The Fish Pond

I'm Big and Old

So, I'm as big as a house.  Really.  For some reason I am carrying this child such that the pants that I walked into the hospital to deliver the other 3 kids in DONT FIT.  Can't get much in them beyond my knee.  The weird thing is that I don't weigh any more than I did at this time in the previous pregnancies.  I've had to order some more maternity clothes to get me through, and this is a BIG DEAL because I'm only 4 foot 10, and even the short length pants are too long.  Guess I'll have some good stuff to sell to short people on Ebay after this baby comes.

Apparently, also, I am old.  I guess I just don't fit into Old Navy's target demographic any more, because all the pants I could find there are under the belly, which was fine until I hit the seven month mark, and ever since then my belly is so big it PUSHES THE PANTS DOWN.  I look like a redneck plumber with a crack problem, constantly hitching them back up again.  It's driving me crazy.  I need the granny pants that come up under my boobs, apparently, and Old Navy just doesn't have them.  This is a blow to my ego.

A couple of other things are making me feel old.  Yesterday as I was driving past one of the high schools I pass to pick up Little Man from school, they apparently got out early, or broke for lunch or something, and all the kids driving out of the parking lot looked like they were 12.  Seriously young.  Now, I know they were at least 16 or they wouldn't have been driving, but man, were they little kids.  I wouldn't have turned MY car over to them.

The other thing is that my cousin is about ready to have a baby.  I am the oldest of the cousins on my mother's side of the family, and if you don't count my sister I am at least 9 years older than the rest.  I babysat most of those kids.  My dear cousin C is about to have a baby girl any day now - she is ten years younger than me.  I remember holding her and changing her diapers.  I keep thinking she's too young to have a baby, but then I remember that she is the age now when I wanted to have my kids, so she isn't really that young at all.  The baby might have a problem with her kidneys, so we are praying everything goes well for her.

I've hit that stage in pregnancy where just moving is a chore, where my hips lock up while I sleep so I gimp like my 82 year old grandfather who's had a broken hip and has a form of bone cancer every time I get up to go to the bathroom, which is at least 4 times a night.  It is hard to get comfortable.  Getting up and down off the floor is a sight to behold (or not, really), so I try not to do it, but sometimes things have to get picked up or a particularly nasty diaper needs to be changed (we do most of them standing up).  I have absolutely no energy, and need a nap every afternoon, though I rarely get one. 

I'm too old for this.  I'm too old for my pants.  I'm too old to be a great-cousin, or second-cousin, or whatever the hell you call that generational link.

Mostly, I'm much too young to feel this damn old.

Purseonally...

I got a new purse today.  It is black, it is nylon, it has steel (chrome?) rivets and buckley thingys on it, it is from Kohl's, and it was on sale.  I went out in the rain today with my wallet, keys, and cell phone crammed into the pocket of my maternity shorts specifically to buy it (now isn't THAT a pretty picture?).

Yesterday, my purse was hanging on the back of one of my kitchen chairs, and BigDaddyFish went to move the chair and decided that the weight of my purse made this impossible.  He had a mild hissy fit during which he threw the purse and my sweater on the counter, thereby slightly ripping the sweater (I was able to sew it up well enough later).  After he calmed down, he asked if he could see what was in the purse that weighed "so damn much" and I said sure, go for it.

He emptied the purse onto the kitchen table and found:

• 17 writing implements and a small notebook
• a toothbrush, small tube of toothpaste, and two packages of dental floss
• approx. one pound of loose change, mostly pennies
• 20 assorted hair scrunchies, clips, and rubber bands
• two nail clippers
• one watch I can't wear on my wrist because the nylon/velcro watchband irritates my skin
• a small blush compact last used for my daughter's ballet recital a year and a half ago
• my keys, cell phone, wallet, and heart medicine I always carry
• a first aid kit with bandaids and antiseptic pads
• 2 purse packs of tissues
• an extremely worn, individually wrapped sanitary napkin from my "emergency" pocket
• five assorted receipts
• a pamphlet about the 5 luminous mysteries for saying the Rosary
• a pair of earrings
• assorted trash
• mold, in the crease between the zipper and the side of the purse

He wanted to bleach the mold out.  It was a black purse.  I explained the effect of bleach on black fabric, and he said, "yeah, but it'll only be in the crease."  As if you can spray bleach in just the crease of a nylon purse.  Huh. 

Since it had only been about 5 years since I last bought a purse (maybe longer, I can't quite remember), I opted to just toss it.  BDF looks at me and asks if I have another purse.  I stared at him.

To some of you this wouldn't have been a strange question.  My MIL, for instance, has about 40 purses, I think, and always matches them to her mood/season/shoes.  She is forever unable to find something she wants at my house and commenting that she probably left it in another purse.  This drives me a little batshit.  I have other friends who have a lot of shoes, and a number of purses to match those shoes.

I am not one of those girls.  Never have been.  I have two purses: one for everyday use, and a small clutch purse for special occasions.  I have maybe 10 pairs of shoes, if you count the pair of sneakers I just had to buy because none of my shoes currently fit except sandals, which will be a bit nippy in the not too distant future.  It amazes me that in 15 years of being together, and almost 13 years of marriage, BDF hasn't figured out that I'm not a shoey, pursey kinda girl.

