also doesn't meet the strict standards for calling in Superfund.

And so I blog or putz around on Facebook.
Because composing an ingeniously witty status update is getting something accomplished.  

Momma is feeling her age and needing some self-preservation

When N was a baby and toddler and even as a young preschooler, it absolutely pained me to be away from her for any length of time.  I waited until the eleventh hour to enroll her in 3-year-old preschool because I feared it was too much change at once (her going to school and having a new baby brother, G within a month's time).  

But by the time she started kindergarten two years later, I was out to THERE with a pregnant belly (fully of M) and had an almost 2-year-old G to manage, so I was levitating with excitement at the prospect of her going to all-day school.  

Tomorrow, G goes for his 3-year-old preschool orientation at the same school N attended, and I am thrilled at the prospect of having one less child underfoot for 5 hours a week.  

It remains to be seen how I will react when M starts preschool in two years, but my guess is that I won't  be welling up with tears.  

With my birthday coming up in a few weeks, I also told D that what I really, really want is a gym membership so I can take M (when G is at school) or take both boys and workout for 45 minutes or so in the morning, leaving them in childcare so I can have "Mommy mental health" time.  

It is absolutely impossible to walk on the treadmill or do an exercise video with two little boys at my heels.  I have tried at least a couple times and failed.

It is also impossible for me to wake up at 5:30 to exercise.  G continues to wake me up at least once or twice a night every night, and his morning wake-up call for me is 6:00.  I'll be damned if I am going to get up even earlier to exercise.

By the time the kids go to bed at night, I am in no condition to exercise.  That is my time to either 1.) get things done that I didn't get done during the day or 2.) decompress by blogging or reading or screwing around on Facebook.

When G does nap, if I don't end up napping with him (because of the interrupted nights and early mornings), I use that time to make phone calls and do things that simply cannot be done when he and M are awake.  

But I need and want to exercise more than just 1 day a week in my boot-camp session.  (And at that boot-camp the boys are with me in the same room, so I often have to stop what I am doing to tend to them in some fashion.  I can't tell you how often I have M climbing on my back as I do push-ups or tackling my abdomen as I'm doing crunches or yanking on my shorts as I'm doing monster walks.)

Since I started this boot-camp, my legs have gotten more muscular and I am much more fit, and I like the way that makes me feel.  I want to continue feeling that way mostly because this summer I have really started feeling my age.  Feeling tight upon getting out of bed, needing to stretch. Hearing things creak as I make my way out of the bedroom into the dawn.  At one boot-camp session, I did something to my knee and it has never quite gotten back to "normal."  

Finally, I have reached a point where I am simply tired of feeling like a martyr to my children and my life as a full-time mom.  Life just continues to get busier.....planning things for N's Girl Scout troop, taking G to speech therapy, running my normal errands.  I rarely make it to book club or bunco, so these aren't outlets I can rely on every week or even every month to relax, find myself, decompress, socialize with other people.  

While blogging helps keep me sane, I am still in the confines of my house when I write.  With sleeping children upstairs or children in the other room.  The walls of my house that needs to be cleaned about to cave in on me as I type.  

I need a regular, healthy reprieve from my children and my house that allows me to take care of myself and possibly have a conversation with another grown-up.  I am tired of feeling guilty about needing and wanting this.  

After 7.5 years of mothering children without regularly-scheduled "Take care of mom time," a change is in order.  

The emotional drag that is being with children (sometimes)

Yesterday I took the kids to my mom and dad's to swim for a bit and to leave N there for a 2-night sleepover.  She is most assuredly in hog heaven, watching Disney Channel until her eyes pop out (we don't have cable/satellite so she is so deprived) and finagling a visit to the mall to spend at least $20 of her eventual inheritance.

I was already a little "undone" before I ever got to my mom and dad's because of the challenge of wrangling 3 kids and all the frickin shit one must take to the pool with little ones into the car.  Plus, I had N's sleepover stuff to get in.  Plus, both N and G realized at the last minute that they both needed something in the house, and both things required mommy to get them or look for them or conjure them up from thin air.

