Working on Staying at Home- Guest Post by Robyn

" Stay at home mom. "

          For some, this term brings up feelings of guilt at having to be a working mom, for others it may bring up feelings of confusion as to how someone could “sit at home” all the time, and for yet others it is simply the term used to describe what they are. 

The decision on whether to be a stay at home mom or a working mom is a very difficult one to make. No matter which decision you choose to make, there are judgments cast against you. Working moms are criticized for not being around to raise their children, for not being home enough. People say things like, “I don't know how you do it.” or “How could you leave your baby?” Stay at home moms are criticized for not helping to provide for their families and for sitting around all day doing nothing. People question how you don't get bored or joke about how nice it must be to have so much free time. The truth is, there are sacrifices to be made in either decision, and they are sometimes very hard ones to make.

            When I had my first son, there was no question; I was staying home with him for as long as I could. I stayed with him for nineteen exhausting and amazing months. It was a very tight, difficult time for my family, but I absolutely cherish every second I was able to spend with him, and in many ways they were the best nineteen months of my life. My son and I bonded in such a special way that I just don't think would have been possible had I spent all of those days at work rather than with him. Sometime towards the end of those months, though, my husband and I decided it would be best for everyone if I went back to work. We wanted to buy a house, so the money would be nice, and I needed to do something “useful” for my own sense of self worth. Going back to work was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I cried for weeks beforehand, and every time I dropped my son off to daycare for almost a year. I felt so guilty that I was spending more time at work than with my child and that someone else was essentially raising my child instead of me. Every bad habit that was brought home from daycare, and every new thing he learned was a reminder that someone else had more influence on him than I did.

           Shortly after I started working, my husband and I got pregnant with our second child. I was so excited, but with that also came the dread of telling the superiors at my job. Being a teacher to middle school children, I did not have the pleasure of hiding my pregnancy or breaking the news in my own way. My students were kind enough to call me out in class one day, something along the lines of, “Are you pregnant? You used to be really skinny and now you're not.” Thanks so much for noticing. By the way, I was only about eight weeks along. Fortunately, a lot of teachers are women so schools seem to be pretty understanding and accepting of pregnancies. It wasn't very long before the gossip started, though. While walking through the office one day, I overheard two coworkers talking about me and how they were certain I wouldn't come back to work after the baby was born, saying, “It must be nice to have money like that, wish I could just stay home”. This sort of judgment has never made sense to me. Lets face it, unless you are in someone's everyday life, you have no idea what their finances are or what sacrifices might be being made to make something happen.

            My second son was born in September. I stayed home for 8 weeks, though I received some grief for that from a few coworkers, including an email that was highlighted and done in bold stating the average maternity leave is only 6 weeks. I knew before he was born that I wanted to stay home with him for at least his first year. For various reasons, I returned to work after my 8 weeks off, with the intent of only staying for 5 weeks. I enjoy my job, but I enjoy being a mom more. I have come to the conclusion that it is impossible to give your all to both your job and your children. In the end, one or both ends up suffering. The hardest part about my decision to once again be a stay at home mom, was giving my resignation.

            I don't care how old you are, the principal is scary. Having only worked at my school for a little over a year, I did not know my principal well, other than that she did not go out of her way to talk to me, and she made me nervous any time she did. I decided the best thing for my nerves would be to send a resignation letter via email. Call me a coward if you like, but it was much easier that way. Much to my surprise, my principal was not only very understanding of my decision, but during one conversation she told me that in twenty years I will look back and know that I made the right decision. In another conversation she suggested that I could return to my job when my kids were in school, and in yet another she told me I was welcome back any time I like and asked if I would be willing to substitute once in a while.

            It has been three weeks since my return to stay at home mom status, and in so many ways it is different than the first time I held that title. I do not get to spend hours just gazing upon the face of my little baby, and I do not get to spend all day laughing and playing with my little boy. Life with two children is a little more chaotic than with just one. But it is also that much more beautiful. I have the pleasure of watching my boys interact, which can be one of the most heart wrenching, amazing things I have ever seen. I get to watch my sons grow and learn each and every day. I really don't believe a day goes by that I am not amazed by my toddlers intelligence, compassion, sense of humor, and imagination. The baby gets bigger by the minute I think, and is learning and talking and becoming his own little person as well.

