Thanks to an artful comment by LawyerMamma in her most recent post (http://lawyermama.blogspot.com/2007/03/its-end-of-world-as-we-know-it.html) I have finally discovered a great label for my my position in the ever raging "Mommy Wars"- Mommy Purgatory.
Like LawyerMamma, I feel strongly that the "Mommy Wars" are a big waste of time. Why on earth should we spend what little time and energy we have left as parents tearing down the parenting choices of others? What works for one person, doesn't necessarily work for another. Just because a person is passionate about their career, doesn't mean their not equally, or most likely more, passionate about their children. After all, why shouldn't a woman be allowed to have personal and professional achievements as well? And, on the other side of the coin, being a stay-at-home mom doesn't mean you're lazy or worthless, or given up on life. Often these women have chosen a more difficult role, as staying home can be isolating, thankless and incredibly exhausting.
Frankly, as long as your children are healthy, happy and well-loved, you're doing a a great job as a parent, whether you choose to have a career, or stay at home. We face so many challenges as parents, that it only seems natural that we stand together to support each other when we can. However, because we spend so much time wrestling with our parenting decisions inside ourselves, perhaps it's just as natural to lash out at each other in defence of decisions that are sometimes painful and hard fought in our own hearts.
Here in Mommy Purgatory, there are different battles. When a career isn't a conscious choice, but rather necessity, things become murkier, a little more complex.
In one of my recent articles for Associated Content, I tried to highlight the challenges of mothers who had to work in order to keep their families afloat financially. While I received a lot of positive feedback, there was one comment that really surprised me:
"Great article. I disagree however that most moms go back to work out of a financial "need". I think that what people think is a "need" is often actually a "want". People often dont understand how to make sacrifice. There are plenty of ways dual income homes can cut corners so that one parent doesnt have to go back to work. I just think many people arent creative enough to think of ways to do that. That's why I love all these SAHMs on ebay who found ways to stay at home and bring in an income. I know not everyone woman has that option (my mom was a single mom) but I do think that when SAHMs get upset about working moms, it isnt the ones who truly need to work but the ones who say they "need" to work. Regardless, at the end of the day, its nobody's business. However, women need to be honest about the REAL reason they go back to work. Some just cant stand to be with their children all day. "
These comments really bothered me. I felt personally attacked, as I consider myself to be a mother who "has" to work, not "wants" to work. My household budget already has so many corners cut that it's round. Not to mention the fact that I am technically the "bread winner" of the family- without my income we wouldn't even be able to pay my most basic expenses. Perhaps, as this helpful commenter indicated, I am selfish to think of food as a "need" or frivolous not to cut luxuries like heat out of my life.
However, there is a lurking, vicious 1950's housewife that dwells deep down inside my darker regions, those firmly suppressed regions that sometimes whisper to me that skirts might be fun, and that maybe a little pink would really brighten up my life. This housewife agrees with the commenter. She tells me that with a little sacrifice, I too could spend my days at home, providing a stable and loving environment for my children. While they were at school, I could work on new and exciting recipes, further my craft obsession and actually keep up with the laundry. Even she, however, doubts that we could support our household selling things on eBay. Sorry oh helpful commenter, even 50's Mom doesn't think we're that resourceful.
I gag 50's mom firmly with my well forged core of feminism, education and self-reliance. I tell her that I did not work my ass off (she frowns as I use the word ass) for four years just to stay home and sacrifice my identity on the alter of motherhood.
Deny it as I may, 50's Mom is part of my identity. I genuinely enjoy making home cooked meals, having fresh laundry, and creating new craft projects for my bright and imaginative munchkins. There are many days when, at my desk, I yearn to be home to greet my children as they get off the bus.
Perhaps it would be easier to reconcile these internal battles if I was working at a job I enjoyed. Due to financial need (yes need helful commenter, not want) I'm currently working outside of my desired career field. Because of this, I have a job, not a career. Maybe, on that eventual day (yes, it will happen) when I finally have a true career, and not just a job to pay the bills, 50's Mom will be easier to quiet. I will still let her out on weekends however, for good behavior. What can I say, she bakes a hell of a pie.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Taxes
I am an early tax filer. As soon as that last W-2 in hand, I'm on it. The promise of a tax refund always drives me to get it done as soon as humanly possible. With heating fuel that needs refilling, a dryer who's heating coils have official bitten the dust, and all of the other expenses that pile up, I just can't afford to wait.
