The Truth is ...

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before. The woman existed, but the mother, never. A mother is something absolutely new. ~Rajneesh

I dig solitude. I crave it. It's all I know.

As a child, I played alone most of the time. As a teenager, I sequestered myself into my room.

After tons of socializing at parties and everything else in college, I just wanted to be alone in my apartment.

Writing fits me for that very reason. I prefer to write alone. I prefer a quiet room and a computer to a whole host of chatty people.

I'd much rather read your thoughts once than hear them a dozen times, which happens in real conversations.

Just the other day, as I was bragging about how my girls love to pretend clean, a relative of ours who shall remain nameless for this story, said this: "You've mentioned that before."

Really? Had I? Perhaps it's because in my life that is about as exciting as it gets. My twin daughters, who I am home alone with for 60 hours a week, like to pretend clean. Still. It's their No. 1 activity. Sorry to be repetitive, but that is what it is like having two toddlers. Repetitive.

So, after one too many conversations like that in my real life in the last week, I withdraw back to my pen and my paper where I am free to repeat myself as often as I'd like because unlike the rest of my life I reign on this blog.

Mix writing with motherhood and, well, it can be rather toxic to your mind. Since I work from home, calls need to be made and received. Research has to be conducted. All of this in the span of a few hours a day.

But, I have chosen this. I am revitalizing an old career while building a new one. I do not speak of these endeavors for privacy sake. But, the truth is, I am doing very well for a newbie.

It also means that I am tied to this house more than I should be at the age of 33. Between the two tots, the writing career, one car, no extra money and no family to visit in the immediate area -- I live a lonely life.

But, I choose this over everything else and would do so again and again.

My point is that I am not pitying myself. I am not upset or sad or angry. I am just puzzled. Puzzled that this is the life I choose. Puzzled over the fact that making friends and maintaining them has become, in recent years, really challenging. Puzzled that motherhood -- despite what it seems from the outside -- is so very lonely and isolating.

Once you become a mom your life is world's apart from everyone else's. And that's what I meant to say in my last post, but didn't.

Schedules, ideologies, philosophies, places of choice ... it all adds up and keeps us separate -- world's apart.

And I can search all day on the streets by knocking on doors and attending playgroups, and attending church services, but I will never find better friends than all of you -- my blogging friends. Is it because we open up our souls the only way we know how -- by writing out the words? If it doesn't get written is it ever said?

Not in my mind. Maybe it goes back to my decade-plus career in journalism, where I took copious notes and then hardly had to look at them again because once I wrote them down, I knew them. They were already planted in my mind -- some of them forever.

The truth is that I don't have any more answers now than I did a week ago. I do know, though, that I am still working madly on some internal errors that even Norton can't help me with.

I have some writing resolutions due to one of my friends. I have some household maintenance issues to attend to. And, deadlines looming.




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A feminist housewife

Dear Jadyn and Liana,

"What will you do?" your Da! asked me one day, not long ago.
"You know, when they start school?" he continued, with caution and perfect-Da! thoughtfulness.
I will continue writing, I immediately snapped.
It is my mission to never have to return to another office-like setting again unless it's my own business.
It is my purpose to make sure that I will always be home when you get home from school.
Just because these early years pass too fast and I don't want to miss them doesn't mean I want to miss any of the rest.
Just the opposite.
I want to be there when you get home to offer you a snack, to help you with your homework, to find some form of physical activity to engage in.
Perhaps more than anything, those days will be most important to me of all.

****

As you grow into girls and then adolescents and then into teenagers, I want you both to take a hard look at what makes you most happy.
It could be that, at this moment, a boy makes you happy.
That is fine.
Follow your dreams.
But, never give up on the fact that you might change your mind, you might discover something bigger, brighter or more heavenly just ahead, around the curve.
And when you see it just stop and enjoy it.
Find the peace in that moment.
You will know when it's time to move on.

****

I hope as you read these blog posts on some crazy archiving machine in your college library that you aren't hurt or sad by my words, that you don't pity me for becoming Just a Mom.
Rather, I hope that you will take the time to search through that same machine all the words that I typed over the years as a writer and journalist.
Sure, I cooked your meals, brushed your hair and helped you make crafts.
Now and then, I even folded your clothes or baked cookies.
Those are just jobs that all moms do and much better than I.
Just like you, I followed my career dreams. I lived that world -- and it still feels like I spent a lifetime doing so.
All along I was dreaming of you, though.
When my career-life was over, just like a great novel, I just knew it was complete, for me.
Perhaps you will find a profession that will lead you all over the world. One that will bring you satisfaction and peace.
In the end, you may decide to become Just a Mom yourself.
Or not.
That's the beauty of being an American woman.
The choices.
They are yours to make over and over.

