One Year Without A Job!

It's been about a year since I left my job to stay at home with the kids.  I don't know which label currently suits me.  Unemployed?  No, that makes it sound like I was fired or otherwise terminated.  Jobless?  The same as the first, only somehow a little worse.  Am I a "housewife?"  Good heavens, could there be a frumpier word in the English language?  Have you conjured up a picture of me that includes ratty slippers, pink curlers, and a house dress?  Do they still sell "house dresses" these days?  Or are we a modern society that has officially shifted from "house dress" to "yoga pants?"  Anyway, what does that leave me with?  Am I a Stay At Home Mom?  Well, considering my number one parenting advice- always, and I mean always, leave the house- that one's not entirely accurate either.

In the past year, I can only think of about five days that I didn't take these kids somewhere in the morning.  You have to leave the house every day, otherwise that dark cloud starts to descend, and by about eleven o'clock, you officially hate your life, your children, and especially your house. Oh, sure, hate might be a strong word, but it's hard to be cheerful when you've watched fifteen straight episodes of "Caillou," swept up twelve different graham cracker crumb piles, and watched your living room get hit and thoroughly annihilated by Hurricane Andy.  Children get bored.  Moms get bothered.  It's downright hellish.

So we go out, and everyone loves their lives.  Andy gets to interact with other kids, and I get to turn a blind eye while a fistful of goldfish crackers gets smashed into the rug of the library.  We burn our energy at any number of jumpy bouncy places and let the preschool teachers wipe our ass for a change.  (When I say "our ass," I mean Andy's ass.  Or so you assume.)  You want to paint something?  Do it at the park district under their supervision.  You want to slide down something?  Let's go to the park.  Would you like to completely destroy a room full of toys?  I hear the children's museum opens up at nine-thirty. Let me finish pouring my coffee into this travel mug, because out of the house is the only place I can seriously finish my morning joe.

When we come home, things seem pretty okay.  The family room is mostly in tact.  There's not snack mix and juice all over the floor.  And, bonus, nobody's tired of playing with their toys for the day, and chilling out with a cartoon seems like a great way to relax while Mom whips up some grilled cheese with a side of grapes.

One year since I've been a Leave The House Mom.  It's been good.  As it's easier to admit things in retrospect, I will tell you that I think I suffered from a little post partum at first.  Last summer was rough.  I have to think it's normal to have a new baby enter your life and to at times (some times, not all times) look at your first born with a strange mixture of resentment and pity.  Pity that his life had been turned upside down, too- no daycare, new routine, new bed, new sibling, divided parental attention- yet resentment that he wouldn't let me just sit and bond with my new baby for a little bit.  Baby Alex did not get held as much as I would have liked.  To be fair, I wanted to hold him ALL DAY, which would have been impossible regardless of other children, but I did not feel like I got to hold him anywhere close to the amount of time I desired. I did not get to nap with my baby like I did with Andy.  And so enters in the resentment towards an innocent two year old, which is obviously completely rational and reasonable.

But by the fall, things started getting better.  I wasn't as emotionally distraught.  I stopped with the pity/ resentment moments.  I embraced life with two little kids and our routine suddenly felt normal and good as opposed to strange and somewhat awful.  And I stopped missing work.  At this point, I miss work so little that the thought of actually having to get a job again makes my stomach turn.  Technically, the one year that Chris and I agreed I would get at home is just about over.  I should be looking for a new job right about now.  But, hell.  I'll level with you.  I"m going to ride this gravy train for as long as I can.  I've turned into one of the women that, yes, I used to both pity and resent.  The mythical Stay At Home (Leave The House) Mom. And, just so we're clear, I'm sleeping later each morning than I ever have in my life.  Things are definitely going right around here.  What's an alarm clock?  What's a morning commute?  For the first time, I'm eating breakfast.  Actual morning food.  With my children.  Sure, I have a hell of a lot of sweeping to do afterwards, but it's on a full stomach.  Breakfast is not a granola bar at my desk while I calculate the hours until I can reasonably take a lunch.  Although, a lunch break is what I do seriously miss.  If I could go back in time, I would spend that last year of lunch breaks just sitting in my car and mindlessly staring out at suburban traffic.  I would take a full hour and just do nothing.  As much nothing as I could possibly cram in.  Because that is the one thing- I never just get to do nothing.

I thought I would miss the adult companionship of the workplace.  But I have plenty of companionship.  I have companionship up the wazoo.  I mean, I do have a husband and friends, for God's sake.  And there are other moms, of course.  I thought I would miss feeling useful, but this is the most useful I've ever felt, to be quite honest with you.  And I thought we would be poor.  Strangely enough, we're not.  How is it possible to maintain the same, albeit simple, lifestyle with half the money?  I don't know.  Family math is weird.  You think you can't afford a baby?  You can.  You think you can't afford day care?  You can.  You think you can't afford to stay home?  You can.  You think you can't afford a new house?  Well, that one you can't.  But it works out okay, because you're a Leave The House Mom anyway.

So, as a year of being jobless winds to an end- as my baby turns one and my firstborn stares down the barrel of turning three- I'm pleased to say that things are going pretty okay.  I'm positive my kids are benefiting from my being home with them.  I mean, I'd have to say that regardless.  Who says, "Yep.  My kids would be way better off in day care.  Kimmy's such a dumb ass.  And I really don't like to feed little Harry, so I don't."

Now, how much do you want to bet that Chris gets fired today and I have to go back to work immediately?  Wouldn't that just wipe the smug smile right off my stupid face?