This year, my taxes reflected the changes in my life, last year's marriage, the move to Maine, etc. All of these new numbers forced me to take a closed look at all of the numbers. The result was a whopping anxiety attack.
This year's taxes brought to light that 1/4 of my husband's and mine combined income went to rent. This only reinforced my drive to start working on buying a house. I felt as if all of that money had been flushed down the toilet.
Another startling realization was that more than 1/4 of our combined income was being spent on daycare. This number staggered me. In previous years, my daycare was always broken up with care provided by my family, not to mention the fact that my Vermont daycare was far cheaper. Running the numbers again, I wondered how this was possible, if there was a way to fix it. Was I seriously spending that much of our household income in order to spend time away from my beloved children?
My husband and I have tentatively brought up switching daycares in the past. However, that seems to be an impossible option. For starters, I love our current daycare. I feel confident in all of the care providers. I know that K will have a full day, packed with learning, and socializing with her friends (vital). G gets a great place to go before and after school, with teachers he trusts and friends he enjoys. The indoor pool allows them both to have swimming lessons twice a week, something both of my little fish adore. I know that center is safe- all rooms are monitored with cameras, and non-parental pick-ups must be parent approved, and then photo ID'd by the staff. With my level of paranoia, this is a key element.
Another key element is not wanting to disrupt my children's lives again. The move was hard on them both, and they are finally comfortable in their daily ebb and flow. To take them from a place where they feel safe and comfortable would break their hearts, and mine too.
So, we will suck up the expense. When the tax refund comes, we will invest it in all of the important things we can't afford the rest of the year. Who knows, maybe we'll even have enough left over for a family outing to McDonald's. :)
This year, my taxes reflected the changes in my life, last year's marriage, the move to Maine, etc. All of these new numbers forced me to take a closed look at all of the numbers. The result was a whopping anxiety attack.
This year's taxes brought to light that 1/4 of my husband's and mine combined income went to rent. This only reinforced my drive to start working on buying a house. I felt as if all of that money had been flushed down the toilet.
Another startling realization was that more than 1/4 of our combined income was being spent on daycare. This number staggered me. In previous years, my daycare was always broken up with care provided by my family, not to mention the fact that my Vermont daycare was far cheaper. Running the numbers again, I wondered how this was possible, if there was a way to fix it. Was I seriously spending that much of our household income in order to spend time away from my beloved children?
My husband and I have tentatively brought up switching daycares in the past. However, that seems to be an impossible option. For starters, I love our current daycare. I feel confident in all of the care providers. I know that K will have a full day, packed with learning, and socializing with her friends (vital). G gets a great place to go before and after school, with teachers he trusts and friends he enjoys. The indoor pool allows them both to have swimming lessons twice a week, something both of my little fish adore. I know that center is safe- all rooms are monitored with cameras, and non-parental pick-ups must be parent approved, and then photo ID'd by the staff. With my level of paranoia, this is a key element.
Another key element is not wanting to disrupt my children's lives again. The move was hard on them both, and they are finally comfortable in their daily ebb and flow. To take them from a place where they feel safe and comfortable would break their hearts, and mine too.
So, we will suck up the expense. When the tax refund comes, we will invest it in all of the important things we can't afford the rest of the year. Who knows, maybe we'll even have enough left over for a family outing to McDonald's. :)
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Just Kick 'Em
On the way home from picking the kids up from daycare last night, G confided in me that another boy had been picking on him in the pool that afternoon (the daycare has an indoor pool). This troubled me, since it seems G has been getting picked on a lot by other kids, both boys and girls. Being smaller than everyone else in his class makes him an easy target. This has always been a big concern for me, as I've witnessed the hell both my older and younger brother experienced all through school being the smallest kid by far in their grades.
