Mommy doesn't have a "job"

• Share This Post
• 0
• submit
• 0
• Sparkle (
  0
  )
   

One of the great things about losing my mind is that I have more time to volunteer in my daughter's classroom.

When I was working, I felt tremendously guilty for not being "involved enough" in my kids' daycare and school. (I'm putting that in quotes because "involved enough" is extremely subjective and can be a hot-button issue. Who gets to decide what "involved enough" means?)

After years of feeling like the slacker mom, I can report with great pride that I chaperoned three out of four field trips this winter, participated in some way in every school fundraiser, and never missed a meeting at Jake's preschool, which take place during what used to be my afternoon commute.

One morning recently I spent a pleasant hour in Ruby's class taping name cards to desks and then working one-on-one with Ruby and her buddies as they tried to sound their way through words like "right" and "school" and "vacation." (When you have an emerging reader in the household you realize how little sense the English language makes.)

When it was time for me to leave, Ruby ran up to her teacher and said, "Mrs. Thomas, can my mom stay for snack?"

"Sure...but I don't know if she has time. She might have to get to work." Very diplomatic, that Mrs. Thomas.

"Oh, she doesn't have to go to work," Ruby beamed mischievously. "My mommy doesn't have a job!"

Technically this was true. I didn't, and don't, have a job. Although I'm doing a lot of writing these days, I have no paycheck, no office where people monitor my comings and goings, no coworkers to gossip with or about. This is a choice I made, or was sort of forced into, depending on how you look at it.

However, as soon as Ruby made that declaration, I felt a horrible wave of embarrassment. Like she had just told everyone her mom was a bum who sits on the couch all day watching Oprah and eating chocolate caramels. (The best ones, by the way, are sold at that little chocolate shop on Solano Ave. in Albany. Delicious!)

"All mommies have a job," said the ever respectful Mrs. Thomas.

I smiled at her bravely, and then agreed to accompany the class outside to snack.

I have spent most of my adult life working for other people and far, far too much of my self-esteem has been wrapped up in what I do for a living. At work, I got a lot of "atta-girls" when I gave a great presentation or helped win a new project or resolved a particularly gnarly personnel problem. Since I've stopped, my self-esteem has been on a roller coaster ride.

I'm also doing the lion's share of the household chores and much of the kid care in the evenings, something my husband and I used to split evenly when I worked. I know my husband and kids love me and appreciate me and would never outsource my job, but there's no public recognition for being the person who does the taxes or folds the laundry or remembers to pick up the dry cleaning. Stay-at-home moms and dads know this. I can't even say I'm a stay-at-home mom since my youngest child is now in preschool. I'm staying at home; he's not.

Although I was desperate to get out of the crazy rat race I was in, something smells suspiciously anti-feminist about my role now. And yet, I'm profoundly grateful to have this time to slow down and focus on what's important. It's confusing.

This whole experience has given me a newfound respect for the women and men I know who choose to be stay-at-home parents. Basically they're choosing to accept a full-time--who are we kidding? it's way more than full time--unpaid caregiving role, one that earns them no paid vacation time, no 401K plan, and nothing to put on the resume five or ten years from now