****

The day may come for me when I wonder why I chose a life that keeps me more housebound than ever. I may suddenly miss being that working woman who gets coffee breaks and chats with co-workers.
I may keep wondering that. I may always reevaluate the decision.
But, for now I am truly at peace with believing that the family unit needs to be protected. That it is, indeed, a dying art form that even our stupid government can't protect with dumb laws.
Family meals, discovering traditions, gatherings of relatives -- these are things I value more than a paycheck, more than whose car is bigger or who has the nicer title.
I don't even care about a Pulitzer. Not that much, anyway.
The truth is I hardly do laundry. Your father does it.
I don't see myself as a housewife or a housekeeper.
Just a Mom.
With a purpose.
And that purpose is you.
The two of you.
That's my choice.

Thank you. Thank you so very much.





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The Powerful Choice

I recall fondly of a span of about 20 minutes last November. Newly home with my girls, my writing work was piling up as editors learned I had a little more time for freelancing.

The hardest part of my work is fitting in phone interviews during the day so that clients or sources do not hear screaming toddlers in the background. This was super easy when they napped twice a day, which was the case last Fall. But, that particular day, one interview just could not be done in that time span.

So there I was, holding the phone and taking notes and asking questions all while feeding my infant babies baby food in their high chairs.

Work-at-home mothers prove every day that it is possible to spend time with their children and earn an income. Of course, the more income the less time being spent with children. There are always going to be trade-offs, compromises and some level of guilt.

If anything, I am even more efficient at my work than ever before because time is that much more limited. I cannot put off deadlines for no reason because I only have -- if I'm lucky -- a two-hour period to work each day. This does not count mornings and evenings.

But, working at home while taking care of two toddlers full-time takes an immense amount of motivation that even I, some days, can barely muster up for anything in the world.

I'm still learning the ropes, but here are a few things I've learned to make the Work-at-Home Option easier and more fruitful.

1. Schedule precisely: My best days are those when I know exactly who I will call and what I will do in 10 to 20 minute time slots. I also like to write to-do lists for the rest of the day as well.

2. Squeeze in time: I create call lists with phone numbers, a to-do list and research first thing each morning. I can take my lists on the road to play in the yard or while driving. I also send out e-mails for future projects so that the naps are spent mostly fielding calls, researching or writing.

3. Take a day off: I'm still beating my head against the wall about this one. Constant deadlines and short periods to work, for me, make this very challenging. But, it is the most important thing I can do for everyone, especially myself.

4. Be professional, but confident: I have caught myself a few times apologizing to sources for not being available at, say, lunch time or dinner time. Why? If I were in an office setting, I would still have meetings, a lunch and other reasons for not being available. So, why should I apologize for needing to feed my daughters? Now, I just say, I'm not available at that time, I'm sorry.

5. Managing the mother load: The dishes, the cleaning, the messes all add up in a day as do the assignments and new projects. I have learned what I can handle, and what I cannot. I try to get deadlines moved back or only take on what I can handle with little stress. It's hard to say no when we need the money so this is another hard one for me to manage. But, ultimately, my job is being Mama and some days Mama just can't do it all.

I keep waiting for the big contract, the big assignment, the big paying gig to hire a sitter, finally. I'm not sure when that will happen, but when it does, I'll be happy to have the ability to be on site to still visit with my girls when I have a free moment and, of course, be around to keep watch over the sitter. I'll still be the boss.

I'm so thankful to the many mothers of previous generations who paved the way for a Mama like me to have this choice.

Tomorrow, I will explore the topic of being a Feminist Housewife.

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Unexpected benefits of being a SAHM

Working later than usual, without any help, because The Employed gets to schmooze, eat restaurant food, drink beer and laugh after work hours.

Eating leftovers from a plastic container all while picking up shards of broccoli, cauliflower, and pizza crust while The Employed eats RESTAURANT FOOD with two hands, without being kicked in the head while picking up shards.

Twelve hour day that is topped off by fits of screams that are completely mysterious, followed by only a desire to jump off couch and nothing else while The Employed eats RESTAURANT FOOD sitting down in a chair, laughing, and probably chewing bites thoroughly.

Cleaning for house showings, cooking all meals, writing during naps for extra money, taking ZERO naps all day despite hardly a minute of sleep all night just to keep the household running smoothly with no employee recognition dinner while The Employed eats RESTAURANT FOOD after work hours!