Fighting back the urge to tell him to hold the other boy's head under water, I instead gave him the "good mom" advice.
"Did you ask him to stop?"
"Yeah, I told him I didn't like it and he just kept on doing it."
"Did you tell the teacher?
"I tried, but she was busy"
"Did you try just moving away from him?"
"Yeah, but he's much bigger than me and just kept following me."
A little heart-broken, and at a loss for what to say, I paused. The silence was soon filled with sweet girly voice of K, the fairy princess in the backseat. "I would just kick him in the rear."
Stunned for a minute. "What did you say?"
"I said, I would just kick him in the rear." she repeated matter-of-factly.
Automatic mom response: "K! We don't kick people!" With a hasty: "And don't talk about rears, that's rude."
Inside though, I cheered a little for my mini-Amazon. Yeah, kick him in the rear! You don't give my little boy a hard time. I couldn't help but feel a little swelling of pride at K's aggressive and effective solution, when I so badly would like to kick that boy in the rear myself.
Upon further reflection, I had to remark to myself how odd it was that I seem to have transposed these attitudes in my girl child and in my boy child. In my efforts of gender equality, have I unwittingly pushed for a confident and strong female and created a tiny mega-feminist warrior princess? And, in my efforts to raise a sensitive and gentle male, instead created a little boy who can't defend himself against the school yard bullies of the world?
As a mother, it's hard not to take personal responsibility for the hardships your child faces. Is it my fault G bites his nails? Did I do something to make K put her friends into time out when they play house? Perhaps I'm just paranoid. Perhaps I'm just a mom.
Fighting back the urge to tell him to hold the other boy's head under water, I instead gave him the "good mom" advice.
"Did you ask him to stop?"
"Yeah, I told him I didn't like it and he just kept on doing it."
"Did you tell the teacher?
"I tried, but she was busy"
"Did you try just moving away from him?"
"Yeah, but he's much bigger than me and just kept following me."
A little heart-broken, and at a loss for what to say, I paused. The silence was soon filled with sweet girly voice of K, the fairy princess in the backseat. "I would just kick him in the rear."
Stunned for a minute. "What did you say?"
"I said, I would just kick him in the rear." she repeated matter-of-factly.
Automatic mom response: "K! We don't kick people!" With a hasty: "And don't talk about rears, that's rude."
Inside though, I cheered a little for my mini-Amazon. Yeah, kick him in the rear! You don't give my little boy a hard time. I couldn't help but feel a little swelling of pride at K's aggressive and effective solution, when I so badly would like to kick that boy in the rear myself.
Upon further reflection, I had to remark to myself how odd it was that I seem to have transposed these attitudes in my girl child and in my boy child. In my efforts of gender equality, have I unwittingly pushed for a confident and strong female and created a tiny mega-feminist warrior princess? And, in my efforts to raise a sensitive and gentle male, instead created a little boy who can't defend himself against the school yard bullies of the world?
As a mother, it's hard not to take personal responsibility for the hardships your child faces. Is it my fault G bites his nails? Did I do something to make K put her friends into time out when they play house? Perhaps I'm just paranoid. Perhaps I'm just a mom.
Friday, December 22, 2006
Dear Santa
Dear Santa,
Well, it's that time of year again, so I'd like to put in my two-scents on this year's delivery to my house. Not that I don't think you've been keeping up mind you, but I know how hard it must be to keep an eye on things this close to Christmas.
In case you've missed it, G has been having random attacks of rage when his fellow classmates, in the name of helping, get him classroom materials that he wanted to get up and get himself. This week, it was a calculator, which he promptly flung across his room. Though he does seem suitable impressed by your powers ("Can Santa see into my brain???")he is not intimidated enough to behave.
In light of this development, please bring G some notebooks, and pencils. I know he's been asking for a Game Boy and a new Batman computer, but honestly, he needs something quiet and boring to keep him occupied for the numerous times he's been sent to his room lately. A notebook and pencils should not over stimulate him, not be too fun, and hopefully keep him from kicking the walls.