Once we got to my parent's home but before getting to the neighborhood pool, I'd had to listen to G and M fight over the toy cars.  M is no longer the baby who just lets his brother do whatever he wants.  He now shows his frustration and dismay in the form of very loud porcine squealing which takes only 15.6 seconds to make one's brain bleed.

After the fighting, I had to wrestle both of the boys into their swim diapers and trunks, holler at N at least 3 times to stop watching Phineas & Ferb and put on her swimsuit, and then attempt to cover their bodies adequately with sunscreen.  Oh yes, and dress and lotion myself up.

My parents live one block from the pool, so we walk there, but due to the heat and having to walk and just being a general turd at that moment, G threw a big honkin' fit in the middle of the sidewalk.

Suffice it to say, I was DONE.

My mom seems to think that part of my problem with the kids is my problem, i.e., the OCD and anxiety and mood issues.  And perhaps she is right.  Perhaps because I have such a terrible time controlling my own moods I am extremely susceptible to coming unglued by the inconsistencies and wildness of my children's moods.  Perhaps that is why age 3 is such a challenge for me.

But I think that maybe it is just really, really hard to be in the midst of emotional chaos and fighting all the time.  And that is what it is like when you are with your children day in and day out all year long.  You never get a reprieve unless they are sleeping.  Even though the windows of fighting or tantrums might be only 5-10 minutes long a handful of times a day, they wear me out.

Couple with that the endless giving that goes on all day long.  Getting someone dressed.  Getting someone breakfast.  Getting someone's diaper changed.  Getting someone a drink.  Getting someone's shoes on.  Getting someone into the car.  Getting glue to fix someone's broken toy.  Getting a toy out that someone can't get out himself.  Getting someone down for a nap.

Add to that all the regular work that goes along with maintaining a home and you have one tired, potentially agitated person.  

There are plenty of non-medicated, non-mood-disordered people who cannot tolerate the idea or the act of being with their kids daily because it can be such an emotional/psychological drain.

A little beef (aka another vent by the stay-at-home momma)

Even though people tend to think of me (I think) as being really "on the ball," I do have some sloth-like qualities, and these qualities are part of the reason why stay-at-home motherhood is a good fit for me.

First, I hate getting dressed up in anything more snazzy than workout shorts, a top and flip-flops.  In winter, my attire is jeans, a long sleeve t-shirt and my house slippers.  I LOVE the dress requirement of stay-at-home mothering.

Secondly, I am not a terribly hygienic person.  I don't usually bathe every day.  I do change my undies every day, but my clothes are worn until I can't remember how many days I've worn them or they are pretty crusty/nasty.  In this heat, that means I wear them until they stink....which is about 3 days.  I mostly remember to brush my teeth everyday.  Since kids are pretty stinky themselves (sitting in their own urine and poop) and aren't big on hygiene, the stay-at-home mothering arrangement is a big win.

Thirdly, I really like keeping my own schedule, being my own boss as it were.  If I need to clean, we stay home and I clean.  If I am desperate to get out with the kids, we go somewhere.  During the school year, there is a nice blend of structure from N's school (and G's entrance into preschool this September) and chaotic "Who knows what the hell is gonna happen" because you never know what kids are gonna do from one minute to the next.  This need for managed chaos is part of the reason I really loved teaching. There was structure to the day, but I was my own boss within my classroom, running things as I saw fit and seeing where students would go with whatever we were learning.

But in terms of routine and scheduling, what REALLY sticks in my craw is when people act as if my schedule and routine, whatever it happens to be that day or week, really doesn't matter because it's not a paying job.  Like it doesn't affect me at all if plans are canceled or rearranged at the last minute.  Like since a "real" job isn't in play, my plans can just be set on the back burner.

Rodney Dangerfield ain't the only one who gets no respect.