Not that I'm bitter.

All in a day's work -- Part I

J & L,

I was going to write a post about something pretty dear to my heart, but then this morning -- still groggy from working on writing projects until midnight and it's now 6 a.m. -- I decided I would comment a little on something I found this morning on Mother Talkers.

When I first became a mother, and really for many months after that up until recently, I was shocked to learn how hard mothers work, period -- whether they stay home, work inside the home or work out of the home -- and I've done all three, so I know. And, of course, I realize that with two who have the same needs at the same time at the very same second of every day, it makes the job a little more difficult for me.

To learn that a stay-at-home mother's salary would be $138,000 if she were paid for all of her jobs in the home is not too surprising. In a 12-hour day, which is the time your Da is away, I easily fill my time with tasks that, if I'm lucky, includes a shower and a bite to eat. Most of the day involves a lot of playing and interacting with you. I don't think any of that counts as work, but it sure does feel like it at the end of the day!

But, since I'm now working during every minute of both of your naps as well as getting up early and staying up late to get my writing projects done, I think the Mommy Wars debate can end here.

Working from home while also being the primary caregiver of children is the most difficult job any parent can do, but it is the most rewarding. It puts both sides of the Mommy Wars to rest, yet it is a side that is often overlooked in the gazillions of discussions. Moms who stay home complain -- and often -- that they feel like they've lost their identity as a woman. Moms who work outside the home feel guilty for not being with their children more.

I have never felt I lost my identity and perhaps it's because I just always wanted to be a writer. The day I quit my job that's when I finally could say that. Besides raising you, I've been raising a writing career as well.

I have found the perfect option. Really.

And, I'm not alone. Many other women are doing the same from around the world. If they aren't writing, they are doing something -- or they are starting their own businesses to provide a more flexible option for their family. Working for the Man -- and living in a country only ever run by men -- has put us here, in this debate.

The real conversation, which is being left out of the mainstream media, is the discussion of what needs to change in the workplace to help both moms and dads be home with their children so that they can raise them.

Who's with me?

Work-at-Home Mama

Dear Baby Girl and Lady Bug:

I sit down at my desk chair in the kind of relief one feels after doing an hour of yoga. I take a long, deep inhale and my tense shoulders drop away from my ears.

Really, I just finally got you to settle down enough from your partying to take an afternoon nap. It’s been a solid three hours of caretaking and noisemaking and toy throwing and, frankly, I’m exhausted.

And, so, it’s time to get to work, writing. Another deadline looms in the air like a tiny iridescent fuzz that catches my eye here and there as I finally hunker down after diaper changes, messy meals and kisses on new boo-boos.

Really, I just want to curl up on my office futon with remote control in hand and sleep.

After nearly an hour of staring blankly at my computer’s monitor, typing and retyping the same sentence nine different ways and with my freshly washed fingertips falling numb atop the keys, the words start flowing, finally. I’ve hit a rhythm like no other – at least this week. I barely stop to catch my breath it’s going so well. A smile crosses my face. My fingers dance across the keyboard.

And, then, I hear it. It rumbles like the earth’s core shaking just before an earthquake.

Wwwwha! Whaa! Whaaa!

By the sound of your terrifying cry, Baby Girl, you would think my computer, too heavy from all of those 217 words I just typed in, fell on top of your little head. Like an ugly, fat green monster jumped on top of you and squished you. Like your leg had gotten twisted up and stuck between a couple crib slats.

But, no, you just wanted me. The second I wrap my arms around you, and hug you tight you sigh heavily and collapse against my chest. Your little fingers pinch my skin as you try to nuzzle closer to me. I breathe in the smell of your hair. Suddenly, reality pulls at my heart and commas and pronouns mean nothing. Choosing the right words, though, is a task that will continue all day.

“Shhh,” I say in your ear. “It’s OK. Mama’s here.”

A minute later, Lady Bug, whimpers “don’t forget about me.”

And then it’s time to change diapers, tie shoes and carry you both downstairs to resume the rest of our day: Snack time, play time, dinner time, bath time. The day is coming to an end all too quick.

Tonight, after you are sound asleep, I will face the computer screen again, knowing that my little girls most likely will not wake calling for me. This time, I might actually get something written.

But, really, I’ll just want to curl up in my bed with a good book and fall asleep, dreaming of tomorrow’s peanut butter and jellies, goldfish crumbs and tug o’ wars.