As you may have noticed, sweet little K has been something of a nightmare lately as well. Her "Diva-tude" has amped it's self up to a new an exciting level, and angry tears flow faster than ever. Please do not bring K any jewelry or dress up clothes- she already spends far to much time reinforcing her own fabulousness. Instead, please send along a nice weighty book filled with terrifying cautionary tales, of what happens when cuteness fades......
For my husband, please write him a heartfelt note informing him that wanting a clean house is not at all neurotic.
As for me, my list is simple. For starters, please crash the Dungeons and Dragons Online server and all other related internet sources. This will force my husband into far more quality time with the rest of us mere mortals.
Also, please pay next months bills, as this year's gift giving spree has left me unable to do so. I'm far to generous for my own good, as I'm sure you know.
Thank you Santa, I'll be sure to leave extra cookies and a glass of Merlot.
Sincerely,
Sarcasta-Mom
Well, it's that time of year again, so I'd like to put in my two-scents on this year's delivery to my house. Not that I don't think you've been keeping up mind you, but I know how hard it must be to keep an eye on things this close to Christmas.
In case you've missed it, G has been having random attacks of rage when his fellow classmates, in the name of helping, get him classroom materials that he wanted to get up and get himself. This week, it was a calculator, which he promptly flung across his room. Though he does seem suitable impressed by your powers ("Can Santa see into my brain???")he is not intimidated enough to behave.
In light of this development, please bring G some notebooks, and pencils. I know he's been asking for a Game Boy and a new Batman computer, but honestly, he needs something quiet and boring to keep him occupied for the numerous times he's been sent to his room lately. A notebook and pencils should not over stimulate him, not be too fun, and hopefully keep him from kicking the walls.
As you may have noticed, sweet little K has been something of a nightmare lately as well. Her "Diva-tude" has amped it's self up to a new an exciting level, and angry tears flow faster than ever. Please do not bring K any jewelry or dress up clothes- she already spends far to much time reinforcing her own fabulousness. Instead, please send along a nice weighty book filled with terrifying cautionary tales, of what happens when cuteness fades......
For my husband, please write him a heartfelt note informing him that wanting a clean house is not at all neurotic.
As for me, my list is simple. For starters, please crash the Dungeons and Dragons Online server and all other related internet sources. This will force my husband into far more quality time with the rest of us mere mortals.
Also, please pay next months bills, as this year's gift giving spree has left me unable to do so. I'm far to generous for my own good, as I'm sure you know.
Thank you Santa, I'll be sure to leave extra cookies and a glass of Merlot.
Sincerely,
Sarcasta-Mom
Friday, December 08, 2006
Holiday PC
When I received my kid's monthly daycare newsletter last night, I read it through thoroughly, as I always do. Being a mother that works full time induces bouts of guilt that inevitably causes you to cling to each piece of your child's life that you miss out on. I avidly read my daughter's daily reports, my son's weekly classroom updates, and of course, the daycare monthly bulletin.
As I was reading the bulletin, I was happy to learn my children were learning about a variety of holidays during this season of joy, including Christmas, Hacunakah, Kwanza and Eid. Wait a minute. Eid? What the heck is Eid? After a moment of confusion, and then despair at being out of touch with this new holiday, I promptly Googled Eid to find out what it was.
Apparently Eid ul-Fitr is a Muslim holiday which marks the end of Ramadan. This is a joyous event that marks a month long fasting. I suppose if I had to fast for a month I'd throw a huge party when I was allowed to eat too. But, that aside...
Who included Eid on the official holiday list? Why wasn't I informed? Was there a committee, a vote, a deliberation? What's next, Saturnalia?
Now don't get me wrong. I'm in no way saying that Muslims don't deserve to have their holiday included in the vast sea of the American holiday season. But please, I'm still trying to adjust to Kwanza.
In this day and age of PC sensitivities, things just keep getting out of hand. I'm still not sure if I'm allowed to say "Merry Christmas" anymore. Worried about the wrong holiday greeting, I often blurt out "Ba Hum Bug!" in a state of panicked confusion. At least everyone is equally offended by that.