            While I am sure at some point, perhaps even multiple times, during my time as a stay at home mom, I will feel unappreciated or useless or invaluable. See, we as moms are very hard on ourselves over everything. I am not sure that we can help it. As I have felt in the past, I am sure I will have pangs of guilt when I am spending money that I did not earn, or doing something fun with the kids while my husband is at work. Then I will remind myself, or likely my husband will remind me, that I am valuable and I do have a purpose and my job is important.

Milestone Monday- Caps and Gowns

I was eighteen and cruising in the car with one of my best friends from high school- Andrea Gill.  Approximately T-2 hours until graduation.  I was wearing the light pink dress I had insisted I "needed" to wear under my cap and gown. (We were supposed to wear white but when Walmart proved unfruitful, light pink was the next best thing.  Because obviously wearing a white shirt and tan skirt or something practical from home that I already owned was not acceptable.)

I was sitting in the front seat painting my nails a light pink while Andrea glanced anxiously down- eyes darting between the bottle of polish in my hand to her car's (then) pristine interior.  I guess the nail painting wasn't entirely necessary, but they needed to match the dress that would ultimately basically remain unseen the two times I wore it (as it was covered by my forest-green graduation robe) and the rest of the time it hung in the back of my closet until it's relocation to Good Will.

In a few minutes my nails were done and we resorted to trying on our caps and dancing while "I'm Bringing Sexy Back" by Justin Timberlake blasted through the car.  Occassionally we'd pass another car full of almost-graduates and we'd laugh and point at each other from beneath our cardboard caps. We thought we were so cool.  We were on top of the world.

I remember high school fondly.  I had an amazing group of friends with similar standards and goals.  It was full of after-school clubs and performances, late nights on AIM, sleepovers with philosophical conversations where we all ultimately agreed and couldn't understand why no one else could see how life was so simple.  We had drama- both the Shakespeare kind and the regular teenage-brand; but the arguments were generally short-lived and our laughter was commonly heard both on and off campus.

Here some of my friends and I sit during lunch in the round concrete courtyard called "The Dogbowl" after our bull dog mascot.  We called this spot "The Wall".  I'm the one rocking the pink skirt and black high-tops.  P.S.  Yes that's an old-school flip-phone, but it isn't mine. I wasn't that cool.

Near the end of my senior year I remember some of my friends becoming anxious and withdrawn as college acceptance letters arrived and the countdown until graduation began.  I didn't understand what the big deal was.  What could possibly change?  These people were my life.  They knew me better than anyone else.

Yeah...that's us.  I'm the super immature one in the back climbing on Lindsey's back.  You can see my pink-shoed leg peeking through the front.  (Pink has never been my favorite color but this blog post sure makes it seem otherwise...lol)  I actually wore those pink converse to graduation- but someone caught me and made me switch with one of the spectators who was wearing white shoes.  I didn't even know the other girl and I had to wear her shoes... it was weird.  Then I had to go to the school the next day to pick up my shoes from one of the girls in choir who agreed to hold them for me.  I guess I drove home barefoot?  That doesn't make sense... I'm sure I was wearing shoes.  Maybe the white shoes belonged to the choir girl and we just traded? Man... it hasn't been long enough for me to forget so much has it?  Also this is way too long for a caption but oh well.

I met graduation warmly and excitedly.  I remember it in tidbits.  Andrea and I got there early because we had to sit in the front- since we were in the choir and would be singing the national anthem.  I graduated with honors- summa cum laude (Not to brag... ok maybe to brag a little.)  It seemed to last forever.  Going first means you get all the fun exciting parts over with right away and you spend the rest of the time clapping and acting happy for all the other people in your graduating class as they stomp across the stage.  Our school had placed little tiny rolls of crepe paper under our seats for us to throw when graduation was over.  I guess they didn't really explain it every well though because half the people had thrown their crepe paper before graduation was even officially over.  My friend Jeff was valedictorian but I don't remember his speech.  Andrea was dating him at the time.  I wonder if she remembers his speech?  The salutatorian mentioned cookies in his speech- but that's all I remember of that one too. hah

After graduation I couldn't find my family.  We were supposed to meet at Cracker Barrel but they had some car trouble and needed to go straight home.  I sat at Carrabas with Andrea and Jeff and their families instead and waited for one of my parents to swing back around and get me.  Sitting there with my friends- not hugging my family and posing for pictures with my diploma- things felt pretty normal.

There was no defining "moment" where I realized I was about to move onto the next phase of my life.  At some point... I just looked back and realized it had.

This picture was taken with some of my closest high school friends over the Christmas break after our graduation.  I remember it being such a bitter-sweet reunion.  My friend Alyssa made us all mix CD's and I listened to it in the minivan as my mom drove me back to college and I bawled my eyes out so sad to leave my friends.

