Some days, I dream about having a job-- nay, a career. (Sounds fancier, doesn't it? And if I stick "path" at the end of it, it raises its trendiness level significantly.)

Some days, I dream about coworker lunches, pats on the back, raises and accolades. I want to hear "Nice job, Maven!" or "You're a real asset to the team, Maven!" And I might even like to see people make "TEAM MAVEN" shirts or sparkly handbags. Frankly, I don't know why this hasn't been done already.

Some days, I want to be able to shop for me without guilt. I wish I had a reason to buy nice clothes or shoes or put highlights in my hair. I dig the red and a I totally rock the locks, but a secondary hair colour and a straightener might be nice things to have if I had a good reason (and the means) to get them.

Some days, I would love to be able to leave the house and all responsibilities therein in the capable hands of another while I drive off to work for eight hours. Or, better yet, I dream of dropping off my little mess-makers at somebody else's house while my home spends eight hours not getting messed up. Coming home to a clean house: that's the equivalent of a domestic orgasm.

Some days, I don't want to say "I'm sorry, but we can't afford that right now" to my kids. I would love to be able to surprise the gremlins with a vacation that involves hats with ears, ridiculously long lines, stupidly expensive food, and-- actually, screw that. I'd take us on a really big boat. The idea of little umbrellas in my virgin drinks on a floating resort definitely beats fighting our way through a sea of tiny tots just to get a picture with a giant mouse.

Some days, I tell you.

There are some days - like last Friday - when I look at my life and feel, well, a little dissatisfied. I feel like I'm spinning my wheels. I feel like I do the same thing day in and day out: Wake up, breakfast, get kids to school, clean, cook, lunch, clean, play, snack, clean, homework, dinner, clean, bedtime, clean, rinse and repeat. Fight to get them to school, fight to get them to bed, fight to get them to do their chores. Break up arguments, solve problems, find missing mittens. And for what? So that I can get yelled at, talked back to, told that my meals look gross with a push of the plate? It's not exactly motivating.

Sometimes, like on a frigid Tuesday night when I have a bit of money in my pocket and I'm off to get groceries for my family -- only to discover the heat in my van isn't working - I panic because I don't know how we're going to afford to fix it and buy food. I think about getting a job to make our money situation easier, only to realize that I've been out of the workforce for years, and jumping into a career at 34 isn't exactly simple. I feel frustrated and want to kick things. Instead, I drink tea and eat chocolate and hope to the Powers that Be that it was a glitch brought on by the extremely cold weather (It was, and it worked on Tuesday morning. Phew.)

Some days, I wonder if I made the wrong choice to dedicate nearly a decade-and-a-half to raising my kids. I worry that I may have given up the opportunity to do something greater, something bigger than my domestic life. Maybe I could have been a great novelist, a doctor, a teacher, a politician. All except that last one are very meaningful careers.

The last few days have been a time of reflection brought on by doing way too much on far too little sleep. I looked at what I've given up: formal education, bigger retirement savings, better financial security, a feeling of personal accomplishment, a life of my own outside my family - and I wondered if I made the right choice.  On days like that, it feels like I've spent 14 years helping other people achieve their goals at the expense of my own. Mothering is pretty much all I've ever done in my adult life.

And that's the dark side of being a stay-at-home-mom in the 21st century. Because there are choices available to women these days other than slapping on an apron and procreating (not necessarily at the same time, but whatever floats your boat); because the norm is to live on two incomes, not one; because the question of "what's best for our children?" is a blurry, hot topic in our generation; because it's considered an outdated practice, circa 1952.

Being an at-home parent flies in the face of today's societal norm. There aren't a lot of us around these days. When you think about it, it's kind of badass. Rebelliousness of the stick-it-to-the-man variety.

I'm feeling a little bit rock n' roll right now. Maybe Pink made this song for me.



(I have a bit of a crush on Pink. It's hard not to.)

Yesterday, I kept a coughing Spawnling home from school. We made hot chocolate, sat by a warm fire in the living room and watched Sponge-Bob together. We cuddled under a blanket in our pyjamas, cozy and warm. It occurred to me that I didn't have to worry about missing work, because this is my work. I don't have to worry about using up sick days, or about sending the gremlins to school or daycare hoping that that they're not as sick as they seemed in the morning. We may be stressed about money sometimes, but I'm not stressed out spending time with our little demons. I consciously savoured the moment.

Later, I received a phone call from one of the support professionals we deal with for Gutsy's and Intrepid's hearing loss. I gave her a rundown of everything going on and the list of all the things we're doing to try and improve the situation. She complimented me on my efforts. I realized then that I could only do everything I'm doing because I have the time to do it. They are my full-time responsibility, and I can do a bang-up job because of it (which is an expression and should not be confused with violent acts toward my children. I don't beat them; I only think about it - sometimes in a great amount of detail.)

Later still, I experimented with some gluten-free baking. I whipped up a pan of peanut butter chocolate blondies that probably cost a whole $2 to make. I would have easily spent $8 or so at the store for a specialty baked item like that. So I may make less, but I also save us a lot of money, too (minus the coffee habit that I can quit any time so why don't you step off about it and back away from my grill?!)

My life isn't perfect, nor are my choices. But the epiphany I had is that there are no perfect choices, and that's okay. There are pros and cons to absolutely everything. I've spent 14 years witnessing first steps and first words, but as a result the gremlins three have witnessed their dad and I stress over paying the bills more than if I were working full-time. I can spend all day cooking, cleaning and eating bon-bons playing with Spawnling, but that stuff doesn't show well on a resume. I can be there when they come home from school, but we often have to say no to after-school activities. I can feel accomplished when I've reorganized the pantry, but no one is going to present me with an achievement award.

Choices, balance, acceptance. This is the path I chose for me, for my family, for us. It means a lot of things both good and bad. It means that I will probably never have a great career unless I forge one for myself as a writer. That's okay, I'm an excellent writer and destined for greatness - or at least some Maven-infused mediocrity. In the meantime, I'm going to stop being so hard on myself, quit questioning my every move, and fully throw myself back into the fray pure joy of full-time parenting without guilt.

And hope beyond hope that one of these contracts I'm bidding on comes my way very soon so I can keep the caffeine mainline going. Just sayin'.

I am the stay-at-home-Maven, after all. Raise your glass.