Mendolonium

Y’all gave me plenty of material such that I don’t have to blog about poo, but as it turns out, I have a little bit of poo to talk about today.  As Thomas was doing his “business” this morning, he called out, “Do you want to see my poop?”  “No”, I replied emphatically.  “Are you sure?  It’s in the shape of a T-rex!” Thomas encouraged me enthusiastically.  All I could think to say was, “I don’t care if your poop looks like the Eiffel tower kid, I don’t want to see it.”

I have been struggling lately with whether or not to return to work full-time.  I’ve worked part-time, three days a week, since I returned to work in April 2007 after Thomas’ birth.  The basic dilemma is this:   In working part-time my children get to spend more time with me, than apart from me.  I have time to enjoy them and a fulfilling, slower paced life outside of work.  I rarely have to set an alarm clock, even on work days.  I have time to bake an angel food cake, time to take a nap while the boys sleep, time to prune the roses and then to stop and smell them (just a sample of today).   But in working part-time I also give up or am turned away from interesting assignments at work, I haven’t been promoted in line with my peers, and we only make enough money to get by – there’s no saving for college or for retirement or that used minivan we covet.

But I’m not struggling anymore.  Two weeks ago, on the airplane to an interview for a new job, soaring at 30-something thousand feet, perhaps above my old home state of Nebraska, I had an epiphany.  I am not going back to work full-time right now…not for a long time, maybe not ever.  I had been seeing my life in terms of an absolute choice between options A and B.  A:  work part-time at my current job, feel bored and held-back at work, but be happy in my personal and family life.  B:  work full-time at a new exciting job, but have much less time for my other enjoyments, especially my children.  What I realized is that there is option C:  lay on my cards on the table at my current job, let them know what I want to do and see if I can get to where I want to go from here.  Either I will make my job work for me on a part-time basis or I will find one that will.  I’ll apply for jobs that are full-time and if I am offered a job, I  will negotiate a part-time schedule or decline the offer.

And now that I have made the decision to stay part-time I am so much happier.  I am forging new opportunities for interesting projects and advancement at work.  I am more at peace at home.  Today was  such a good day.  Nothing extraordinary, but a day that couldn’t have been if I worked full-time.  I stayed in my pajamas until noon and the kids stayed in their sleepers until their nighttime bath.  We ate mac and cheese with homegrown carrots for lunch.  I got to hear about dino shaped poop.  The boys took simultaneous naps during which I wrapped Christmas presents, pruned the roses, and ate a brownie sundae.  We sang REM and tunes from “The Sound of Music” at the top of our lungs.   Both ovens were working roasting a pumpkin and baking an angel food cake.  It was a good day.  And the best part of the day was that I got to watch Henry enjoy his first full day as a crawling baby.   If had been at work I would have missed it and no promotion, no amount of money could ever compensate for that.

So, I’ve been back to work for one week.  It’s going about how I expected it to.  I left the house on Monday morning to pleas of “Mama, don’t go!” from Thomas.  I arrived at work to find hundreds of emails and mandatory sexual harassment training waiting for me.  I found out that I will not be resuming work on the mind-rottingly boring project I had been working on before I went out on leave which is good news.  I will be working on at least one project which will actually utilize some of my skills.  Overall, I actually enjoyed Monday…an excuse to wear high heels and pearls, eight hours of quiet, and solo trips to the bathroom.  Apparently eight hours was enough for me, however, and on Wednesday night I had a mini-breakdown and contemplated scenarios under which I could avoid ever going back again.  Short of bank robbery, there are none.  To add more fuel to my fire of guilt, on Thursday morning Thomas found a stick in the yard and told me “This is my money.  I will give it to you so you don’t have to go to work.”  On Friday I called in absent…a friend offered us free tickets to Disneyland that had to be used that day so in a moment of carpe diem we went and had a great time spinning around in teacups and consuming copious quantities of ice cream.

One thing that surprised me last week and that I am dreading this week is the lying…the false, “work-appropriate” answers that I have to give in response to my co-workers inane questions.  To wit..

Co-worker:  “You must be so glad to be back.”

What I say out loud: “Yes.  It’s good to be back.”

What I say in my head:  “No, I’ve cried three times in the last twenty-four hours over the thought of being here.  I miss my kids.  I miss my house.  It’s boring and lonely here.  I want to go home and bake some cookies…and then eat them…lots of them.”

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Co-worker:  “Two boys.  So are you going to try for a girl?”

What I say out loud: “We’re happy with our boys.”

What I say in my head:  “We’re happy with our boys.  We are so lucky to have healthy children.  I would never wish that they were anything but who they are.  And we are going to have more children, but that’s none of your damned business and we will be thrilled with whatever gender we get.”

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Co-worker:  “Oh, you’re only part-time.  But you’ll be coming back full-time soon…”

What I say out loud: “Yes.  I am not sure when, but that’s the plan.”

What I say in my head:  “I’ll sell a kidney for cash before leave my baby five days a week and come back to this job full-time.  Maybe if it was a job I love, but this is not it.”

