Hooray.
Wait, HOORAY!
O.k. I need to find some enthusiasm. Are you with me? Raise your hand if you're with me!
My girl Gina and I are both in the same predicament (i.e. need to work, not really interested) and, as misery loves company, we decided to form a little "rah, rah" (accountability) group to help each other along.
We held our first meeting at Panera Bread (because Panera is awesome - and it always seems like people are busy there with laptops and iPhone blazing). We both agreed that it was necessary to be away from our houses as our houses make us digress. We two decided to create goals before this first meeting and present them to each other and then break the goals in to small bits and alternately cheer / push each other on towards meeting them. I know we're not reinventing the wheel here, but it's a start.
It really helped me to focus this morning when I knew she was expecting something from me (rather than the vague expectation from my husband to MAKE SOME MONEY!!!).
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Mommy does nothing all day
“I don’t want to go to school. I want to stay home like Mommy. She doesn’t have to do anything all day.” spouts my firstborn, pushing cereal around in his bowl.
Huh?
My head jerks up from the task of preparing breakfast and lunch simultaneously. The past nine years zoom by on my mental movie screen. I never intended to be a housewife (ahem, stay-at-home mom). I went to college, got married, found a job and fully expected to return to work after the birth of my first child. My husband and I were never exactly flush with cash, and I somewhat believed that staying home with children was for ninnies. I mean nannies.
Enter Finnigan. From the womb, my elder son held the opinion that I should not work. My pregnancy began with a crippling case of hyper-emesis that kept me in bed strapped down alternately with IVs and medication pumps. Next came diabetes, pre-term labor and bed rest. His delivery was complicated, and messy. In fact, my nurse mid-wife awarded my delivery the dubious prize of being the worst she had ever attended. Finnigan then began having seizures eighteen hours after delivery and we discovered that he had suffered a stroke.
Aaah. Don’t worry he’s fine! However, my plans for returning to work were put on hold indefinitely in lieu of caring for our new, precious patient. I remember one week having five different appointments with five different specialty physicians. Our days were filled with tests, medicines, and doctors. He grew and developed normally and everyday I was humbled and amazed at our blessing in him.
Staying home with my son was not what I had expected. Once we were “out of the woods” we began enjoying playdates, going to the park and museums, and generally having a terrific time together. I remember one particularly sunny, salty afternoon at the beach as Finnigan and I snoozed together under the umbrella, thinking, this is the best job ever. I loved the flexibility, I loved the domesticated me – cooking, cleaning, spending egregious amounts of time planning birthday parties. I loved living and breathing each day with my child by my side, witnessing each and every milestone.
My husband, meanwhile, was freaking out. When I stopped working while pregnant, he tried his best (not always succeeding) at being supportive while all the time wondering when I was going to get back to earning. I believe it was well into my second child’s second year that he finally admitted that my staying home was the best thing for our family. We did, however, agree on the fact that we were living paycheck to paycheck, just barely getting by and that would not do. We needed to save and there was nothing left to save. How would we move out of our tiny house in a rather sketchy neighborhood (one that resisted gentrification tooth and nail)? Send the kids to college? Retire?
We decided that I would return to work when Oliver, the younger, began kindergarten. It seemed logical (and so, so far away) at the time. I felt buoyant. One by one my stay-at-home pals were heading back to work or going back for more schooling to ready themselves to return to the workplace. Sure, I thought, I’ll go back to work. I’m young, and when Oliver starts kindergarten, I’ll only be 35-years-old. How much could the world change in the nearly ten years since I will have held employment?
Still, I decided it might be a good idea to jump in a little earlier and start pumping some life into my long dead and dusty curriculum vitae. I began writing for a small, local magazine and really loved the solitary nature of the very, very part-time work I was doing, pecking away at my keyboard as Oliver napped and Finnigan attended preschool. However, during the summer I had a larger assignment and the time it took away from my family gave me an uneasy sense of what working full-time again would be like. The blindingly beautiful hot summer days called out to us and there we were: inside, kids plopped in front of the TV and me wigging out over deadline. I hated it.