I was only at college for a few months when I met my future husband.  I graduated high school in May 2007 and by November 2008 I was married.  My life was suddenly on fast-track.  The people had once known me so well quickly began to slip and fade out of my life as Brandon and I began our new life together.  It was a hard transition for me.  None of my friends were married.  They didn't quite know how to react.  I didn't quite know how to react either.

Suddenly I wasn't coming "home" every break.  We weren't having sleepovers or talking for hours late at night on the phone.  I was more concerned with figuring out how exactly you cook a casserole and how to be more responsible when washing my loads of white laundry because now they were "our" loads of white laundry and my husband was slightly more affected by a pink-tinged wardrobe than I would be.

Eventually I began to make new friends.  Friends with the people in my classes, friends with other young married couples at church.  The hurtful comments many of my high school friends had made when hearing about my young engagement began to fade and I focused on getting my degree- and in a couple of years starting a family.

Soon... sooner than I think I had expected- it was time to graduate again.  This time I had earned a Bachelors of Science degree in Elementary Education.  I was graduating with honors again- (only cum laude this time... lol) but this time I wasn't jumping at the bit to find the perfect outfit for under my graduation robe.  In fact I had considered not even walking at all.  I had so many other things on my mind.  (The fact that I was 8 months pregnant with my first child was one of them) But my husband Brandon pushed for me to go ahead and walk.

As I think back to that time- I consulted a blog entry I had written about the experience.  Below I've recounted parts of that post with a couple of additions.

I met the evening of Cinco de Mayo by putting on some nice church clothes, and gingerly placing my black cap and gown over top of them.  I had only tried them on for the first time the night before, despite the fact that I'd had them for an entire week.  I think part of me was afraid they wouldn't fit over my protruding belly.  lol I seriously felt in a daze.  When we got to the St. Pete Forum (the USF Sundome where graduations are usually held is under construction.) I was immediately surrounded by a feeling of excitement and joy.

But those feelings weren't my own.  I wasn't feeling excitement or joy.  I was in a daze.  So much had happened in the past four years.After all that hard work, all the confusion, all the cramming before tests, all the classmates I'd worked with, and all the late-night tears as I tried to figure out how in the world I was going to not only register for all the classes I needed, but PASS them as well....it was over.

I couldn't find any pictures from my actual college graduation- but this is the week before at the graduation ceremony for the honors teacher-training program I was in at the university.  My belly seems deceivingly small front-on like this but let me assure you it was pretty big at this point.

It couldn't be over.  I was about to have a baby!  I needed to get a job!  I'd been going crazy trying to make it there... what do you mean I actually did it? My entire life I've been snug inside some sort of "safety net"- whether it was my parents house, high school, a dorm room, or even just a four year college program.  And here they were handing me a pair of golden scissors, telling me it was time to snip a hole in that safety net.  Snip snip.

Slip through and join the "real world".  I wasn't ready... but ready or not- my college experience was officially over.

The ceremony didn't take too long- something I wasn't expecting after remembering the high school graduation that had seemed to drag on and on.  The speakers were brief and they went through names like Speedy Gonzalez on fast forward.  I chatted a little with my classmates, but mostly I just stared blankly around at everyone.  At the stage. At my peers.  At my lap.  The St. Pete Forum is where they play Tampa Bay hockey games, so they had covered the ice with some kind of thick foam flooring just for our graduation.  I took off my shoes and put my swollen pregnant lady feet on the ground and I could feel the cold seeping through.

When it was my turn to go on stage, I know I walked quickly.  I smiled- I shook hands- I posed for pictures.  (The pictures didn't trn out very good... lol I'm big and shiny and blinking.)

And at the end, after we turned our tassels to the other side- I threw my hate.  Just like in the movies.  Only like three people did-and I have to admit I almost knocked one of the deans in the head but I caught it just as she was walking by.  Smooth.  I think she understood because she just smiled and said "nice catch".  I quickly put it back on my head and pinned it back in place.  (one size fits all? really?) I felt like I needed to throw my cap.  As long as things were so surreal- why not add another little touch of "cliche" in there?

I had more than one person tell me that if they were as pregnant as I was they wouldn't have walked.  I don't know why.  Like I said before- I had considered not walking but it had nothing to do with being pregnant.  I just wasn't sure it was that big of a deal- but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't.  Just like I knew I'd regret it if I didn't throw my hat.  It was important to me that I go through the motions, to make it a little more real.  I went through my last semester and a half of college and two internships pregnant- I sure as heck wasn't going to let it stop me from walking across a stage.

