Happy mommy, happy girls. This time has been precious, but I know the future holds even more sweet moments.
This isn’t really an announcement so much as it is an explanation. Back in March 2012, I opted out of the workforce, leaving my job as director of communications for a statewide non-profit to stay home with my girls (then ages 10 months and two years). I’ve chronicled the ups, the downs, my insecurities and my successes. I found I have a heart for moms, and helping them find their ideal balance, whether it be at home full time, at work full time, or somewhere in between.
I didn’t pursue much freelance work at first, just simply wanting to check out and enjoy my time with my precious girls. Over time, though, both my …
What if I headed straight into the clump of trees? (image from usnews.com)
When I left full-time employment seven months ago to stay home with my girls (ages 3.5 and 1.5 now) I knew I’d return to the workplace…someday. I even knew it might not last much more than six months, since our budget is tight. And while we’re very careful (aka stingy) with our money, the “little dips” into our savings are starting to add up. More than I realized. At this point, we’d have to make some major life changes. We’re moving forward with a vehicle downgrade, but selling our house is out of the question. We love our little homestead, and if staying here means me bringing home some bacon, then so be it.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re not in dire straights, but we …
No title. No paycheck. Just benefits.
Was it really just six months ago that I walked into my boss’s office, closed the door, and spoke the words I never thought I’d say?
I’m really sorry, but I’m leaving. I’m going to stay home with my girls. It’s just something that I need to do.
I was dreading that encounter, but she was compassionate and understanding. I had to focus on my long-term goals, rather than the short-term awkwardness. Once that was over, I had to tell the girls’ daycare provider. This was perhaps the hardest thing of all. Not only was I taking away a big part of her income, she truly loved the girls. But she understood, too.
Two weeks later, it was just me and the girls (and the occasional babysitter/daycare stay). I don’t think anything …
Every great once in a while, it happens. You have an important client meeting, one that you’d rather not reschedule, and your childcare plans fall through. Now what? You could call and beg and plead with everyone you know to sit on your kid for awhile, but you did that last week, and you’re out of favors. Or, you don’t have any backup resources. So you’re faced with two options: reschedule or bring your offspring along for the ride. I chose the latter.
I strapped my sixteen-month-old into her car seat, and headed into town (her older sister had other arrangements). I was a little apprehensive about how my appointment would go, but I’m glad to report that there were no major glitches. I was productive, she was happy, the client was satisfied. Win-win-win! Now, I …
Soaking in some mommy-daughter time.
For every stay-at-home-mom who’s complaining on her blog about her lack of appreciation (ahem, like me), there’s another mom sitting in a cubicle, dreaming of spending time with her little ones. She glances over at their faces in the 5×7 frame, and counts the hours and minutes until she can ooze into her front door after a long day of work to a chorus of “Mommy! Mommy! We’re so glad you’re home!” She would give anything to be in my shoes, but she can’t. She’s the sole bread winner, or the insurance carrier, or the single parent.
For every hair I pull out of my head while my children are driving me crazy, there’s another mom thousands of miles away, with sand in her hair and her combat boots. It …
She’s real. And she lives in West Wichita.
There she was, in real life, tall, bottle blonde, tan and wearing spandex as it was meant to be worn. She had pep in her step, pearls for teeth and a perkiness that indicated silicone (if you catch my drift). She emerged from the church carefree and unburdened as I was walking in with a baby slung up on one hip, and a toddler gripping my free hand. I was schlepping, she was practically bouncing. She had style, she had grace, I probably had graham cracker on my face. (No, seriously, Erica had been munching on them on the way in.)
So what was she doing here, at this mega-lo-church, where I was dropping off my kiddos for four hours of social interaction? I was already a bit …