The working momma who pissed me off

I stay home with my kids because it is what I want to do.  I know some moms who work full-time, some who work part-time and some who stay home like I do.  Naturally, I usually feel a stronger connection with the full-time stay-at-home moms because we share very similar experiences and common drudgeries.  I cannot understand the logistics of working outside the home full-time, dealing with daycare issues and still having the responsibility for managing the home and kids.  It gives me a headache to even think about, so I am always astounded that women do it and still manage to speak in full sentences.  I don't think I could do it even half as well.

The other day I took my kids to D's workplace health clinic so I could get my allergy shot.  Always before, I have gone on days when there was just a nurse on site and no patients having office visits.   I got in and out quickly which meant the kids didn't have time to go ape-shit from boredom and bother anyone waiting to see a doctor.  Due to some temporary staffing issues, I had to go during office visit time and that meant a longer-than-usual wait.

Because it had been since before our Disney trip that I received a shot, my left arm (the mold arm) hurt more than usual so I wanted to hang around for a few minutes in the waiting room.

As I have said at least 10 trillion times in this blog, G is my pest child, the mischievous one, the one who I would like to hog-tie on a daily basis.  After my shot, when G began being more pain in the butt(ish) than he had been during the pre-shot wait, I said something on the order of, "Dr. B will give you a shot if you don't settle down...." or something like that.

Just prior to me saying this to G, I had been chatting a little bit with a woman who works at D's company who had her child in the waiting room.  She has three children but only one was with her.

When I made the aforementioned "threat" to G, this lady said something like, "In our home, we tell ours we'll take away a favorite toy.  It works better to be able to act on your threat."  

I felt like telling G to go punk that lady in the eyeball.

I felt like telling her to haul all three of her kids into the clinic and see how they behave.

I felt like telling her that perhaps if she was with her kids nonstop, all-day, every.single.solitary.day since the moment they came out of her womb, she might have effing RUN OUT OF ACTUAL THREATS SHE CAN ACT ON.

I felt like telling that lady to take some of her hard-earned money and visit a salon, you mousy little thing.

Ok, that was low.
But I don't give advice to working moms on how to manage their lives.
So please don't give advice to the frazzled, frumpled stay-at-home mom on how to keep her head from exploding when the 3-year-old does his normal pain-in-the-arse routine.

SAHM, professional household manager, domestic engineer.....

Blogs I read often act a springboard for my own writing and reflecting.  And then life events are obvious fodder.

Recently my friend K blogged about how she likes the description "homemaker" and is happy with her choice to be one for the past seven years which, like many of her blog posts, got me thinking about my own experience as a homemaker.

Within the same week, I heard a phrase I hear fairly often which is, "I don't know how you stand staying home with your kids."  Again, more reflecting.....

I am always glad to be a stay-at-home mom for the following reasons:

1. Young childhood is the shortest stage of a person's life, and I want to experience as much of my children's as I can.

2. If I am going to spend 35-40 hours a week with anyone's children, I want it to be my own.  I loved teaching, but I think it is far more important for me to be with my own kids during the years of greatest developmental change than with other people's.

3. It would cause me an insane amount of stress trying to do manage the logistics of working outside the home full-time with very young children.  I know other people do it, but I don't know how.   I would be striving to be the good teacher I wanted to be, as well as the good mother I thought I should be and succeeding in nothing.  Because a person simply cannot have it all at the same time.  It is impossible.  And I have no desire to be a whirling dervish by trying.

4. My husband is simply not the type of guy who could manage getting 3 young kids up and out to daycare or school every day on his own.  He is very skilled at what he does, but wrangling kids is not his forte.  If he had to do this, his misery would know no limits.....and neither would mine.  

5. I get to wear jeans/yoga pants every.single.day.

However, there are plenty of reasons why sometimes I hate staying at home.

1. Although there is considerable flexibility for a stay-at-home mom since I don't have to clock-in at a certain time, my day's schedule is dictated by my children....their hunger, their activity level, their sleep needs.  My "little bosses" control my day.