So we weeded out all the crap from my purse, throwing out at least half of it, and relocating a bunch of the rest.  And he sent me out with a ridiculous budget to buy a new purse.

I spent half his budget amount.  And I must say, even though I'm not a shoey, pursey kinda girl, I like my new purse a lot, and it feels good to have a new, clean, lightweight one.

Update on the anemia: I'm starting to get some energy back, though that stuff does a number on my stomach.  I feel sick for about 4 hours after taking it.  But I will have done 5 loads of laundry today by the end of the day, and a week ago it was torture to do one.  So I guess it's doing something.

Hodgepodge

Craving of the Day:  I wasn't aware of it at the time, but apparently it was canned pineapple - I just polished off a 20oz. can all by myself.  Good thing is was packed in juice, not syrup.

Searches Bringing People Here:  I get a handful of hits each week (which is a lot for me since I think I have like, 5 regular readers or something) for various searches like "bleaching agents for fish ponds" "swimming in fish ponds" "pregnancy and swimming in ponds" and stuff like that, which I think is pretty funny because it is apparent in the little one-liner that the search engine provides that I won't have any information concerning those things, but if I get readers from it, so be it.  I had one search, though, that was "mommy+blogger fish pond" so it was obvious to me that someone was looking for me in particular.  I told BigDaddyFish about it, and he blushed sheepishly and said "Yeah, uh, it was me."  Cracked me up.  I asked him why he didn't bookmark it, he said "Well I did NOW."  Bout peed my pants I laughed so hard.

First Day of School:  Trout is at her first day of first grade right now, as I type.  I got a little misty eyed as I put her on the bus this morning, but mostly because she just jumped right on the bus as it arrived, no kiss or hug or wave to me at all.  Mostly I'm just relieved that I only have to cope with 2 at home during the day for a while, and that Trout will be having fun and learning while I get a small break.  Little Man will start preschool 3 days a week in a couple of weeks.  I'm looking forward to MWFs.

ZZZZZZ:  For the past month and a half or so I've been profoundly tired.  Like the end of pregnancy, first month with a newborn, haven't slept in weeks tired, despite sleeping a good number of hours a night.  It's been a chore to move much, the stairs in our house have been my own personal torture.  It feels like I need a crane to lift each leg to go up the stairs.  I haven't gained an unreasonable amount of weight, I'm eating okay, resting a lot, so I figured for sure that last week when I took my second glucose test (I was borderline gestational diabetic with Little Man so they test me early and later if I pass the first test) I would fail spectacularly and would ask to be put on the diet instead made to take the 3 hour torture glucose test.  Imagine my shock when the nurse called Friday to say "Your sugar's fine."  Fine?  So WTF...

"But.....I see that you are a bit anemic..." hmmmmmmm

"But I already take OTC iron supplements, I have since I was anemic on the first test at 20 weeks."

After a brief discussion about what I had been taking and my previous pregnancies, she decided to put me on a prescription iron supplement that will supposedly be easier on my system and will be better absorbed by my body.  Of course, Target had to order the damn stuff, so I can't even get to it til this afternoon.  Hope it does the trick 'cause I barely have enough energy to get through each day doing only one chore a day, and that's not cuttin' it.  I was anemic before, but OTC iron was always enough to handle what my kids sucked out of me - guess this one's gonna be strong.  BDF calls that foggy brain thing that we pregnant women get "Baby Sucking Brain Drain" - a friend called this "baby sucking iron drain."  Now I get to take the same iron supplement my grandfather, who's on chemo, gets to take.  Fun!

My Favorite Teacher:  Carmen tasked us readers to blog about our favorite teacher today, and this post by Julia had me reflecting on my school career, as well.  So here goes:

School for me, sucked.  Most of it.  I was way ahead of my peers in school, and apparently tested that way early enough that the school system wanted me to skip fourth grade.  My parents said no due to socialization issues, mostly because I was (am) small and they didn't want me to be at a disadvantage socially.  What they didn't know was that the people I socialized with were the older kids anyway, because I didn't fit in with kids my own age, who either I thought were idiots or they felt threatened by me for some reason, or just flat out couldn't relate to me because I was different.  Mom always blamed my size (I top out now at a whopping 4 feet 10 inches when stretched to my full height), but the real reason was just that I was different.  It didn't help that we moved halfway through second grade to an area that was, and I think still is, exceptionally pretentious and cliquish, and that was already a strike against me, since I was the "new kid."  Here, in the same school system I went to but vastly different neighborhood, new kids come and go all the time, and fit in apparently seamlessly.  But back then, in that place, life was very different and hard.  I was picked on.  I was ignored.  I was ostracized.  It sucked.

Until high school.  I was still ostracized and didn't fit in with the popular kids, but there were others like me.  Band kids (yes, I was a band geek, and one time, at band camp.....), smart kids.  Not just mostly bright, like me, but scary smart, like Andy Plotkin who missed one question on the SATs in EIGHTH GRADE and argued the question successfully in his favor, who ended up spending half his senior year taking college classes (and a bunch of time in previous years, too).  I finally found where I belonged (and I didn't have to take gym class, which was where most of the picking on me happened).