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Co-worker:  “Good to get back to work and use your mind again?”

What I say out loud: “Being home is surprisingly challenging, but yes it is nice to do some technical work again.”

What I say in my head:  “You are an idiot.  Being at home with two small children is a never-ending challenge.  On top of the kids, I writing a cookbook, maintaining a mini farm, writing, grading papers for my husband’s chemistry and geology classes, and applying for fellowships to get me the hell out of here.  I use my mind far more at home than at this job.”

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Ahhh, it feels better to tell the truth; even if it is just to my blog.

On Monday morning I go back to work.  Work “outside the home” as they say.  Need I even say that parenting is the most taxing work I have ever done, inside or outside of a house?  I knew going back to work again would be hard.  It was the first time [with Thomas] and I assumed it would be the second time.  I had hoped that this go ’round might be a bit less hard, however.  At T-5 days that doesn’t seem to be the case.  I find myself filled with dread.  The first few months of Henry’s life were spent alternatively enjoying my perfect little family and battling a deep long-standing depression.  Most days I barely held my head above water only to drown in an ocean of tears nearly every night – exhausted, emotionally pulled in opposite directions by two demanding little people, and physically battling a resurgence of my rheumatoid arthritis.  Now, I am on much more solid footing.  I got therapy.  I got help from family (a deepest thank-you to my in-laws who took Thomas for about 36 hours every week during the summer).  I got some regular exercise.  I got some sleep.  Most days I now have my head above water and am able to keep it there.  But I am scared that I won’t be able to juggle it all once a job is added back in and that I will sink once again.  And oh how I know I will miss my kids.  Henry is still so little that it seems he changes on a daily basis.  The longest I have been away from Henry since he was born was three, five hour stretches.  And by the end of those five hours I was literally speeding down the street to get back to my sweet boy.  I don’t want to miss a moment of his all too short babyhood.  I don’t want to “feed” a machine three times a day rather than my cuddly baby.  Thomas may be older but I love spending time with him, listening to his stories, watching him make new discoveries.  Everything is made all the worse by a job that I have no passion for.  I could see taking time away from my children if my job meant something to me and I was making a positive impact on the world, but I don’t think pushing numbers in a spreadsheet or massaging PowerPoint charts count as soul fulfilling work.

I have to go back, I have no choice.  We really are doing fine financially, still living below our means, but as long as we live here and desire such niceties as prescription drugs and a roof over our heads I have to work.  I am beyond happy that I only have to go back three days a week rather than full-time.  I am in awe of the mothers I know who go back to work full-time with young children – it must be almost unbearably difficult.  Ever the planner, I’ve starded to gather the things I will need for work:  my laptop case, boxes of milk storage bags, updated pictures of the kids.  This has, of course, not escaped the notice of a persecptive prescholer and yesterday Thomas stopped suddenly in mid-play, turned to me and said “I’m sorry, Mama”.  “What for?”, I asked fearing something along the lines of a toileting accident.  “I have to go work” he replied with a heavy sigh and a look of dejection,  but he then added brightly “I will come back”.  Next Monday I have to go to work, but I will come back.  I will always come back.  And my heart, well, it never really leaves home at all.

I have always said that you can tell whether or not you have made the right decision about something when you let it “rest” for a time and then go back and see how it feels.  I recently wrote that I had decided that I did not want to be anything more than a home chef.

And then Melissa (aka “the stay-at-home-mom contestant”) won “The Next Food Network Star” and I thought about how I identified with her story of working hard at a corporate job, then choosing to stay home to raise her children, and how she maintained a passion for cooking great food throughout it all…

And then my sister procured a stand at the South Pasadena farmer’s market (selling flowers) and I realized that I was jealous that she was getting involved in local, sustainable agriculture and I wasn’t…

And then I spent this past week canning peaches, cooking Pad Thai, making chocolate ice cream, and baking cookies and feeling happier than I have in weeks…

And the I read “How to Cook Everything Vegetarian” and realized that I had independently invented many very similar recipes all on my own…

And now I am not so sure that a “home chef” is still all I want to be when it comes to food.  I still don’t think I ever want to work a restaurant line or wake up before the sun rises to make bread for my bakery.  But the truth is I wouldn’t really mind getting judged on my food – it would usually get an “A” and I thrive on feedback.  It is the constructive criticism that makes me a better chef and it is the satisfied smiles and compliments that make me want to go back to the kitchen again and again.  And if there was a market for midnight muffins I just might be inclined to open a bakery.  So where does this leave me?  I don’t know, but I think that food will have a larger role to play in my life than simply cooking for my family and friends.  Perhaps I’ll write a cookbook focused on cooking local, organic, sustainable foods with kids underfoot?  Perhaps I’ll start a bread CSA?  Perhaps I will come into a huge sum of money, quit my job, and go to culinary school?  Stay tuned to find out the answer…I would sure like to know how this will all turn out.