2. Young children are extremely ego-centric, even when you do everything in your power to help them be respectful, and there is nothing fun or rewarding about having shit demanded of you 8-10 hours a day.  At least most grown-ups in the workplace know how to act civil.  That is not the case of the under 4 crowd.

3. Without a paycheck, an annual review or the like, there is often very little appreciation shown to a stay-at-home mom.  The appreciation that is shown is obsessive with little ones clinging to your legs constantly or crying uncontrollably when you leave....they simply don't think they can function without you.  Which sounds ego-boosting except that it means you are responsible for everything.  And everything weighs a ton.

4. One's brain does atrophy a bit when one doesn't get time to engage one's brain on an adult level by reading books, conversing with other adults, developing or enhancing one's professional skills/credentials.

5. An at-home mom can accomplish an extraordinary amount in any given day and yet it seems like nothing.  I can call 3 electricians for estimates, make 3 beds, do 2 loads of laundry, make supper, take the boys out somewhere fun, feed morning snack, lunch and afternoon snack, read 3 books to each boy before nap, pick the older one up from school and help her with homework, pay bills online, take the recyclables out to the bin, and clean up the living room 8 times.  And yet none of this is worthy of conversation or memorable as having been accomplished.

All of my days at home have an ebb and flow, and within those tides I move between being glad to be where I am and wishing I could just escape for awhile.

I never, ever wish I was working outside the home, though.  As hard as doing what I'm doing sometimes is, I never want additional work.

So I guess that means I'm satisfied.....

Harpy wife

There is no definitive way to prove that I am the world's worst wife, but sometimes I wonder if I am in the top 10.  (Bear in mind, I have never watched any of those 'Housewives of Witchita' or whatever shows, so I don't really know my competition.)

Last week D was telling his co-workers about how he intended to take 2 full weeks off over the Christmas holiday until I said something on the order of, "I think we need to rethink you taking 2 weeks off."  That can't make a person feel good, but, I swear, it is less about him and more about my schedule being fubared for 14+ days.

It's like having a nonstop weekend.  Five days of the week, I have a regular routine: N goes to school, D goes to work, the boys and I do our thing, they nap in the afternoon, I have some much-needed "Mommy refresher time," we pick up N, the kids go ape-shit for 3 hours as I try to pull some kind of dinner together, D comes home to witness the insanity, we haul their asses up to bed.

But then the weekend comes and this is the routine:  The kids generally wake up way earlier than normal, D stays in bed and sleeps in, the kids are all discombobulated knowing that Daddy is home and school is out (which means N is home and therefore G has another person with whom to compete for attention for 12 hours of the day), the tv shows are all different because it is the weekend, I can't do my 'normal' thing because places have different hours or no hours or every place is crowded because everyone is off work and going to those places.

One of the biggest issues I have when D is off work stems from the fact that D isn't home 40+ hours a week so therefore doesn't understand "Mommy Windows of Opportunity," (MWoO) which means that if we are gonna do something involving a drive in the car, we have to be in the car ready to roll at no later than 9:45, but preferably 9:35, so that we can arrive by 10:00, eat a snack somewhere between 10:45-11:00, leave the facility at 12:00, return home while shaking the baby's foot to keep him from falling asleep, get everyone in for a quick cheese sandwich, put the boys down for a nap, followed by mommy collapsing in a heap.

We simply cannot wait to leave the house until 10:30.  The MWoO is long since closed which means we will be stuck in the house until tomorrow morning at 9:35, assuming we can get our shit together.

