I Am {Still} a Stay-At-Home-Mom

You know how when adults make small talk the first thing that comes up is usually career?  It seems like a pretty safe topic, and one that everyone can contribute to.  Except that I can't.  Because technically I'm unemployed.  Lest you be fooled into thinking that I spend all day on the couch eating bon-bons and watching Gilmore Girls, trust me, I keep plenty busy.  I am the full-time mom of two young boys:  Emerson is two years old, and Theodore is five months old.  These two chubby cherubs have me at their beckon call twenty-four-seven. 

Still, when I'm in a group of competent looking people that, you know, wear pants on a regular basis, and we approach the subject I find my palms getting sweaty.  I have to tell them that I am a stay-at-home-mom and the fear of judgement creeps in.  I honestly don't know if this is based on the reality of what people think, or if I am projecting my crazy insecurities onto others.  Either way, I am so quick to give my reasons for staying home and add that I also teach summer school and substitute teach here and there.  Because somehow raising the objectively cutest humans on the planet doesn't feel good enough. I get defensive.  I fear that people will think my role is oppressive, antiquated, unfulfilling, and a waste of my time and talents. I guess, deep down, a little part of me believes those things, too.

How did I get here?  Sometimes I ask myself that.  A self-proclaimed feminist with a Master's Degree hanging out barefoot in the kitchen.  I certainly didn't see this path in my future.  My mom has always told me that she was a better mom because she worked.  I truly believe that.  I believe that working brought out the best in my mom.  That being at her best equipped her to raise us well.  I have watched her thrive in her career and in her home.  At the same time, I have come to believe that I am a better mom because I don't work.   I firmly believe that is best is up to each family, each mom, to decide.  There are a whole myriad of factors to weigh, from the mother's temperament, to what her job is like, to how the father feels, what the children are like, to the financial state of the family, and the list goes on.  There is no one right way to divide up the responsibilities of earning income and raising children.

When I felt new life begin to flutter inside me, I had a difficult choice to make.  I had a job that I loved, and that I was kind of good at.  I was a teacher:  a middle school English Language Arts teacher, to be exact.  But this baby would change everything.  I'd have new responsibilities, new feelings, I'd kind of be a new person.  Would I continue working?  Or would I take some time off to be a full-time parent?  In the end I made my choice.  I quit my job.  I went into this mom thing head on, full force.  I set my career aside and let my family be my life for awhile.

At the time my reasons felt clear and firm.  As time has gone on and staying home was nothing like what I pictured, I have sometimes lost sight of these reasons.  This year, an opportunity came up that forced me reevaluate everything.  Essentially, I had to make that difficult choice all over again.  I asked myself:  why did I quit my job in the first place?  What am I willing to sacrifice?  What are my non-negotiables?  What will help my family to thrive?  What would life be like if I was teaching again?  What kind of teacher would I be?  What kind of mom would I be?  I went back and forth in my heart and mind. In the end,  I decided to continue to be Emerson and Theodore's mom as a full-time gig (for now).

Going back to work seemed like such a titillating (under-utilized word in this former-English-teacher's opinion) option.  For this simple reason:  Before I quit my job I was sure that I was doing meaningful work.  

I felt that my work had the potential to make an eternal, widespread, lasting impact.  On a daily basis I was advocating for students who are often overlooked.  I made a special effort to serve those who were under-served.  I got to show love to individuals who sometimes didn't get this from their peers, other adults, or even their families.  I didn’t do it perfectly, but it felt like I was changing the world--or at least my small corner of the world.  I was sending out love and light and those things don’t come back empty, they bring a return. 

This work earned me income, and a nice-sized chunk of it.  I know teachers often complain about not being paid enough.  I don't want to brush over those concerns, because I understand them.  It can feel like you should be earning more money when you often work a substantial number of hours outside of your contracted time.  A teacher's salary also can be hard to sustain paying off the amount of debt required to obtain a teaching degree.  But to me, it felt like a large sum of money.  I guess being young and fresh off of working minimum wage jobs will do that to you.  The fact that the work I did every day brought in money made it feel worthwhile.

 It was highly intellectual.  I got to study really complex things and help make them simple to my students.  When kids weren't understanding the material I would wrack my brain for a creative way to help them get it.  When I was having discipline issues I'd consult books and other smart people and come up with a plan.  I got to attend professional development.   I could sit and listen to experts talk and feel like that doe-eyed college student who vigorously took notes about pedagogy.  My brain was consistently stimulated.  

At this point, though, I just couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger and go back to work.  Simply because, ultimately, I decided that I wouldn't be the mom or the teacher I want to be if I tried to do both.

It's partly my energy-level.  Teaching exhausts me.  I am an introvert.  So being in a room filled with loud, needy little people all day long drains me of my energy.  At the end of a long day of repeating instructions, extending patience, and inspiring enthusiasm I want nothing more than to lay on my couch and have nobody bother me.  Thanks to my super-human husband, when I was working before having kids, I often did just that.  I came home from work and basically just rested my weary head in silence until he brought me a hot meal. I can't imagine that puddle of a person being the only version of me that my kids ever got to see.  I know that living in limbo between meeting the endless needs of my students and then coming home and attempting to meet the never-ending needs of my young children would make me into shred of myself.  I don't want my children--or my husband for that matter--to just get my leftovers.

