Some of Us Have to Work

I was at a party yesterday and several of the guests had traveled from out of town.  I asked them if they were returning home later that day (Sunday) or staying through the week.  One of the women said that they were leaving on Monday but they couldn't stay much longer because, "Some of us have to work."  She said this as she looked over at her mother and sister (who has 7 children).  On the heels of  Anne Romney, current poster girl for stay at home moms, facing the media, I flinched a little.  I chose not to follow the story in the news this week of whether or not Anne Romney has ever worked a day in her life.  I chose to not listen to the political banter about what ends up being a huge personal struggle for many people. I chose not to listen to the defensiveness and forced expressions of empathy from both sides of the debate.  I've been there and it wasn't fun.  Thirteen years ago I decided to stay at home with my two sons.  My sister, my best friend, and hosts of other friends and family members pursued paid work and exemplary motherhood in tandem.  We spent lots of conversations reassuring the other person that their decision for their family was right for them.

Save them this fate. Don't stay home from Work^ - NARA - 534711 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What I know about this debate is that both sides are filled with self-doubt, feeling judged, worried about their children, lonely, misunderstood, and tired.  Hopefully, both moms at home or in the paid work force, also feel pride, accomplishment, and engagement. Many of my conversations with friends, during those early parenting years, were about whether we were making the right choice or not.  Would it be better for my kids if we had extra money for organic food or music lessons?  Was I really offering enough to them in my sleep deprived state?  Was I just tired or mildly depressed from limited interactions with other adults?  I would frequently come to a place where I was convinced that I should look for a paid job and then talk with one of my working mom friends and change my mind.  They would share the host of questions that they had.  Would the feelings of guilt ever lessen?  What was going to happen to their children from their limited contact?  Was the child care provider the right fit?  Were they going to be fired anyway because of the sleep deprived state they were in?  I'll insert here that these questions came up among men that I knew who were struggling with staying home or going back to work as well.

I think the stay at home vs. working parents debate heats up when people project their own internalized doubts onto others.  When I say, "My work is just as important as paid work.", I believe that part of the statement is coming from my own doubts about whether or not what I'm doing every day is making a difference or not.  The bottom line is that all the choices in our life, especially parenting choices require a delicate juggling of variables.  On the work decision, we're evaluating our child's specific needs, available child care resources, our own earning capacity, our own health, the family support system, and of course the little issue of our family budget.  We are the only ones that can judge all those elements and discern what will be sustainable for our unique family.  It would be great if our culture, our corporations, and our government actually offered programs and policies that made some of these decisions easier.  For now, I'd be happy if we could just all agree that families need more support, period.  Whenever possible, let's give each other encouragement instead of judgement, we're all being hard enough on ourselves most days anyway.

Behind the Curtain

Sinus pain, itchy throat and eyes, plugged ears, pre-menstrual funk, and fatigue - not a good weekend.  I really didn't feel like writing today.  A small voice inside called out though, urging me to be real.  One of the reasons I started writing was to be more honest and uncover some of the parenting and general life stuff that we all gloss over as we greet each other with, "I'm fine.  How are you?"

funk-o-mart (Photo credit: Digital Sextant)

I'm not fine today.  I don't have to be.  No one is fine all the time.  If they are, then they are lying or on serious medication.  Every once in awhile we need to show each other what's behind the curtain.  We need to share what lies deeper, beyond the surface.  My struggle sometimes is that I feel giving voice to my funk will make it grow.  If I tell you  how much my foot hurts, will that make it feel any better... no.  I go between feeling disingenuous or feeling like a Debbie downer.  Here's what I'm coming to this week - the more real I am with people, the more my friends and family can call me out on my $%#&.  If I only talk to people when life is good and manageable then I don't really have a source for being held accountable or receiving genuine concern.  And in terms of others, if I'm not real, than I just perpetuate the fallacy that being a good person or striving for good parenting means you're always good.  We all know that's not true. 

I feel crappy.  So, how are you?

p.s. Zemanta is the program I use to find legit photos for the blog.  It picks up on key words in the blog and makes suggestions for appropriate images.  The words, "pre-menstrual funk" inspired the pic above.  Smile.

The Project

Image via Wikipedia

I sit here typing with the telltale signs of my least favorite part of parenting displayed all around me.  The dining room table (and floor) is a mess of books, paper scraps, and colored construction paper.  One large display board sets it all off, mocking me from it's perch in the living room.  Tomorrow is the deadline for my seventh grader's history fair project.  It used to be that we just had to deal with science fair (which I loath even more than history fair).  Now the stress and anxiety come twice a year. 