Which brings me to Mr. King, my sophomore English teacher.  We had a junior high school/HS structure, so technically freshman year was in the junior high, so I didn't meet him until that year.  I had always been in "normal" level English classes, mostly because I was bored to tears and wouldn't do ANY homework and half the time was smarter than the teachers, but didn't do the tasks they asked me to do because I thought they were dumb (they were).  In eighth grade I had Mrs. Fernandez who made the class read a short story one day called "Strawberry Ice Cream Sunday" or somesuch.  I had always been a voracious reader with a huge vocabulary, and I could read very fast.  I finished the story and put my head down, and Mrs. F yelled at me to read the story, already.  I told her I did.  She said there was no way I could have finished it.  I said I did.  She asked me a bunch of questions about the story, all of which I answered correctly, but she still couldn't admit she was wrong.  Her response was "Well, you must have read that story before."  I hadn't, but she couldn't admit she was wrong and that she may just have a student who was better than she was.  This was what I was used to in school.

By the time I reached sophomore English and Mr. King, my mom had died and my dad had fallen apart, so I was mostly left up to my own devices.  I read what I wanted to at home well into the wee hours of the morning, and nobody made me go to bed.  I was never a morning person anyway, so I did a lot of sleeping during class at school.  Two weeks into my sophomore year, Mr. King could tell (he told me later) that I didn't belong in that class.  He would make it a point to engage me in class, to participate in discussions and not sleep.  He would task me with helping others complete assignments.  I still never did any homework, I would go home and read the book the first night, the whole thing, and when I had to write papers I would write them in one quick draft in band class the same day I turned them in.  I got a B in the class which was what I always got, and no one at home paid attention unless I wasn't passing, so I was happy.

When junior year started, I picked up my schedule, and found I was enrolled in GT, or honors, level English.  I went to my guidance counselor after the first day, convinced a mistake had been made.  She told me no, honors was what Mr. King put me in.  I went to him and asked him why the hell he did that, and that's when he told me how early he knew I didn't belong in the previous class and what he thought I was capable of.  I was shocked.  I stuck with honors English.  I still got a B, because a fair part of the class was designed to prepare us for the SAT, which I wasn't even sure I was going to take, since I knew my family couldn't afford college, and involved rote memorization of vocabulary.  100 words a week, testing on 50 of them, but we never knew which ones.  I hated it.  If I learned a word through my reading, so be it, but I'll be damned if I'll memorize a bunch of words that aren't used anywhere else just for some stupid test.  (Mugwump, anyone?  How often do you see that, really?) Yeah.  I have to give Kevin Keegan credit, though, because I was challenged, didn't sleep as much, and occasionally had to write my papers the night before.  And he put me in AP English the following year.

With Mr. King.  And class was fun!  We read Shakespeare - comedy, not tragedy, and analyzed poetry, and had great discussions on what we read.  I knew I was where I belonged.  I loved it.  I think I got an A, too.  Mr. King wrote my recommendations for scholarships, enabling me to go to college.  Local, state schools, but still, I got to go.  And because of him, I wanted to teach HS English.  That's what I got my degree to do, too, earning a teaching certification in 4 years when then it averaged 5.  Unfortunately, I ended up not doing that, because there were hiring freezes when I graduated and I ended up taking my English degree in a different direction, but still.  I can still go back and get my certification again.  I can teach later if that's what I choose to do for my life.  If I do, I hope I end up being like Mr. King, and not like Mrs. Fernandez.  I want to embrace the differences my students have, not feel the need to put them in a narrowly defined box.  I want to challenge them.  I want to help them find their places in the world.

I want them to enjoy school, and learning. 

I hope Trout (and the rest of my kids) encounter at least one teacher like him. 

(BTW, anyone know what happened to Andy Plotkin?  Probably worked at Jet Propulsion Laboratory or researching mathematical theory at Princeton or something.)

On the Cusp

36 years ago, in a small naval hospital, a woman labored heavily with her first child.  She had been in labor for more than 24 hours, so the doctor told the woman's husband to go home and rest and they'd call him when it was time.  He left, and when he arrived at home the phone was ringing.  The doctor demanded the man return to the hospital because it was time.  By the time the man arrived back at the hospital, his baby daughter had been born.

Me. 

It has been a glorious weekend so far.  Yesterday, BigDaddyFish came home from work early, so we could go to the pool.  We have a wonderful neighborhood indoor pool, with waterslides and fountains and other interesting features, all layed out like a lagoon, complete with water cannons "firing" water at you.  BDF HATES to go to the pool, so this was a hugely significant thing.  We all, all three kids and BigDaddyFish, had a BLAST, the kids mostly because Daddy was there, BDF because the place is fun.  Then we spent time riding around listening to the fire scanner to see what our friends and relatives in the volunteer fire department were up to.  We got to see the local engine and truck roll out of the station to reset a fire alarm (that happens a lot here - resetting the alarms, I mean.  It isn't often we get to see the apparatus roll out because they tend to already be out, it's fairly busy).  A beautiful breeze was blowing, the temperature was perfect; it felt just like being at the beach, without all the sand.  Magical.