And D kinda wants to and expects to lounge around in his pajamas for longer than what a MWoO will allow, which brings me ever closer to an aneurysm.  Because as much as I understand that he needs "downtime" and time to relax, my blood pressure goes through the effin roof if a MWoO is missed.  Because if I don't get out of the house, it means I am stuck inside not getting to relax or have downtime.  I mean I could, right this second, take clothes out of the drier and fold them.  Or take the clean dishes out of the dishwasher and put them away.  Right this second.  There is never any downtime for a stay-at-home mom (and probably working moms, either....but I can't speak to this).   When D is not at his job, he is off-work.  When I am not at my job.....oh fuck, I'm always at my job even if I'm not at home because I always have the kids with me.

For the most part, I try to keep a lid on my frustration with it all, but the lid is levitating from all the pent up steam underneath by the time 5-6 days have passed.  I realize that I am fussing at the kids because I am aggravated at D.....not because he did anything wrong, but because his presence (and that of N by day 5) is just a kink in the normal daily operations.

To preempt my lid popping off or D having to forego extra days off, I sat down with him tonight with my day-planner and laid it out:  "These 3 days, I'm doing x, y and z.  You get down time.  These 3 mornings I am going to the dentist and exercise classes by myself.  And these 2 days are family together time (which means MWoO dear husband, so be ready to leave at 9:35, please)."

I am such a joy to live with.

Why I stay at home

I have been a stay-at-home mom for almost 6 years now, and during that time I have come to a number of conclusions about this "job."

First of all, it is really, really hard. Not a logistically hard balancing act that working mothers face, figuring out who picks up whom and when and who takes off work and when. Staying at home is a tedious, mind-numbing hard---spending all day with children, trying to find something to entertain them for all of the 20 seconds of their focused attention, listening to them fuss and whine and yell, "Mommy," and show great impatience. It is emotionally draining and mentally dull.

Secondly, the decision to stay at home has more to do with the mom and her need/desire for control than anything to do with the children. My nieces and nephews all go to daycare and have since they were 12 weeks old, and they are all intelligent, well-balanced, decent children. Daycare has certainly not been detrimental to them in any way. I like to think I engage my children, offering them unique opportunities and helping them learn, but the truth is, they would be far more stimulated at daycare....especially the younger ones since they don't have my undivided attention. I don't have a "plan" for our days, a routine in which they learn their letters, colors and numbers. G and M will likely be in preschool before they begin to grasp these concepts.

The reason I wanted to stay at home and have stayed at home is because I cannot stomach the idea of someone else being with my kids all the time. I want to be the first one to see them smile, coo, rollover, crawl, talk and walk. I don't want to have to have quality time with my kids; I want quality time and crappy time. I don't want to miss any parts of their childhood because I won't get any of this time back. Honestly, I couldn't tolerate the guilt I'd lay on myself for being away from them every day. When I look at M at 6 weeks of age and think of having to leave him all day, it just breaks my heart. I know plenty of working moms likely feel this way, but they are able to disengage, and I know I would not. I would be even more of an emotional mess than I already am.

Plus, it would piss me off highly that someone with much less education than myself and no real vested interest in my child (as in having given birth to them) would tell me when I should put them on a sippy cup or potty train them so they could move up to the next "room." I want to make the decisions about my children's development. All the decisions, even the stupid ones that make no difference in the long run.

When I first started staying at home, I was a lot more judgmental about women who chose to work, but I have decided that my decision to stay at home is not selfless. It is selfish, really, because I am doing what is best for me, emotionally and psychologically. And that is what any mother has to do to be a successful mom---do what is best for her, what gives her happiness, because to do otherwise is going to make for an unhappy mom and, therefore, unhappy kids.

Some friends and family have suggested I put G in a PDO so I have some time alone with M, but I can't even do that. He will go to preschool in 2011, when he is 3 (getting ready to turn 4), but nothing before then (I don't think). Even though he drives me nuts a lot of the time, I want to be with him....for better or worse.

My children will spend most of their lives not wanting to be with me, so I want to savor these times when they do.

Laying it on the line

I like to think I am pretty honest with myself, but sometimes I can wrap a suit of denial around myself pretty tightly and lumber along as if everything is alright. For awhile.

