In response to Anonymous

Someone commented on my January doldrums post asking whether I should reconsider entering the paid workforce since my blog often gives the impression that I would really like to return to work. When I get comments with questions, I sometimes email the commenter in response to their question. However, since this question was left anonymously, and since I think it would be nice to air the issue a little anyway, I thought I'd respond here.

If you know me very well, it will not surprise you when I say that I am not and do not ever aspire to be perky. The first time I told John he was "unique" (said with vocal inflection implying the quotes), he got a little offended. But in my family, and especially among my sisters and me, "weird," "odd," and "unique" are compliments. "Perky," however, is something we avoid. We have some dear friends who manage to be perky but not shallow, who avoid pride and retain sincerity despite their perkiness. It's not a balance any of us can strike, so we shy away.

I have a sort of radar that goes off when a blog post gets too sickly sweet or too braggy. I know some of my posts are that way, but I try not to overdo it. As a result, the section of my life presented to the world here is more venting, less basking in the glory of how fun it is to be me; it's an incomplete picture of how I feel about my life as a whole.

The moments that warm a mother's heart, and they happen every day, often do not find their way onto this blog. The best ones are crafted into little notes I send my kids for them to read later. My line between what is and is not too personal to share with the WWW is drastically different from that of many people I know. I'm much more likely to put stories out there about the bad and ugly than about the good. So, this blog would likely leave readers with the impression that I'm a little dissatisfied with my life whether I were working or not.

In fact, at this point in my life, I am more confident and happy in my decision to be home with my children than I have ever been. That's not to say I wouldn't like to return to work someday. I fully plan on doing so. If my profession were one where I could work a few hours a week, spend minimal time away from my children (no more than 2 short to normal-length days), genuinely enjoy what I did, and still make some money after paying for my taxes and childcare, I would strongly consider it. I have yet to find anything that comes close to meeting those requirements.

Even if a plush opportunity existed, I would have to think long and hard about taking it. You won't hear me talk much about my personal feelings on the issue of parents staying home here or anywhere else, but I do have strong feelings on the topic as it relates to those in my particular situation. (If the previous sentence in any way offends you, just assume you're not in my particular situation; that was about as politically sensitive as I could make it.) On a more practical level, I think any marriage can handle 1.5, maybe even 2 jobs well. John's commitments often amount to what seems more like 2.5 jobs. It's a lot, and I think trying to add onto that would significantly decrease the happiness level in our home.

Just because I choose to stay home, however, doesn't mean it's always easy. If I worked, that wouldn't always be easy either. There are frustrations and challenges no matter which path you choose, and with regards to the last post, specifically, I don't think ANYONE likes to spend hours on the phone with customer service representatives, pay hundreds of dollars to replace something that was working fine 8 hours ago, or take small children to department stores. My husband did some of these same things over the break, and he was about ready to pull his hair out, too. Working outside the home wouldn't make any of those tasks less annoying, and they would still all need to be done.

Everyone has to find a way to get through the tough days and the rough patches. For me, what I personally most want when stuff happens is just to feel like I'm not alone. So, I call a friend, or I call my mom, or I write a story about how annoyed I was that someone cursed at me for taking my kid on the bus, and I send that story out on the internet. Maybe someone will read it and tell me they've been there. Or maybe someone will read it who hasn't been there, and then, when it happens to them, they won't feel so alone. And maybe, just maybe, that can make it a little easier for all of us.