Today, we slept in, ate the wonderful birthday cake my friend N. baked for me for breakfast (she also brought me a lovely little rose bush that I can plant once we are done enjoying it in the house - she's quite a blessing to us), and ran a few errands, then we went to look for houses in a neighborhood a good 40 miles from here.  We found two adorable houses well within our price range to consider.  One of them for some reason had not turned up on our internet search, so after we checked out another house on the same street, we pulled up in front of this one to just kind of check it out from the outside.  While we were sitting there the agent came up and asked if we were there for the open house.  We explained that no, we were just driving by and decided to check it out.  She invited us in to look, so Little Man and I went in to walk through.  It is an old house, built around 1910, and has been in the process of renovation for years.  Parts of it are completely renovated, like the kitchen (YAY), and other parts still need work.  One of the bedrooms slopes rather dramatically, so I'd want to get a structural engineer to take a look to make sure it isn't compromised, but simply has character.  It has a separate house, really the garage that they converted to storage, with an apartment above it, and it has a shed and gazebo, a couple of ponds, and enough room for a garden, besides.  Really a darling house.  The agent seemed to take a liking to me, apparently because of the pregnancy, as she asked a lot of questions about that.  Since she was on her way out, and apparently wasn't doing another open house on Sunday, she gave my son the chocolate bars she had purchased for the open house for him to share with his sisters, and then she gave me the TWO DOZEN PINK LONG-STEMMED ROSES she had from the open house, too, since they were just "going to go bad in a day and a half."  Her words.  I had to laugh, since it was my birthday.  They are a beautiful salmon color and just smell amazing.  In the small town where the house was located, we found the cutest little book shop, and I stayed with Sunny in the car while BigDaddyFish took the big kids in the store.  They bought me three books that I didn't have and wanted to read, and adorable toys for the kids.  Then we drove around through the countryside in Virginia, and we saw a rainbow.  I think it was the first time the kids have seen a real, live rainbow.

When we got home, we watched the Empire Strikes Back.  A great, fun day with the people I love the most in this world.

Who could ask for a better birthday present?

Note:  This post was supposed to go up on July 22.  I was interrupted when trying to write it out, and then a minor emergency happened after 12:15 am.  Life goes on.  But at least I had a great birthday.

A Long Post in Defense of Stay at Home Parents

This is super long.  Not for the faint at heart.  Read at your own peril.

Among the many other blogs that I read as often as I can, I read OnBalance, Leslie Morgan Steiner's blog about work/life balance issues at washingtonpost.com. I do this for a variety of reasons. One is that at one time I was a WOHM, and probably will be again some day, so the issues discussed there continue to affect me. I also have the benefit of perspective from both sides of the fence, as a working mom and as a SAHM. Third, I think if anyone, no matter who they are, is going to achieve true work/life balance without having lottery winnings, trust funds, or other independent means, it behooves all of us, moms, dads, working, at home, whatever, to work together to identify and push for initiatives that benefit all of us, because that is how we as a society will evolve.

I am uncertain whether I will be able to go back to that blog or not, which is unfortunate because I really think it has the potential to be a useful tool to further society's understanding of the issue on both sides of the fence; it is very much in the public eye, and The Washington Post can use its stature of a world-leading publication to help us help ourselves. However, the continued vitriol spewed towards SAHParents and the constant devaluation of our opinions just because we are not at this moment working outside the home is starting to get to me. Yesterday's comments were some of the worst I have ever seen on there, and they get pretty bad at times.

According to some of the posters on that blog, I am a drain on society, financially irresponsible, and a waste of humanity. I spend all my time driving my luxury SUV around, going to Starbucks, going to the gym, getting my hair/nails done, shopping, and going to the country club and having lunch with my girlfriends while my nanny takes care of the kids. If I'm not doing that, then I must be sitting at home watching soaps and eating bon bons, because really, the kids are in school all day and I have nothing else to do. If I do happen to have actual work to do, I brought it on myself and haven't I ever heard of birth control? I have wasted my education by dropping out of society, and I am an insult to feminists and those who are trying to further the cause everywhere.

Now, I am going to take a few minutes and defend myself, and other SAHPs out there, and our value. Not because I am insecure about my own decision, or jealous of the “other side,” but because it is my hope to gain allies among working parents, and that by working together and appreciating what we both have to offer, we can both work in well-informed ways to make changes that benefit all of us.

Issue #1: I am a drain on society because I am a SAHP. Really, how? I am not on welfare. The only one supporting me is my husband. I am not entitled to any social services that those who work outside the home aren't entitled to also, and in fact, I am entitled to fewer. I have more time available to contribute to society on a volunteer basis, which not only has the immediate benefit of whatever service I'm providing, it also teaches my children, future contributors to society, that volunteerism is an important part of being a good citizen.

