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Category: Staying at Home

Though You’ll Never Hear Me Say A Word Against That Garage

I keep coming back to this blog, to sit down to write a post, because I miss the writing and the outlet and the record of this little life I’m living, but whenever I do…nothing. Nothing comes out. Nothing new, anyway. And I think what my problem is…it’s not cute anymore. My life, the once-adorable puppy that chased its own tail and attacked our ankles, has grown into a big, hairy dog that sleeps in the most inconvenient spots in the house and goes outside to pee on command. It’s more manageable, yes. But definitely not as cute. I’m no longer the overwhelmed mom of little babies and toddlers, terrified of the job I’m doing and stressed by the lack of sleep and constant nursing and fear that everything I’m doing is wrong. I mean, I’m still convinced that whatever parenting move I make is probably the wrong one–does that ever go away?–but when your kids are out of the baby stage, I feel like it’s gotten old. I’ve settled into my patterns…

Working from Home is for Oxymorons

I write from home. This is my part-time job, with flexible hours–and by flexible, I mean, some days I don’t show up at all, because oh my gosh LIFE, and kids, and everybody cries SO MUCH, over things like spiders, and Cian’s playing with SK’s car, and whyohwhy do I make them play outside and can’t they just watch TV?. The hourly pay isn’t so hot, but the emotional pay-off is worth every cent, and the potential for growth is huge. I absolutely love it, and most days just wish I could throw myself into it (but writing, like quicksand, is way too hard to get out of once you’re in the thick of it), but it’s a little sticky, you know, scheduling this part-time work around my other job. The full-time one. The one I quit teaching to do. And for some reason the hours of that job are something like 6:05 a.m. to 9:35 p.m, and if I drop the ball just an inch during that time, I’ve created an avalanche that…

There’s a Reason Wit’s End isn’t a Tourist Destination

David and I were talking last night, and out of the blue I said, “You know, last week I decided I’ve sort of reached my threshold with this stay-at-home-mom thing.” David’s response? “Yeah. I could see that.” As I type this, all three kids are scream-crying. All of them. All three. If you think that I’m hiding from them right now with this blog and half a sleeve of Thin Mints, you’re wrong. It’s an entire sleeve. I want to know if other full-time parents ever feel that their kids would actually be happier in daycare. Because sometimes I wonder who this is benefitting. Yes, I’m there to pick the girls up from school, and I can be here to put Cian down for his nap, when he takes one (oh my goodness why won’t he take one anymore?!), but other than that? Do they really want to live with a frazzled mother so overwhelmed by the constant futility of cleaning this mess she’s practically hanging out the door waiting for relief to show up…