But then I just get to the point where I know what I'm feeling inside isn't jiving with what I'm telling myself or others.

So here is the truth.

1. Even though I am glad to be a stay-at-home mom and wouldn't have it any other way, there are just some parts I absolutely, positively hate with a raging passion. And one of those parts is staying home with a sick kid or kids. I simply cannot handle the cooped-up-ness of it all. It's like how I used to feel on Christmas Day when I was a kid. I had no choice but to stay home because everyone else was celebrating with their families, and nothing was open (like the mall or school). I simply get depressed very quickly when I have a day or days like this. Suffice it to say, if there is ever a quarantine associated with the swine flu or any other communicable disease near me, I ain't gonna handle it well at all.

2. Even though I bitched to high heaven about taking my two graduate courses between January and August, it is a damn good thing I had them to occupy me because the truth is I am totally fucking scared outta my mind to have this third child. Especially when I have a day like today with N home sick(ish) (sorta). What am I gonna do over the winter break from school having 3 kids at home all day long? I have been able to push thoughts like this aside for a long time, but reality is starting to hit home.

3. Even though I felt I wanted 3 kids, I have to admit that being pregnant now, after having gotten a little bite of the freedom that comes with having a kid in school all. day. long., makes me feel more than a little out of sorts. I am starting all over again with the postpartum junk and the nursing and the sleeplessness. I hate to say this because no one wants to admit their negative feelings about being pregnant or having children. But it is the truth for me right now. I feel alot of guilt admitting it because it makes me "sound like" I don't want this baby. And I do want this baby. I just don't want all the work and headache and responsibility that comes with having a baby.

That is the thing about parenthood that poses another big challenge for me: how I can feel two or even three totally different emotions at the exact same time. Like those moments when I think, "I love my kids to the point I would die for them, but I can't stand being around them."

So there's my ugly truth. It's not pretty, but it's what I'm feeling.

Why I REFUSE to watch other people's children

I love my children with all my heart. I carried them for 9 months, nursed them each for at least a year, and would do virtually anything for them.

But I also feel the urge, especially now that I am nearly 26 weeks pregnant and in the middle of the summer "we have no routine so let's act like fucking apes" stage, to 1. smack them into the nearest universe or 2. get the hell away from them for as long as possible.

And it is for this reason that I refuse to babysit other people's children in my home. I have friends who do this, and it blows my mind because I love my own children more than life itself, and yet I want to kill them most of the time. What in god's name would I actually be capable of doing if I didn't love the kids that much? Hard to say, so I don't take chances.

Today was a crapper of a day. N woke up in a shitty mood...she was either sassy or trying to aggravate me or G (and she succeeded with me all day long on every front imaginable). I was LIVING for my trip to the grocery tonight, which is just sad.

G spent most of the morning crying because I was trying to transfer money and pay some bills online. Heaven forbid I give any attention to anything computer or telephone related. He screamed and was just a basket case. Of course when I try to sit him in my lap so he'll settle down, he bangs on the computer keys, making it truly impossible to get anything accomplished.

Things improved slightly when we ran some errands. Though this completely wears me out, it gets us out of the house.

This afternoon while G napped, N wanted me to play barbies with her. I wanted to lay on the couch and doze. But I attempted to be the "good mom" and play. Of course, we first had to get all the barbies dressed, so I was the lady-in-waiting, helping Pocahontas and Belle change into wedding appropriate attire. Then I got out my sewing needle and thread to repair the wedding dress and tuxedo of the loving couple. We were chatting about the planned wedding and the barbies' hair and other highly important things.

We also read some new library books after she momentarily tired of the barbie wedding preparations.

Of course, after we had done this for an hour or so, and I tried to lay down, she complained that I hadn't played with her. Apparently, getting the barbies dressed and discussing the nuptials does not count as playing. It sure the fuck does to me.

As I watch my two, I keep thinking, "What the fuck am I gonna do with another one?" And I really don't know. My standards are quite low, though. If I can keep my sanity and not murder them, I'll consider myself doing quite well.