Issue #2: I am financially irresponsible. This is interesting. This generally comes up in terms of doing myself and my children a disservice because I am not contributing to my retirement, and what if my husband dies/leaves? I will address this in a couple of ways. First of all, I worked for 15 years total before I quit working, before my children were born and as a working parent after, both before and after I was married. I have built myself a retirement account independent of my spouse's. While I am out raising my children, my retirement account is still invested, still doing its good for the economy, and growing bigger to my benefit. As far as my husband dying or leaving, life insurance is for the first part. We will be more than fine. We also have life insurance on me, to cover the additional expenses that would be incurred to do the work that I do now. These choices do not impress me as irresponsible.

As far as my husband leaving, well, I wouldn't have married him if I thought that was likely, but even allowing that some day he could lose his mind and forget how good he has it here, I have skills. I have an education. I have work experience in a professional environment. If he leaves, I have no doubt that he would honor his parental responsibility – he loves his kids too much not to, and I have faith in my abilities to return to work pretty quickly. I doubt my kids' standard of living would suffer too much. A much greater concern would be the emotional issues of the divorce, but I am only addressing the financial issues here.

Another way I am “financially irresponsible” is because I am not contributing to the economy now. I fail to see how this applies. Before I quit work, we had family income and family expenditures. I quit work, but we still have family income and family expenditures. My decision to quit was largely due to financial issues. The cost of daycare for 3 children, plus the other work-related expenses like commuting, eating out, etc., wasn't justified by the income I made. My husband would happily be the SAHP, but he is capable of earning more than double what I can because I have a liberal arts degree and he has gone into computer science. Choosing to have him stay home instead would have been financially irresponsible. So I do it. Our family unit still contributes to the economy, and really our economic footprint isn't that different from when I was working. If anything, we are paying off debt rather than incurring it, because we have become more intelligent in our spending.

Issue #3: I am a waste of humanity. Do I really have to dignify this with discussion? Moving on.

Issue #4: Country Club Moms. Well, I'm sure women like this exist somewhere, but frankly, I don't know any of them personally. I live in one of the most expensive places in the country to live, and I still don't even see people like this. I think this may be one of those things that comes about as a rich/poor issue. Fact is, most of us SAHP have had to sacrifice financially in order for one parent to be home. We don't get our hair/nails done. We don't have full-time nannies. We don't have gardeners/housekeepers/personal chefs. If we have gym memberships they are places that have child care so we don't have to sacrifice our health to care for our families. We go to Starbucks far less than our working counterparts, if at all (I personally never go there). We don't eat out much, and when we do it is valued by the family as the treat it is. Oh yeah, we don't drive luxury SUVs. I drive an 8-year old used minivan, and my DH drives a manual transmission Subaru as his commuting car. Most SAHPs I know drive either minivans or ordinary SUVs, not luxury ones, and in many cases they were bought used because we can't afford new cars. We have trouble finding time and occasion to get together with our girlfriends at all, because logistically is it difficult to meld schedules, and we can't often afford the additional expense of a babysitter for that time. Frankly, one of the issues that I have struggled with as a SAHM is the sense of isolation and the huge amount of work it takes to be able to maintain relationships with the girlfriends. But I digress.

Issue #5: I sit around all day watching soaps and eating bon bons, and I have all this time because my kids are in school all day. Huh. I rarely, if ever, watch much tv at all, much less a soap. Rarely at night do I watch something for grownups, and if the tv is on during the day at all it is to a kid's show. Don't think I've seen a soap since my roommate used to watch them in college. I wouldn't know a bon bon if I stepped on it. My oldest is 6 ½ – she just finished kindergarten. As readers of this blog know, that leaves 2 more kids home to play with shit and make amazing messes. None of them nap. In the time it takes to pee they can get majorly into destroying part of the house. Trying to keep them safe and keep the house intact while simultaneously trying to do the dishes, laundry, scrub toilets, etc., and stay on top of the clutter of children is an exhausting, full time job unto itself. Even day care providers get time to handle these things when the children aren't there. It is physically and emotionally draining. It takes 5 times longer to get minor errands done like going to the store, post office, dry cleaners, etc. because I have to shlep 2-3 kids in car seats along and keep them from getting killed or damaging other people/property. When I was working this was a 5 minute trip on the way to or from work or on my lunch hour. When I was working I derived intellectual and social stimulation and satisfaction that is missing in my life now – I was much more patient with my kids then. Now I frequently have to put myself in timeout to keep from maiming anyone.

Issue #6: Haven't I heard of birth control? Yep. Good stuff. When you can take it. When it works. But sometimes, God or fate or who/whatever you believe steps in and says “I know you think YOU'RE in control, but you're not. I am. Guess what? You're having another kid right now.” Obviously, the only way to prevent kids is to be celibate, but I don't know too many married people, at least happily married people, who don't get busy from time to time. So you cope with the hand you are dealt. Surgery is up next for us. Those of you who complain about population impact of me having almost 4 kids, the US is headed towards negative population growth, and I know more than enough childless people, either by choice or circumstance, to more that handle my extra two in terms of replacement value population impact. Fact is, if we are to continue to have a society, there have to be people, and good ones at that. Me choosing to have kids fosters that. I respect your choice to have fewer/no kids for whatever reason; please respect my choice to have 4 kids.