Still, school began again and in our house, routine rules and life is made right by schedules. My circle of close, stay-at-home mom friends, meet regularly for coffee to complain, giggle, and spill about the latest on our minds and each time the conversation kept rounding to the same thing: jobs. One friend’s husband decided to strike out on his own in his field and while she expects he’ll do well, she knows she will need to work to fill in the gaps. Another friend wants to start her own decorating business but her husband has convinced her to work for a family member to make a little extra cash in the mean time. Another plans on taking a part-time job so she can send her daughter to the very pricey private school on which she has set her sights. Each woman has a different reason for returning to earning but one thing is the same – none of us really want to. What’s more, there might not even be a job for any of us to get.
Let’s face it, take a look at our resume and see the dark hole in the job experience section nearly ten years deep. Fortunately, the last company I worked for is still in business but their recommendation would be for the girl I was then and not for the woman I am now. Because, trust me, this whole motherhood thing proved to me how much growing up was there for me to do. The moms I speak to on the topic generally feel the same way: being home with your children and learning how to manage a household requires special skills they didn’t even know they had. The question is, how to translate that experience to a resume?
As if it’s not tough enough trying to find a job these days, let’s take a look at our competition. Depending on which mile marker a woman decides to drop out of the rat race to raise her children, she may be running against some serious opponents when she decides to rejoin the marathon. For instance, I had just barely begun my career when I became pregnant. My experience level at that point would put me now, roughly, in line with say, a college graduate. Most college graduates generally have quite a lot on me: time, flexibility, no spouse, kids, or mortgage, oh yeah, and lots of energy. For me, there are four people, who could, at any time, possibly need to call in sick.
Trust me, I am very aware that I am drinking the “white whine”. I live in an area of the country where the mega-rich live smack next those living right at the poverty line - at the supermarket, you will find a mom (and her child) in head to toe couture with a cart full of organics tapping Tory Burch ballet flats impatiently behind another mother nervously counting her food stamps. Looking at the job market, I should be happy with anything at all. Still, I’m gripped with feelings of fear and frustration. I know that I have to get back to earning, I’m just not sure how. I don’t want just any job. Not after being so fulfilled for so many years. How do I make everyone happy?
So here we are. This is my blog, inspired by Meg Wolitzer’s novel, The Ten Year Nap. A book that I loved and that I felt put a fine point on the blurry emotions that face women like me. Women, who adore being a housewife and mother but whom, for whatever reason, need to enter back into the workforce. I’m hoping we can figure this out together.
Huh?
My head jerks up from the task of preparing breakfast and lunch simultaneously. The past nine years zoom by on my mental movie screen. I never intended to be a housewife (ahem, stay-at-home mom). I went to college, got married, found a job and fully expected to return to work after the birth of my first child. My husband and I were never exactly flush with cash, and I somewhat believed that staying home with children was for ninnies. I mean nannies.
Enter Finnigan. From the womb, my elder son held the opinion that I should not work. My pregnancy began with a crippling case of hyper-emesis that kept me in bed strapped down alternately with IVs and medication pumps. Next came diabetes, pre-term labor and bed rest. His delivery was complicated, and messy. In fact, my nurse mid-wife awarded my delivery the dubious prize of being the worst she had ever attended. Finnigan then began having seizures eighteen hours after delivery and we discovered that he had suffered a stroke.
Aaah. Don’t worry he’s fine! However, my plans for returning to work were put on hold indefinitely in lieu of caring for our new, precious patient. I remember one week having five different appointments with five different specialty physicians. Our days were filled with tests, medicines, and doctors. He grew and developed normally and everyday I was humbled and amazed at our blessing in him.
Staying home with my son was not what I had expected. Once we were “out of the woods” we began enjoying playdates, going to the park and museums, and generally having a terrific time together. I remember one particularly sunny, salty afternoon at the beach as Finnigan and I snoozed together under the umbrella, thinking, this is the best job ever. I loved the flexibility, I loved the domesticated me – cooking, cleaning, spending egregious amounts of time planning birthday parties. I loved living and breathing each day with my child by my side, witnessing each and every milestone.
