Home Economy 101

I'm the one on the far left...

It's funny how time sometimes feels like it's moving at warp speed, and then will suddenly and arbitrarily slow down to a snail's pace. Of course, this is an illusion, but it gets me every time. For example, watching the boys ride their bikes together, climb on the monkey bars together, cut paper together. Time stands still and I tear up remembering them both as soft, blubbering babies who counted on me for every need. I fantasize about scooping them up and nestling their heads into the crook of my left arm like I did a million times at a 2 AM nursing. I even, for a moment, miss it. I miss the lack of sleep and the utter simplicity of our existence. Feed, sleep, cuddle, change, feed, cuddle, bathe, sleep.

And then I take off my rose colored glasses, and laugh out loud.

Because if you'd asked me if I wanted to stay home full time with my soft, mewling newborns--and then three and six and ten month olds--the answer would have been a resounding "No." This is for several reasons. First, it is hard. Not hard like a day at work with back to back meetings, annoying clients and a parking ticket. Hard like walking 15 miles each way to school in 2 feet of snow, and then making your own steel cut oatmeal from scratch, and then hand-paving a new 6-lane highway. At least this is how it felt to me. Second, I was scared. Postpartum depression and anxiety (it's evil twin?) had made me even more unable to make decisions than normal--and this was before I got help for it with my second. I felt deep down that this 24-7 childrearing thing needed a professional's touch. I was also deathly afraid of screwing them up by yelling, or not feeding them homemade meals, or by having a messy house.

So I skipped off back to work full time after Will was born, content to know he was in good hands at daycare and happy to be with me after work and on the weekends. It was fine. But I had twinges of doubt. I pushed them down. I had worked so hard to get where I was. Wasn't it just as important as raising my kids? Didn't I deserve to have a career, a life outside of children? So I proposed and got a two day a week telecommute option to help ease our hectic morning/evening routine--which stressed me to no end.

Fast forward (as life does), to Baby #2 and another round of PPD and anxiety. Big time. But this time I started back to work part-time, to ease back into things. Even then, I felt I needed to cherish this time (but really didn't know how), since Ian would be our last child. I hemmed and hawed. Searching for more balance, I eventually negotiated a part-time schedule. This is when things came to a head.

You know when people wag their fingers and tell you 'the grass is always greener...'? Well, those people are annoying because they are right.

Working part-time, much to my surprise, was worse (how could that be possible?) than working full-time. Worse for me mentally, worse for the kids and their schedule. Worse for my husband who picked up the slack. There are a lot of reasons this was the case for me, and I acknowledge that this isn't true for many others who work a part-time schedule. I'm not big on blaming right now, so I won't go into details. Suffice to say, after almost 8 months of a 20 hr week from home (yes, I had it that good), I upped my hours to 24, all from the office. I figured the answer was to work MORE, not less. I also had something to prove--that I was a worthy, smart, effective employee.

Almost five years after my first son was born, I finally decided to quit my "other job," and stay home with my boys. I'm an outlier, for sure. Most mothers I know do the exact opposite. Stay home while their kids are infants and until preschool, then slowly start edging back into the workforce. Not me. I'm the one who takes 5 years to make a freakin' decision. Two weeks in, I don't feel the fear I thought I would. It's hard, but hard like running a marathon each day. Not like running two. The hardest part for me is losing my "identity." And then I remember, I have no identity. I am not me. I am not who I think I am. I am a collection of parts. Move on [thank you Sarah Napthali].

So, what to call my new  job. A stay-at-home mom? A full-time, stay-at-home mom? These don't ring true to me. After all, was the choice between staying with my children and leaving them, abandoning them? Not for me. And wasn't I a full-time mom before, when I left the house to work and then put in "my hours" at home? Plus, many women and men work from home these days. Like my husband. What is he? A work-inside-the-home dad? Sheesh.

I'm leaning toward some old-fashioned monikers. Like homemaker. Or home economist. These names at least capture the essence of what's going on. Women who work outside the home can make a damn good home for their families. I know this. But I also know that for me and my family, my being at home with our kids full-time--and frankly, managing the bajillions of details of our home lives for the family--will make OUR home a slightly less stressful, chaotic place. And I like that. I also like cooking meals from scratch but hate cleaning and grocery shopping.

As the one who manages those bajillion details, my new role does impact the economy of our home. I don't mean financial economy, like savings from me not drycleaning my suits and buying new high heels every fall (ha!). I mean the other definition: "sparing or careful use of something." That something is the time that my husband and I have on this planet with our children and each other. For us, the financial economics allow me to make this decision. If this weren't the case, I would use my time carefully to support our family. It's not either/or. It just is. For now.

I baked a mean apple pie in 9th grade Home Ec class. And I was proud of it. I should have known.