Issue #7: I have wasted my education by dropping out of society. Is it better to have lesser educated people raising our children? Ideally, all people caring for children will have top notch educations; that increases our chances of raising top notch citizens. How is choosing to stay home to raise kids for a few years waste the education? Don't I still think? Isn't my education a benefit both to my family and the greater community? Do I stop being an educated, thinking, voting individual because I stay home? Nope. Just like you don't necessarily use your education for every function you have at work, either. It is a benefit to society for all of its citizens to be educated.

Issue #8: I am an insult to feminists who are working to further the cause. Actually, this issue is one of the biggest. When I was a little girl, daughter of a SAHP, I was taught I could be anything I wanted to be. I could have a career, and a family, and could do anything I wanted if I was willing to work hard. I was taught that my mom's education was no less valid because she felt strongly that she needed to be at home for her children. That she was no less a contributor for making a good home than any working mom was. So now, as an educated, adult woman, I am criticized and derided because I have exercised that choice that she, and others, worked hard for. Why? Did I not work just as hard as my compatriots before I stayed home? Did I deride others who made this choice before me? Am I not capable of lobbying government to make changes to benefit all of us? In fact, if I keep working, I can maybe effect changes at one company. The one I work for. Maybe. If I join with other voices of those I work with, we may be able to influence the corporate culture at one workplace. But now that I am at home for a while, don't I have more time, and the opportunity, to join forces with many parents, working and at-home, to lobby for changes that affect us all? Have I forgotten what needs are there for working parents just because I happen to be at home right now? No. Few women rise to the level of CEO and can make wide sweeping changes. Better for me and many of those who will never rise above the level of worker bee to join together to push for things on a level that we can. This does not, in any way, subvert the cause of feminism, which to me is about equality. I believe both parents should be able to make these choices, to balance work and life, and it is important to work towards that goal both at upper and lower levels of society.

Just because some parents are SAHPs right now doesn't mean they never worked outside the home. It most likely means that SOMEONE in their family is working outside the home, and any SAHP is affected by, and has input in, to work/life balance discussions. Just because someone isn't working outside the home right now doesn't mean they never did and never will be again in the future. It certainly doesn't mean that they've lost their intellect and ability to offer points of view that will benefit someone who is working outside the home today. Most of us will move from working, to staying at home, to working, part time or full time, at various different times in our lives to meet what works best for our families. We would do well to never forget where we have been, or where we are going.

The comments on the OnBalance blog express precisely the kind of divisiveness and dismissal of the other side that frequently prevents us as a group of parents from working effectively to make changes in society that will benefit all of us. So instead of sniping at each other, let's recognize the inherent value that all sides bring to the discussion, and work for a better quality of life for us all.

Donning fire-proof suit now – flame away.

On Reluctance

Okay, I want to preface this by saying I'm not trying to complain, merely explain.  I want to give a real picture of what life is sometimes like as a stay at home mom, or SAHM.  I recognize that not every SAHM feels this way, and I also recognize that a great number of mothers, maybe most, don't have the choice to stay at home or not.  I'm not here to debate any of that - only to relate my experience and thoughts.  I also want to make clear that I am in no way judging anyone else's choices - being a mother is hard, no matter what your career/life balance is.  What works for you isn't what necessarily works for me, and vice versa, and I feel strongly that we all need to support each other, no matter what our choices are.

I always spent my life believing I would be a SAHM, just like my mother before me.  This is in spite of the fact that until my first was born, I was the primary breadwinner in the family.  I worked as a technical writer/emergency planning and management consultant at a large "Beltway Bandit" scientific company for six years before my first child was born.  It was a very fulfilling job, and I was very, very good at it.  I was willing to sacrifice for the company, putting in the long hours typical of washington, DC consultants.  I had a few health problems and some depression a couple of years before my daughter was born, and my work was an integral part, if not the most important part, of my coping and support.  I was happy.

When I unexpectedly became pregnant (I was told I would need medical intervention for that), my DH was unemployed due to a company relocation that granted him a generous severance package, so he was taking his sweet time finding another job.  He got one within a month of finding out, but I was still earning more than he was, though not by much.  It was clear pretty early that I was going to have to work after our baby was born.  So, after much struggle finding a child care arrangement that worked for us, I went back to work part time, and it seemed like the right balance.  Enough time that I wasn't going stir crazy at home, enough time that I didn't feel like someone else was raising my child for me.  Oddly enough, it became clear to me during my maternity leave that I was really missing my job.  I recognize now that I was probably a touch depressed, but we muddled through, in part I think because I did go back.  I worked part time until I was 7 months pregnant with TheBoy, when I was put on bedrest, a unique torture and misery all its own.

I managed to make it through bedrest, mostly with the help of friends who came by to visit, mostly from work.  They would bring lunch and sit with me; my hairdresser even came once and cut my hair for me.  I didn't feel isolated.  Then TheBoy was born.  He was born 9-12-01, and when he was born, at 39 weeks, his lungs weren't ready and he was very sick.  We didn't know if he was going to live or die for at least a week, and he was in the NICU for 15 days.  Due to the turmoil around our country at the time, I couldn't escape it; but even though I was overwhelmingly sad, so was everyone else, even if our reasons differed slightly, so again, I had support to get through it.  (Incidently, TheBoy is healthy as an ox now, even though he was the sickest, biggest baby in the NICU at the time.  I'll post his birth story sometime later.  I also mourned more for our country's tragedy on 9/11/02, since by that time I had a healthy boy and could emotionally handle grieving the attacks.)  I again went back to work part time.

