There is one question that stay-at-home-moms get asked on a regular basis. One that evokes many different emotions. That question is:
I get asked that all the time. It might have something to do with having three children wildly spaced out over a decade. It's not my fault my ovaries love their eggs so much that they don't like to let them go. They're like greedy, little easter bunnies who don't like to share the chocolaty goodness. And with many potential offspring with Gutsyesque behaviour, I can see why Mother Nature decided to gently protect my psyche by spacing them far apart.
Thank you, Mother Nature. You have no idea how much I thank you.
Oh, I've dabbled here and there in the working world. I worked part-time at two ISPs a year after Intrepid was born. I started the year-long experiment of horrors known as "daycare" two years after Gutsy's arrival. I had good intentions every time. I had a strong work ethic. I took my job seriously. I greeted every day with fierce determination.
And I hated doing it.
Oh, you couldn't have hated it, Maven. I'm sure you liked some aspects of working.
Sure I did. I liked the money and I liked not having snot on my hour-old shirt and I liked when my workday ended. In all honesty, that's what I liked.
What about social interaction?
Who had time to be social? I was too busy answering phones and dealing with people who should not have owned a computer in the first place, or who screamed at their children within thirty seconds after not seeing them for the whole day, or reminding people that they had to pay me (I'm talking to someone at that point, so that may count as social), or running after children who magically got a hold of pointy scissors, or explaining for the tenth time what a 'land line' is, or trying to keep toddlers quiet while a baby was sleeping in the other room, or training people I didn't like because the boss I didn't like was too busy being social with the other boss I liked until I saw that they were getting along.
So fun. So terribly glamorous. The conversation and frienships were pouring in.
Sounds bleak. But didn't you go out after hours with people?
Sure I did. We went out clubbing so I could watch them get drunk. Then we'd go to an all-night diner and I'd watch them try to eat while drunk. Then I would go home, sleep for five hours and get up with my child while they slept another few hours and then headed off to class before our shifts started again.
Not that I was jealous or anything. Bitches.
So what are you saying here?
Have you not been reading? What's wrong with you?
You can't answer a question with another question.
I answered with two questions. Foiled again.
Fine... But you know what, Maven? You're setting back the feminist movement!
Meh. The feminists can march on without me. I actually like wearing a bra. It makes me look pretty for the boys.
You're infuriating! You're insulting working mothers everywhere!
Please don't hold back. I'd like to hear what you really think.
If anyone is insulted because I, The Maven, don't like the idea of waking up earlier than I already do, getting everyone out of bed earlier than we already have to, getting three tired gremlins dressed and out the door to various places of care and education while also taking the time to wash and *gasp* dry and *eep* style my thick, curly mane, find and wear clothes that aren't stained or could be worn while doing yoga, and drive or bus through traffic, and work all day, and come home and pick up tired kids and make dinner and go to bed earlier while at the same time getting everything ready to do all over again the next day...
If someone is insulted because I don't like the idea of doing that... Well, I'm too tired thinking about the above paragraph to care.
I don't think the woman's place is in the home. I think it's wherever she wants to be (or sometimes where she has to be, despite where she would really like to be, but anyway... let's not try and make me feel guilty because it throws my mojo off). And you know what? I want to be in the home. I want to watch Law and Order at 1pm and find out if the 8th person Roberta and Maury are testing is actually her baby's father. I want to wear track pants and read stories on the floor and take spontaneous trips out with the gremlins, despite their lack of cooperation and my inability to learn from previous outings.
I may be completely off my rocker (because my behind is too big from eating so many bon-bons to fit in it anymore), but I'm rather content here, thanks.
So when am I going back to work? When I can get up, put on the coffee pot, sit at Lapzilla and get paid per word. Working from home is what Mavens do best. The Outerworld is for people who are good with schedules and buying nice clothing and putting on nifty badges to get through security at the front door. It's a big, scary place. I like the equally terrifying but slightly less style-oriented Mavenworld.
*snicker* Do you think you can actually make it as a writer?
Hell no. That would involve having talent beyond typing out pretty words on blog for free. But I can pretend, right? And besides, I'm going to university! That means that, in twenty years, I'll have my undergrad in psychology!