Really bad mother of the day

Up until today I had never screamed at N. I had been gruff, a little sarcastic, a little inpatient at times, severe in a strangely calm way, but I had never let off a full-fledged harpy-like, "So help me god" scream. I guess that is pretty good for having been a mom for nearly 5 years.

I had just absolutely had it with her attitude and pokiness this morning. There were around 6 things I wanted to get done before G's nap: pick up a Santa suit from a friend's house, deposit a check, buy diapers & wipes, rent a DVD in order to use up a free rental coupon, mail letters, and return books to the library.

Once I had gotten myself and G dressed, I told her to get dressed. She informed me that there was a cartoon she wanted to watch on tv. Since I rarely watch tv, I don't have much patience with anyone who puts tv before living life, especially my preschooler. I told her the DVD rental was for her (which it was), so that helped motivate her to get her clothes on.

Getting her shoes on was another matter. I don't know what the heck she was doing, but I had G and all the junk I needed in the car and she was still putzing around. When she finally did get into the garage, she was packing 3 books, a Barbie, her bear, and her paci, all of which was jumbled in her arms nearly falling to the floor multiple times. And making her move even slower. As if it was even possible.

Then she saw that I had put about 6 of the big cardboard tubes that holiday wrapping paper winds around in the recycling bin. Rather than getting in the car, she grabs the one she had started to decorate (and never finished), thereby making all the other precariously balanced junk in her arms start to slide. And she starts whining that she wants to keep it so she can decorate it. Like I'm throwing away shards of gold.

It was at this point that my head popped off my body, and my mouth screeched, "GET IN THE CAR NOW!!!!!"

What followed was an overflow of tears from N and an overflow of guilt from me.

I apologized to her immediately and told her I loved her. I also asked her how she felt when I yelled. I told her this is how I feel when she yells at me and is disrespectful. I told her it wasn't right for mommy to yell, and that mommy had lost her patience.

But she was a jewel while we were running errands. Never once complained, and she always finds something about which to complain. I guess since I never scream, N knew I meant business and was fed the hell up.

She forgave me much sooner than I will forgive myself.

Working Mother magazine

D had all these sky miles from some airline or another that he was never gonna use (these were from back in the day when he traveled a bit for work). We had the option of getting some magazine subscriptions as a way to use the miles up. Since I considered the miles "unused money" of a sort, I was determined to spend as much of it as possible, so I ordered a variety of magazines, like Parenting, Cookie and Working Mother.

I like to keep magazines in the living room so that I can read short articles while sitting with the kids. Some folks can read novels but that requires more concentration than I can muster with the tv going, G crawling over me and N asking me question after question.

Unfortunately, I have found that reading Working Mother gives me anxiety and makes me flat-out tired.

Yesterday I read two articles: one a profile of the cover gal and the other a narrative about a mom getting adjusted to leaving her baby at daycare. The cover gal bio left me pooped. She is some kind of VP of Communications, has 2 kids and had to nurse her mom through 2 bouts of cancer. I zoned out halfway through simply because I didn't have the energy to keep reading about her life. Since I poop out on Wednesdays when N has school in the a.m. and dance class in the late afternoon, it makes sense that a woman who wakes up at 4:30 a.m. to prepare for her day would make me nearly catatonic.

The second article about adjusting to daycare made me fretful because I kept putting myself in the mother's shoes. I know if I had to work I would have no choice but to adjust to leaving my kids, but the idea of choosing to leave my kids at daycare gave me the heebies. I know N will start kindergarten in a year and will be away from me all day, but she will be 5. G is just a year old, and I have a hard time leaving him with my mother for a couple hours while I go to a preschool party. The thought of leaving a 3-month-old baby makes me want to cry.