Then, we had Sunny.  She was unexpected, so unexpected that when I took the positive test, I cried to DH on the phone "I'm pregnant, what are we going to do????" and he simply answered, "Uh, hon, you're gonna have another baby."  He took it in stride; I panicked.  What was I going to do?  Well, I did what I did before - went back to work part time.  This time was different, though.  In order to make it work financially, I couldn't afford to put all 3 kids in paid daycare all the time, so my father in law came twice a week to watch them.  He's a great grandfather, but not the greatest babysitter in the world, especially with babies.  Certainly with a baby that refused to take a bottle.  I would have to run home and nurse her.  She never did take a bottle, and nursed nearly two years.  Eventually the strain of trying to work part time got to me, and I knew I had to do something, but didn't know what.

I knew, from my maternity leave with RT, what being at home would be like.  First, the housework.  I HATE housework.  I don't care who you are, or how happy you are with the result, but housework, the endless laundry, the cleaning of the constant messes, is absolute drudgery.  I've been doing laundry since my mom died when I was 15; I've had enough, but if DH does it, he does it all mixed together in hot water, and I really like my clothes in different colors and in the same size they were when they went in, so I have to do it.  Plus, with 3 kids under the age of 5 (at that time), they aren't much help, and are pretty much a mess machine all on their own.  The big two would wait until I was nursing and then wreak havoc on the house - they did this when I was home, so I knew it would just get worse.

Second, was the sense of identity that my job gave me.  It meant I was someone more than just my kids' mommy.  That I was still FishyGirl.  I liked the job, and while I didn't like the politics that usually went with it, being part time meant I could usually keep my head down and avoid the worst of the trouble.  I liked the sense of accomplishment that making my clients happy gave me, when I knew I'd done a great job on a project.  I never got that sense of satisfaction from having a clean house or a perfectly folded pile of laundry.

Most importantly, was the social aspect of being at work, and the overwhelming isolation that SAHM's in Suburbia can experience.  My townhouse development is a ghost town during the day, because everone worked.  That left me to make friends with nanny's who can't speak english (I"m not knocking that, it is just hard to make friends if you have trouble talking about the weather), and a couple of fundamentalist Christian mothers who homeschooled their kids and really didn't want to have anything to do with anyone who wasn't just like them.  Most of my friends were friends from work.  I was reasonably certain that our friendship would suffer when I was no longer "easily accessible."  It had already broken down since I'd had the kids, and I knew it would get worse.

Finally, there was also the perception of "What do you do all day?" that my DH has never really understood.  He complains the kids behave better for him than they do for me, so I must be doing something wrong, and doing nothing all day.  I've tried to explain that if he stayed home all day they would behave the same for him, but he doesn't get it.  His salary has gone up dramatically, so when Sunny was about a year old, we had the option of me staying home.  He told me to do whatever I wanted to do, but it was clear he thought I needed to be at home.

Really, I thought so too.  I just didn't know how to do it without losing my mind.

We talked it out, and we figured I could find a way to make it work.  So, I quit my job.  And took on the hardest one of my life.

And here I am.  Largely isolated.  My friends, as I suspected, have slowly drifted away.  They never call me, and only call me back once I've left several messages for them.  The housework sucks.  The house looks like a bomb hit it all the time, because I can't keep up.  I haven't been able to make friends (where are all the normal people, anyway?) beyond acquaintances.  My oldest is the only one in local school; TheBoy goes to preschool a suburb away, so bonding with other moms has been a challenge - you have to drive so far away to do anything.  I'm in the minority with the number of kids I have, most have only 1 or 2, and with #4 coming, well, it's just hard to link up with people with similar outlooks.

Don't get me wrong, there are times I am so grateful I get to be here with them.  I am blessed to have been able to nurse them for so long, and that was supported by being at home.  They are funny, and loving, and so close to one another, and I love being here to watch their relationship with one another blossom.  I am very close to them, and I think it is important to make sure the foundation of our relationships are strong now, before the tough teenage times hit.  But the constant noise, and fighting, and messes, and the difficulty in going anywhere (why the hell does it take an hour to get out the door to go to the post office, anyway?), and the laundry....well, I could do without it.  And I don't get much me time.  And I'm lonely.

And I know it is only going to get worse.

So this blog, this is my lifeline.  This, and all the mommy blogs I read.  I will be adding to my list soon; there are amazing women out there, with lives not unlike mine, who are struggling just like me, and yet write so much more eloquently than I can, who can capture the poignancy of these days, while they are little, so much better than I can.  I know it will get better; this one will be my last child (unless the OB botches the fixing), and they will grow up, and I will go back to work.  One day I will look back and treasure this time with them, more than I already do, because it will be too soon over.  But for now, enmeshed in it, I feel like I'm just treading water.

So I just keep swimming.