Tonight is the night.  There is usually some last minute drama, often related to a small logistical detail to which I never paid any attention.  "On the third paragraph of the summary statement, underline all the words that relate back to your hypothesis.  Make sure that all photographs are labeled in italics and placed in the left corner of the display board."  I'm of course being fictitious.  It's not that hard for me to understand the details of their teacher's requests.  My problem is me.

It's very important to me that my kids learn how to be responsible and be able to handle themselves, take care of the stuff that is their business.  I don't hover.  I ask if their homework is done and when I'm able, I answer questions.  That's pretty much what I offer.  When they were in second and third and maybe even fourth grade, I would offer to help type up their essays for school.  Mostly because I wanted to use the computer before the next month had passed and their own typing was so slow it verged on torture.

So, during science and history fair preparation my values butt up against my sanity.  Do I correct all the typos, grammar mistakes, weird phrasing, and undocumented facts or do I encourage them to check their work again and let the quality of their own effort be reflected in their grade?  Do I let them struggle with the typing and the making of charts when it would take me half the time?  I know that other parents are probably going to help out (does a 7 yr old really know how to run those color graphs with the attached video feed?).  Am I really just putting my kids in an unfair situation - being compared to students who have a design team from their parents pr firm offering support?  As is the case with so many of my dilemmas, they are rooted in my real values vs. my own adult fears of judgement.  I don't want them to turn in a project that isn't really theirs but I also hate the idea of their tilted, glue smudged display standing next to the matted, black and white photographed project, all printed on archival quality paperstock.

In the end, I am going to do what I've done the last seven years.  Tonight, I will brace myself.  I will be calm and wipe away any tears of frustration that may come.  I will model deep breathing and patience.  I will affirm and encourage.  And maybe, just maybe, quietly suggest that the summaries should be glued neatly onto the board instead of the "pin the tale on the donkey/willy-nilly" alignment that is my son's preferred method.  He will turn it in, even though I know that I would do it differently.  He will get a grade that provides relief or frustration and that grade will be all his.

Asking the "village" - Saving for therapy or bail

Lucy and her "five-cents-please" psychiatric help booth as depicted at Universal Studios in Osaka, Japan. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There was a time when I only half jokingly looked at my two boys and then back at myself and determined that instead of saving for college, we should instead save for future therapy bills and bail money.  I can say that in this public forum, because now I look at my two sons and am truly amazed by both of them.  They know that I am in awe of their present day selves and that I must have been forced back then, at gunpoint, to say such things.  In fact, I was just an awfully sleep deprived, mildly depressed, mom of  a toddler and preschooler who couldn't seem to believe that the whole thing (meaning their very lives) was going to turn out all that well with me at the helm.

As suspected, when I raised the question about what other people felt was on their parenting test, the fear of "ruining" our kids and specifically, "parental screw-up induced therapy" (I'm coining that), came up.  After thinking about all the funny or self-deprecating things I could say on this topic, I changed my mind.  What I decided is this, if you are a person who is taking time to read blogs and then spend even 2 seconds reflecting on ideas from other parents, as they relate to your parenting, you should shake off your fears.  You are awesome!  We all survived our own childhoods.  I'm pretty sure my parents did a quick skim of Dr. Spock and left it at that for the entirety of all five of our childhoods.  Some of us were lucky and had parents who were super great and guess what?  Some of those lucky people still go to therapy (not that it's a bad thing, some of my favorite people go to therapy). 

The interesting thing for me about my therapy or bail quandary was that I was thinking of the choice because of how different my boys were at the time.  I knew I wasn't going to screw them up in the same way because they are not the same.  I had one son who couldn't get enough hugs, hand holds, kisses, and lap sits even though I was completely touched out from the demands of a little one and breastfeeding.  There were days when I felt like I was actually rejecting him.  The other boy didn't need the touch as much as he needed structure and physical activity.  Again, a problem for me on those days (too many it seemed), when I just wanted a very long nap or at least another viewing of Elmopalooza while I stretched out horizontal on the couch.

Cut to the present day and I'm proud to proclaim that I have beautiful, talented, caring, truly amazing, and still very different boys.  I honestly don't know how it worked out.  Kids are pretty resilient though and deep down they can tell if we love them or not.  It turns out that we can make a ton of mistakes and be normal, imperfect people.  What does seem to work really, really, really well is when we figure out how to love them more than we love being right, or more than we love approval from our family or neighbors, or more than our own self-image.  We probably should just save for our own therapy.  All of our anxiety about our choices and parenting style boil down to us trying to finish our own stuff.   Drop the anxiety.  Embrace your imperfection.  Love.  That's what your kids want from you, that and another hug, and a bike ride, and a new toy, and a.....