I'm glad Brandon convinced me to walk.  I'm glad Graham (my oldest son) was "there" with me.  It was nice to have a little (well...big) reminder that I wasn't alone.  I couldn't see Brandon and his mom from where I was sitting, and my family and extended family were watching the graduation stream life online from their homes.  But it's nice to know that no matter where I go in this life... no matter what happens now that I've outgrown my "safety net"- I'm not alone.

The "Brian", the Snitch, and the War zone

There was something always magically delicious about a new school year for me. Every September always gave me a sense of self-renewal. I felt like giddy little Lucy Pevensie, discovering the land of Narnia once again. And like in Narnia, there were always so many different types of interesting creatures in the land of high school.  

Each new school year I would optimistically march onward with my sharpened pencils, new backpack, unblemished notebooks, pristine planner, ink-filled pens and crisp, new jeans, excited to begin a fresh, unmarred school year.

It was a beautiful September day when we returned to Narnia high school for the first week of school. Birds were still chirping their summer songs and we were being teased with sporadic days of crisper, cooler, apple-picking weather. I was 15. You know the age. You’ve probably even been there before. It was the beginning of my sophomore year of high school. The year that really mattered. And for me, this year would be marked as one I would never forget.

You see, where I grew up, sophomore year marked the beginning of the end. We would take some of our hardest classes this year in preparation for college applications and the multiple standardized tests. I was very focused on my academics, demure one would even say, as I sat in my history class pondering the upcoming events that would lead to my escape from this beloved, yet wretched high school war-zone. But then…I saw him.

Have you ever seen the Sound of Music when Maria sings at the top of the hill? This was my Maria “the-hills-are-alive-with-the-sound-of-music moment”. The moment I saw Brian. (Name has been changed to protect the innocent). My first history class crush. He sat across from me and I would intently watch as he would toss his 90’s bowl hair cut in slow motion. He played soccer. He was smart. He had a high GPA. He was cool. I mean uber-cool. Of course, he didn’t notice me. Nor did he care when I tossed my 90’s big hair right back at him (imagine Sandra Bullock's hair, like from The Net hair).

I tried to be a ninja and sit close to him. But the teacher made a seating chart. Darn! I casually raised my hand to be in the same group as him for the first history group project of the year, but in the last minute, he was assigned a different group. Yeesh.

In my attempt to vent my frustrations, I carefully tore a piece of paper out of my notebook and started to write a note to my friend to tell her about my new found crush. With hearts around his name, I quickly signed my name (with another heart, of course) and put it back into my notebook. The bell rang. I shut my notebook, shoved it into my backpack, and left for lunch.

But this was not the end of the tale.

As I plopped myself down to eat my lunch with my friends. I noticed a group of boys looking my way and laughing.

“Oh my…is that Brian?” I asked my friend.

“Yeah, he’s staring at you! Why is he staring at you?” my friend asked.

I looked down at my clothes. No mustard stains. Check.

I pulled out my mirror to look at my face. No weird lipstick stains on face or food in my teeth. Double check.

Why is he looking at me like that? Why are they ALL looking at me?

I was beginning to feel my face get flushed with embarrassment. Then, I saw the Snitch, another boy from my history class who sat close to me. He was holding a crumpled piece of paper in his sneaky little hands. I had a feeling this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Hey, you dropped this note. But don’t worry I gave it to “Brian” for you,” he said.

A gurgling sound started to form in the back of my throat and with a ROAR as loud as Aslan the lion’s, I growled:

“You did what?!”

The snitch looked smugly at me, laughed and turned around. I wanted to turn him into stone. If I was a dragon I would breathe fire.

At this time I think one of my friends reminded me to breathe. How could this happen? All I wanted to do was scream…and then cry. As composed as possible, I looked around at the high school war zone and felt a sense annoyance I had never felt before. I looked at the school’s Welcome back to school sign. Another lovely start to the school year, I thought.

As I think back to those memories, I have to laugh. Memories like those make up the story of a life well-lived and full of character-building experiences. Someday I’m sure my girls will have similar (although, hopefully not too similar) experiences. And hopefully they will have the wisdom to laugh at themselves and know that with every brand new beginning to each school year they are in control of how their story unravels. I hope I can teach them that as they look back at the denouement of their new school year experiences, they can enjoy the rising and the falling parts of every year and learn from them.