Good Enough

This post by dooce struck such a huge chord with me that I had to think about it for a while before I could post about it, but I feel compelled to post.

I am not good enough.

I have to give a little background about this.  I am the oldest of two daughters, daughters of a manic-depressive alcoholic and what I now recognize to be a depressed mother.  My mother died when I was 15, suddenly, from a heart attack.  For most of my life, my parents were too caught up in themselves to really give me what I needed from them - they really just didn't know how.  I always did well in school, but I am inherently lazy and school just came easy to me.  My sister, on the other hand, was slow, and needed extra help.  Trying to help her, my parents utilized the special education resources available in our affluent DC suburb.  But according to my parents, help consisted of sending her to the resource room, when really she needed more specialized attention in the classroom.  Since my mother died, and my father's memory is clouded by his emotions, I don't really know the real story, but I do know that

1.  My parents were unable to extract my sister from "the system" once she was in it, even when they decided she didn't need it or that it wasn't helping her.

2.  The school was closed when I finished fourth grade, the main administrators fired, and a big investigation hushed up regarding government fraud pertaining to Federal special education funding.

3.  My mother became my sister's constant companion and chief teacher when my sister wasn't in school.

Because school was easy for me, when I brought home a report card with 3As and 2Bs, the best I could do with the least amount of work, instead of "Hey, that's great" I got "How come it isn't straight A's?"  or else I was completely ignored.  Then, my mom died, and the one who was less wrapped up in my sister or herself was gone.  My father gave me "You don't know how hard I have it, my wife died, oh woe is me" and never, ever dealt with my sister or me or our grief.  We just lost our mother; to him, that wasn't that big a deal.  He crawled into the bottle and didn't come out for many years.  It was as if we had lost both parents.

We weren't good enough to motivate him to want to live once my mother died.  For the record, it is now 21 years later, he never remarried, barely dated, and still doesn't recognize that our grief was just as big as his was.

When I was a child, my father saw something in me that he decided was arrogance - something I don't think I've ever seen in a child younger than 2, but he saw that in me.  He decided that wasn't how I should be, and he set out to "drive it out of me."  I was never praised for my achievements; instead, they were barely recognized, or I was treated as if it was expected of me. 

When mom died, I was the one who had to pick up the slack.  I did the housework.  I kept up with school.  I had a social life.  I had extracurriculars at school, active in marching band, jazz band, and choir.  I called people on the phone to tell them my mom died.  I did all the thank you notes after the funeral.  I was 15.

I took up with the first guy who showed an interest in me.  We were engaged at 16 years old.  I tried to spend as little time at home as possible - my dad worked, but he drank every second he wasn't working.  I spend time at the boyfriend's house.  Absorbed myself in his family.  Eventually broke up with him over something stupid, ended up sleeping with his best friend, dating him for a year, and him breaking up with me because he was sleeping with someone else, and wanted her.  I wasn't good enough.

I took up with the first guy to show an interest in me in college.  I went to junior college on scholarship, because the years had finally taken their toll and my dad was laid off when I was a senior in HS.  I earned straight A's.  I spent all my time studying or with the boyfriend.  I graduated with honors in 2 years, and transferred to a four-year-school.  For the first time in my life, I felt good enough.

My dad went through rehab when I was a junior in college.  I handled all of his finances for the 60 days he was in residential, and kept up with my school work.  I lived with a roommate in our own one-bedroom apartment to save money.  The boyfriend started sleeping with much of the music department at the college - we went to the same school.  It had been assumed that we would get married, not just by me but by everyone else we knew, so the breakup was bad, very bad - I threw furniture out the window bad - and I fell into depression, what I now recognize as a nervous breakdown.  I wasn't good enough.

My roommate kept me alive - she made me eat.  I found a therapist on campus - he helped me work things out.  I was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder, triggered by the boyfriend but tracking back to my home life growing up.  I worked out of it with their help.

Dad met a woman at rehab, and when I was home on break, I talked to her on the phone one day.  She told me how my dad talked about me all the time and how proud of me he was.  I started to cry, and I told her that he never told me that.

I spent some time just working on myself.  I dated around, not being exclusive (there were issues here but this is already a long story, so another day), and was asked out by a guy that looked just like Tom Cruise (a big deal then though now I think he's nuts).  At a school where girls outnumbered guys 5 to one, he could have had his pick of half the campus.  He picked me.  I was good enough.

Life happens and goes on, and in the intervening years I graduated with honors, met, dated, and married my husband, and had 3 beautiful children, two of them daughters.  I still struggle every day with not being good enough.  Good enough housekeeper (I have clutter issues), good enough cook (I like to do it but am usually too tired), good enough wife, good enough mom, good enough me.  I never, ever felt that unconditional love that is so evident in dooce's posts - I still don't.  I make sure I tell my kids every day, especially on those days that they drive me nuts, that no matter what - NO matter what - I love them.  Not because they are beautiful, even though they are; not because they are smart, even though they are; in spite of the fact that they are becoming slobs, like me, and they can be mouthy and crazy and they hit each other sometimes, because that really doesn't matter.  Because they are them.

And they are good enough.

So how come I can't be?