As I was reading the bulletin, I was happy to learn my children were learning about a variety of holidays during this season of joy, including Christmas, Hacunakah, Kwanza and Eid. Wait a minute. Eid? What the heck is Eid? After a moment of confusion, and then despair at being out of touch with this new holiday, I promptly Googled Eid to find out what it was.
Apparently Eid ul-Fitr is a Muslim holiday which marks the end of Ramadan. This is a joyous event that marks a month long fasting. I suppose if I had to fast for a month I'd throw a huge party when I was allowed to eat too. But, that aside...
Who included Eid on the official holiday list? Why wasn't I informed? Was there a committee, a vote, a deliberation? What's next, Saturnalia?
Now don't get me wrong. I'm in no way saying that Muslims don't deserve to have their holiday included in the vast sea of the American holiday season. But please, I'm still trying to adjust to Kwanza.
In this day and age of PC sensitivities, things just keep getting out of hand. I'm still not sure if I'm allowed to say "Merry Christmas" anymore. Worried about the wrong holiday greeting, I often blurt out "Ba Hum Bug!" in a state of panicked confusion. At least everyone is equally offended by that.
Thursday, November 02, 2006
The Weight Loss Mantra
After yet another struggle with my wardrobe this morning to find something to wear to work that wouldn't be cutting me in half by the end of the day, I decided it was time. You know, that time. That time where you have to decide either to crack down on the diet and exercise thing, or finally give up and buy the next size up in pants.
After a brief fantasy of giving up, eating like crazy, and finally reaching 300 lbs., I decided to go with option #1, diet and exercise. I'm weeping inside already, but I'm just not ready to embrace the idea of crossing the line into true fat-dom. I can barely stand chubby-ville as it is.
And so, in order to fully immerse myself in the spirit of fitting back into my clothes, I have developed a few key inspirational phrases, such as:
*deep cleansing breath*
A bowl of Special-K is just as delicious as a donut
Splenda really does taste just like real sugar
Size 14 is not the new size 4
*deep shuddering breath*
I do not require chocolate to survive
*tears welling slightly*
Exercising will give me more energy, not sap my remaining strength and will to live
No one will look at me funny in the gym because I don't wear $200 gym shoes or the latest high-tech sports bra
*final cleansing breath*
In a few short years of hard work, I too can look like Dita Von Tese
*and exhale*
After a brief fantasy of giving up, eating like crazy, and finally reaching 300 lbs., I decided to go with option #1, diet and exercise. I'm weeping inside already, but I'm just not ready to embrace the idea of crossing the line into true fat-dom. I can barely stand chubby-ville as it is.
And so, in order to fully immerse myself in the spirit of fitting back into my clothes, I have developed a few key inspirational phrases, such as:
*deep cleansing breath*
A bowl of Special-K is just as delicious as a donut
Splenda really does taste just like real sugar
Size 14 is not the new size 4
*deep shuddering breath*
I do not require chocolate to survive
*tears welling slightly*
Exercising will give me more energy, not sap my remaining strength and will to live
No one will look at me funny in the gym because I don't wear $200 gym shoes or the latest high-tech sports bra
*final cleansing breath*
In a few short years of hard work, I too can look like Dita Von Tese
*and exhale*
Monday, October 30, 2006
That Smell
I have a super-senstive nose. I smell things before everyone else, and am constantly haunted by mystery smells. I can always tell when the husband tries to sneak a fart, when plastic has been left to close to the radiator, and when the cat box could use another change. It's rarely a blessing, often a curse.
So, it was not surprise that one morning, with the car packed full of my family, that I detected a smell.
Me:(to husband) Do you smell something?
Husband: Er, I don't think so. Maybe?
Me: (Sniffing heavily) I definetely smell something. It smells like something's going on with the car. Like maybe something's in the heating vent.
Husband: I might smell something...
And so on. In a brief moment of silence, the small but confindent voice of my six-year-old son piped up from the backseat.
Son:I smell it mom. It smells like gas. And not the fart kind!
And not the fart kind. Indeed.
So, it was not surprise that one morning, with the car packed full of my family, that I detected a smell.