I try not to make a judgment while reading these articles. These ladies are making choices best suited for them. But I personally couldn't make the same choice. After an aquaintance of mine who works told me that she pays $250 a week for her 2 kids to go to daycare, it occurred to me that it wouldn't pay me to work. As a teacher, I remember barely pulling in $1,400 a month, and that was with a Master's Degree. Sure, I was taking out a big chunk out for my 401(K) at the time, but still. With gas, clothes, cost of convenience foods since I wouldn't want to cook as much as I now do, and having to spend more for doctor visits for sickly kids, I just don't think it would be worth it financially. And I would have school work to do on top of the housework that now takes me all week to do. For me, all the paperwork, phone calls, emails from parents, and meetings outside of the 7-hour-day factored in HEAVILY in my decision not to work.

So, I will be passing along all of my Working Mother mags to my sister-in-law who works outside the home and is happy to be doing so. I'll go back to checking out People from the library and reading my other parenting rags.

But for the pet peeve record: I hate, hate, hate it when parents call daycare, "school." It ain't school, it is daycare. I don't know why it bugs me so, it just does. It makes me think they call it school to assuage any guilt they have about leaving their kids at daycare.

Is it time for school to start yet?

I know it is waaaay too early for me to be thinking this. But I am just having trouble adjusting to N being around all the time, and I suspect she is too.

The first couple weeks were fine, but all of a sudden we seem to be at each other's throats, or I find myself being highly irritated by her.

Maybe it is because we have been keeping quite busy with the pool and various outdoor activities that, combined with the heat, wipe her out. As in she needs a nap but doesn't take one (or waits until 5:30 pm to zonk out on the couch and has to be woken up before she is ready). As in she gets to be a bear or whiney as hell as a result of her tiredness and drives me outta my frickin gourd. (Especially since I have G who cries out of frustration since he can't crawl yet even though he is trying like the dickens and cries out pain since he is still working on 3 of his top 4 teeth).

And with G taking 2 naps a day (morning and afternoon), I have to really schedule our outings. If he wakes from his morning nap, we have to be out the door in like 20 minutes so that N can have 2 hours at the pool before G loses his mind. But 2 hours aren't enough for N, so in addition to G screeching like an owl to go home, I have N crying and complaining, "But I want to stay with my friends. I don't want to go home." (Of course, some of this is sheer tiredness from jumping into the pool and swimming for 2 hours).

Suffice it to say, the pool ain't a real relaxin' place for me.

Why I Don't Want a "Real" Job

I checked out the website Dooce.com after reading about it in the paper...the SAHM whose blog earns her about $40,000 a month from advertising. Niiiice.

She is definitely edgy and witty and irreverent. A part of me is slightly envious of her acerbic writing, her ability to create a really cool website, and mostly of the shitload of money she earns as a result of the previously mentioned things.

But I couldn't do that even if I had the skill. Because what I lack is the drive.

I guess my medication really works because even though I think I am still a Type A personality, I am now a type a and everything that being a lowercase letter connotes, at least as it concerns doing things other than mothering.

For example, I am a guinea pig in this market research project whereby I journal online and am visited periodically to give my opinions about parenting and products/services related to parenting. I earn some money from this, which is great, but it is totally a pain in the ass at times. Last week was my home visit, and I felt like a total shit working on the research stuff while my mom played with N and G in the other room.

On the rare occasions when I have gotten myself into some kind of "paid" employment since having N, however loose a commitment that might be, I am gung-ho until I have to do the work, which obviously requires me to spend time not doing housework or being mom. And then I get all mentally squirrelly...feeling guilty and just not wanting to do whatever it is I committed to do and for which I am getting paid.

I just don't think I can multi-task motherhood...maybe because for me motherhood is all the multi-tasking my brain can handle. Adding an additional "job" onto that job just makes my brain implode.

Some people think the gal who created Dooce.com is a shit for making money off writing about her hubby and kid. But she is no different from celebrities who make money off publishing pictures of their new babies in People mag. They are all a little insecure if you ask me....have some issues with being the center of attention. Whatever.

But damn. $40,000 a month?