My husband, meanwhile, was freaking out. When I stopped working while pregnant, he tried his best (not always succeeding) at being supportive while all the time wondering when I was going to get back to earning. I believe it was well into my second child’s second year that he finally admitted that my staying home was the best thing for our family. We did, however, agree on the fact that we were living paycheck to paycheck, just barely getting by and that would not do. We needed to save and there was nothing left to save. How would we move out of our tiny house in a rather sketchy neighborhood (one that resisted gentrification tooth and nail)? Send the kids to college? Retire?
We decided that I would return to work when Oliver, the younger, began kindergarten. It seemed logical (and so, so far away) at the time. I felt buoyant. One by one my stay-at-home pals were heading back to work or going back for more schooling to ready themselves to return to the workplace. Sure, I thought, I’ll go back to work. I’m young, and when Oliver starts kindergarten, I’ll only be 35-years-old. How much could the world change in the nearly ten years since I will have held employment?
Still, I decided it might be a good idea to jump in a little earlier and start pumping some life into my long dead and dusty curriculum vitae. I began writing for a small, local magazine and really loved the solitary nature of the very, very part-time work I was doing, pecking away at my keyboard as Oliver napped and Finnigan attended preschool. However, during the summer I had a larger assignment and the time it took away from my family gave me an uneasy sense of what working full-time again would be like. The blindingly beautiful hot summer days called out to us and there we were: inside, kids plopped in front of the TV and me wigging out over deadline. I hated it.
Still, school began again and in our house, routine rules and life is made right by schedules. My circle of close, stay-at-home mom friends, meet regularly for coffee to complain, giggle, and spill about the latest on our minds and each time the conversation kept rounding to the same thing: jobs. One friend’s husband decided to strike out on his own in his field and while she expects he’ll do well, she knows she will need to work to fill in the gaps. Another friend wants to start her own decorating business but her husband has convinced her to work for a family member to make a little extra cash in the mean time. Another plans on taking a part-time job so she can send her daughter to the very pricey private school on which she has set her sights. Each woman has a different reason for returning to earning but one thing is the same – none of us really want to. What’s more, there might not even be a job for any of us to get.
Let’s face it, take a look at our resume and see the dark hole in the job experience section nearly ten years deep. Fortunately, the last company I worked for is still in business but their recommendation would be for the girl I was then and not for the woman I am now. Because, trust me, this whole motherhood thing proved to me how much growing up was there for me to do. The moms I speak to on the topic generally feel the same way: being home with your children and learning how to manage a household requires special skills they didn’t even know they had. The question is, how to translate that experience to a resume?
As if it’s not tough enough trying to find a job these days, let’s take a look at our competition. Depending on which mile marker a woman decides to drop out of the rat race to raise her children, she may be running against some serious opponents when she decides to rejoin the marathon. For instance, I had just barely begun my career when I became pregnant. My experience level at that point would put me now, roughly, in line with say, a college graduate. Most college graduates generally have quite a lot on me: time, flexibility, no spouse, kids, or mortgage, oh yeah, and lots of energy. For me, there are four people, who could, at any time, possibly need to call in sick.
Trust me, I am very aware that I am drinking the “white whine”. I live in an area of the country where the mega-rich live smack next those living right at the poverty line - at the supermarket, you will find a mom (and her child) in head to toe couture with a cart full of organics tapping Tory Burch ballet flats impatiently behind another mother nervously counting her food stamps. Looking at the job market, I should be happy with anything at all. Still, I’m gripped with feelings of fear and frustration. I know that I have to get back to earning, I’m just not sure how. I don’t want just any job. Not after being so fulfilled for so many years. How do I make everyone happy?
So here we are. This is my blog, inspired by Meg Wolitzer’s novel, The Ten Year Nap. A book that I loved and that I felt put a fine point on the blurry emotions that face women like me. Women, who adore being a housewife and mother but whom, for whatever reason, need to enter back into the workforce. I’m hoping we can figure this out together.
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