Me:(to husband) Do you smell something?
Husband: Er, I don't think so. Maybe?
Me: (Sniffing heavily) I definetely smell something. It smells like something's going on with the car. Like maybe something's in the heating vent.
Husband: I might smell something...
And so on. In a brief moment of silence, the small but confindent voice of my six-year-old son piped up from the backseat.
Son:I smell it mom. It smells like gas. And not the fart kind!
And not the fart kind. Indeed.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Just Who Is Sarcasta-mom?
When people look at me, "Mom" is not the first word that comes word. Dressed in black, a nose ring prominent, tattoos peaking their way out of clothing here and there and a bitting sarcasm that drips from each word, Donna Reed I am not.
Becasue of the way I choose to look, I find myself over-compensating desperatly as a mother, to prove I am a good person and a good parent. While other kids arrive at daycare with donuts and chocolate milk, my daughter happily munches an apple. When cold weather notices appear in backbacks, my kids are the first ones with hats and gloves. Even though my husband and I work full-time, dinners are homemade, laundry is fabric softener fresh and stories are read before bed. I work hard to prove that you don't have to look like the model homemaker to be a good wife and mother.
There are definetely days when the battle begins to wear thin. Shopping for new clothes for the kids, I find myself looking at brightly colored tops, skirts and corduroy slacks. I think about taking out my nose ring, and getting my hair "done". I wonder how much easier it would be to look like other mothers, to blend in. I wonder if well-dressed, sharp and made-up women in my office would look at me differently. I wonder if it would really make a huge difference if I just gave in and became the grown-up my mother keeps hoping I'll turn into.
But then I bring myself back to reality. My kids are well loved and well cared for. I am a smart hard working mother with a college education and a good job. So what if my husband's hair is longer than mine? So what if we believe getting tattooed together is the ultimate bonding experience? Who cares if my wardrobe is load after load of darks? Is it so bad that my kids pretend to give each other tattoos when they play together?
I am who I am, and I've worked hard to maintain my individuality all my life. It is precious to me, and a value I hope to pass onto my children. My sarcasm makes my good friends laugh. I bring homemade cookies to work along with the most recent copy of "Gothic Beauty" magazine. My most recent vampire novel lays next to my craft catolouge and my newly arrived order of beads.
I am a contridiction, an amusing ball of bitterness who still melts when her children draw her pictures and say they love her. I am Sarcasta-mom!
Becasue of the way I choose to look, I find myself over-compensating desperatly as a mother, to prove I am a good person and a good parent. While other kids arrive at daycare with donuts and chocolate milk, my daughter happily munches an apple. When cold weather notices appear in backbacks, my kids are the first ones with hats and gloves. Even though my husband and I work full-time, dinners are homemade, laundry is fabric softener fresh and stories are read before bed. I work hard to prove that you don't have to look like the model homemaker to be a good wife and mother.
There are definetely days when the battle begins to wear thin. Shopping for new clothes for the kids, I find myself looking at brightly colored tops, skirts and corduroy slacks. I think about taking out my nose ring, and getting my hair "done". I wonder how much easier it would be to look like other mothers, to blend in. I wonder if well-dressed, sharp and made-up women in my office would look at me differently. I wonder if it would really make a huge difference if I just gave in and became the grown-up my mother keeps hoping I'll turn into.
But then I bring myself back to reality. My kids are well loved and well cared for. I am a smart hard working mother with a college education and a good job. So what if my husband's hair is longer than mine? So what if we believe getting tattooed together is the ultimate bonding experience? Who cares if my wardrobe is load after load of darks? Is it so bad that my kids pretend to give each other tattoos when they play together?
I am who I am, and I've worked hard to maintain my individuality all my life. It is precious to me, and a value I hope to pass onto my children. My sarcasm makes my good friends laugh. I bring homemade cookies to work along with the most recent copy of "Gothic Beauty" magazine. My most recent vampire novel lays next to my craft catolouge and my newly arrived order of beads.
I am a contridiction, an amusing ball of bitterness who still melts when her children draw her pictures and say they love her. I am Sarcasta-mom!
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