This writing thing had better work out.
So... When are you going back to work?
I get asked that all the time. It might have something to do with having three children wildly spaced out over a decade. It's not my fault my ovaries love their eggs so much that they don't like to let them go. They're like greedy, little easter bunnies who don't like to share the chocolaty goodness. And with many potential offspring with Gutsyesque behaviour, I can see why Mother Nature decided to gently protect my psyche by spacing them far apart.
Thank you, Mother Nature. You have no idea how much I thank you.
Oh, I've dabbled here and there in the working world. I worked part-time at two ISPs a year after Intrepid was born. I started the year-long experiment of horrors known as "daycare" two years after Gutsy's arrival. I had good intentions every time. I had a strong work ethic. I took my job seriously. I greeted every day with fierce determination.
And I hated doing it.
Oh, you couldn't have hated it, Maven. I'm sure you liked some aspects of working.
Sure I did. I liked the money and I liked not having snot on my hour-old shirt and I liked when my workday ended. In all honesty, that's what I liked.
What about social interaction?
Who had time to be social? I was too busy answering phones and dealing with people who should not have owned a computer in the first place, or who screamed at their children within thirty seconds after not seeing them for the whole day, or reminding people that they had to pay me (I'm talking to someone at that point, so that may count as social), or running after children who magically got a hold of pointy scissors, or explaining for the tenth time what a 'land line' is, or trying to keep toddlers quiet while a baby was sleeping in the other room, or training people I didn't like because the boss I didn't like was too busy being social with the other boss I liked until I saw that they were getting along.
So fun. So terribly glamorous. The conversation and frienships were pouring in.
Sounds bleak. But didn't you go out after hours with people?
Sure I did. We went out clubbing so I could watch them get drunk. Then we'd go to an all-night diner and I'd watch them try to eat while drunk. Then I would go home, sleep for five hours and get up with my child while they slept another few hours and then headed off to class before our shifts started again.
Not that I was jealous or anything. Bitches.
So what are you saying here?
Have you not been reading? What's wrong with you?
You can't answer a question with another question.
I answered with two questions. Foiled again.
Fine... But you know what, Maven? You're setting back the feminist movement!
Meh. The feminists can march on without me. I actually like wearing a bra. It makes me look pretty for the boys.
You're infuriating! You're insulting working mothers everywhere!
Please don't hold back. I'd like to hear what you really think.
If anyone is insulted because I, The Maven, don't like the idea of waking up earlier than I already do, getting everyone out of bed earlier than we already have to, getting three tired gremlins dressed and out the door to various places of care and education while also taking the time to wash and *gasp* dry and *eep* style my thick, curly mane, find and wear clothes that aren't stained or could be worn while doing yoga, and drive or bus through traffic, and work all day, and come home and pick up tired kids and make dinner and go to bed earlier while at the same time getting everything ready to do all over again the next day...
If someone is insulted because I don't like the idea of doing that... Well, I'm too tired thinking about the above paragraph to care.
I don't think the woman's place is in the home. I think it's wherever she wants to be (or sometimes where she has to be, despite where she would really like to be, but anyway... let's not try and make me feel guilty because it throws my mojo off). And you know what? I want to be in the home. I want to watch Law and Order at 1pm and find out if the 8th person Roberta and Maury are testing is actually her baby's father. I want to wear track pants and read stories on the floor and take spontaneous trips out with the gremlins, despite their lack of cooperation and my inability to learn from previous outings.
I may be completely off my rocker (because my behind is too big from eating so many bon-bons to fit in it anymore), but I'm rather content here, thanks.
So when am I going back to work? When I can get up, put on the coffee pot, sit at Lapzilla and get paid per word. Working from home is what Mavens do best. The Outerworld is for people who are good with schedules and buying nice clothing and putting on nifty badges to get through security at the front door. It's a big, scary place. I like the equally terrifying but slightly less style-oriented Mavenworld.
*snicker* Do you think you can actually make it as a writer?
Hell no. That would involve having talent beyond typing out pretty words on blog for free. But I can pretend, right? And besides, I'm going to university! That means that, in twenty years, I'll have my undergrad in psychology!
This writing thing had better work out.