It's partly my temperament.  I have this neurotic need to do everything I do to the best of my ability.  I feel this tug as a teacher and as a parent.  The thought of letting someone else be in control of my child's sleep, diet, activities, discipline, etc. all day long makes me cringe.  Likewise, I am not satisfied in my teaching performance unless it is darn near perfect according to my standards.  This requires a lot of time and prep work.  As a teacher, I rarely worked a day without going outside of my contracted hours.  Additionally, I spent time dreaming up lesson plans on the weekends and during the summer. I can hardly imagine allowing myself to be, what I would consider, a sub-par teacher.  Harder still, is picturing myself not giving everything I have to my kids.

It's partly my kids' ages.  Theodore, in particular, is so young.  I am still his own personal milk machine--on call for nursing every two-three hours.  That means, that as a teacher, I'd have to stop working to have a date with my pump at least three times a work day.  Theo is still struggling with sleep, bless him.  Some nights are good, others make me whisper cuss words under my breath and seriously debate slipping a little something adult into my morning chai latte.  If I were teaching currently, I would come to work exhausted, and I would come home exhausted.  I don't know that I would be able to give my best to either party.  That doesn't sit well with me.

So, this year, another first day of school came and went.  I watched my friends, former, colleagues, and my dear husband go and ready their classrooms with butterflies in their stomachs, eagerly anticipating that first week.  My heart longs for that feeling.  Especially after listening to yet another tantrum, while changing yet another poopy diaper.  When I was teaching, I loved my job.  I loved decorating my classroom:  filling it with memes and bright colors and other things that excite thirteen-year-olds.  I loved learning all their names, and I loved the proud, surprised looks on their faces when I was able to recite each precious one.  I loved coming up with fresh approaches to classic material.  I loved the way the kids lit up when I gave them opportunities to move, to talk, to be creative.  I loved seeing them make strides academically and socially.  I loved watching them begin to feel confident knowing that someone was on their side.  And sure, there are plenty of things I don't love.  But man does that grass look nice and green from my view on the other side.

This is my third year of doing work that is thankless, invisible and underpaid.  I am just now starting to come to terms with being a SAHM.  I am finally beginning to feel at peace with the way I spend my days.  This journey has been difficult and frustrating at time, but it has taught me so much. 

Lesson one:  there is no such thing as meaningless work.  Perhaps, like me, you've bought into the message that important work requires a college degree.  Or earns the big bucks.  Or utilizes great talent, intelligence and creativity.  I think more than anything that is just our cultural bias.  Important work is whatever you find yourself doing in this season right here right now.  You are important, the people you work with and for are important, so your work is important.  Just because your job may not be traditional or prestigious or innately benevolent does not mean that it isn't good. 

Are you a janitor?  Do it to the best of your ability.  Maintain a space that is clean and neat and ready for people to love and laugh and work and rest in.  Create an atmosphere of peace.  When you have the opportunity to interact with others know that your smile and kind words go a long way.  Are you a bar-tender?  Use your gifts to give people an enjoyable experience.  Lift their spirits (literally and figuratively).  Bear their burdens.  Love friends and strangers.  A nanny?  Love those children with everything you have. Stand in the place of their parents for a little while.  Allow Mom and Pop to leave their homes with peace of mind knowing their greatest treasures will be well-cared for in their absence.  Speak truth and encouragement over those little souls. Are you a full-time care-taker?  A starving artist?  A construction worker?  A lawyer? A barista?  Your title doesn't matter.  But you do.  You matter. And the time you are spending is absolutely not wasted. 

Because it doesn't really matter what you do.  It matters how you do it.  Do whatever you're doing right now in a way that gives value and dignity and hope to human beings.  Because that's what really matters.  Not money, or status, or visions of grandeur.  People matter.  Love matters.  Do what you do in love and joy and it will inherently be meaningful.

Next lesson:  parenting is valuable.  It is becoming more clear to me that this specific role is not to be taken lightly.  I am hyper-aware that the things I give my children will be theirs for the rest of their lives.  The pictures I take will be the only ones they have of their childhood.  The memories we build will be theirs to cherish forever.  The habits, the love, the relationships with food, with money, with conflict, with church will stay with them for a lifetime.  Luckily, people are resilient, and God's grace is big, so they will be able to bounce back regardless of the particular way we are inevitably messing them up.  There are no perfect parents.  But still, the work my husband and I are doing in our children's lives matters.  As I was pleading with God about my purpose recently, oh-so-humbly reminding him about the training, talents, and intelligence I have for him to use he gently corrected me, "Yes, you are qualified, but who would you want raising your children?"  Raising your children.  Helping human beings to grow into people of character.  Of course God would pick someone qualified to do this role, because it is important work.  I am in a position to influence human souls.  That echoes into eternity.

I don't know where you're at today.  Whether you're thriving in your career, or working a just-for-now job.  Whether you're happily unemployed, or hopefully in between jobs.  Whether you're spending your days parenting, or praying, or accounting, or cashiering, or policing, or studying, or doing a hodge-podge of things.  But I do know this:  whatever you're doing it is meaningful.  You don't have to defend your life to me or anyone else.  I don't either--thank goodness.  We have the potential to make a difference in the world exactly where we are right now.  We can bloom wherever we've been planted.  Even if if looks like that's in a crack in the middle of the sidewalk.

 I'll leave you with a word of encouragement from Jen Hatmaker's book For The Love (she is speaking to Christians in particular here, but I think if you can wade past the church-y language, it is applicable to anyone):

"If you assume an obedient life requires a thousand moving parts, a bunch of church programs, an international movement, a big fancy ministry, or a giant platform, let Jesus' description of the kingdom relieve you:  small, invisible, humble, tiny seeds, mostly hidden.  Faithfulness is not easy, but it is simple.  You are already able, already positioned, already valuable in your normal life on your normal street next to your normal neighbors in your normal work."