Working Girl

The story of my job goes like this...

Back in August, when Greg decided to venture into owning his own business, I toyed with the idea of getting a job. We could definitely have used the money (who couldn't), but mostly I wanted the security that comes behind a consistent paycheck.

So I applied and interviewed for a part-time job in Ogden. It was at the city prosecutor's office. With my experience, I was a shoe-in. But I was still surprised when they offered the position to me, knowing that there had been over a hundred applicants. I was humbled, but at the same time my pride was boosted.

You see, I enjoy recognition. In my past jobs, I felt appreciated and valued and I knew I was a good worker because I could see the fruits of my labors every day. That pat on my back was always there, even if I was sometimes the one giving it. I thrived on that. I loved working and assisting others and getting to the bottom of an overflowing inbox and receiving a smile from someone that benefited from my services. Motherhood is rewarding, but not in the same way.

I asked to have the weekend before giving the prosecutor's office my answer. While contemplating the changes it would mean for our family, I came to the realization I mentioned above. And I decided that to take a job at that time would be for selfish reasons. I was needed at home. I declined the offer.

But times have worsened and it has become imperative for me to help our financial situation. I want to do what I can. But now that I have to, I don't want to. I enjoy the place that I am in with my kids; whereas, back in August I was searching for an escape. I am not judging any young mothers who work. But after reflecting on my own situation, the conclusion I have come to is this: Sometimes it's for extras and sometimes it's for survival. I chose survival.

I applied for a job with the Davis School District as a part-time secretary in the Human Resources Department in charge of finger printing and background checks for new hires. It paid better than the Ogden job and was in a better location.

I had to take a typing test. Apparently I type 101 wpm. I didn't know that. I was called for an interview. I stuttered my way through the series of questions with a smile. I had to take a test on Excel. I am not as fast at that as I am on the keyboard. I went home and wrote a thank you card (something my mother always taught me to do). Perhaps the postage stamp was worth it, because I received a call for a second interview. More stammering and searching for the right words (I am terribly uneloquent when it comes to talking to adults). Smile. Smile. Smile. Twiddling my thumbs for a week. The phone rings late in the afternoon. Davis School District appears on the caller ID. I let it ring. Too anxious to hear the news - good or bad. I returned the call the next day. The news is good.

I have always felt bad for young mothers who have to work. We are told that our place is in the home. And I believe that with all my heart. I have had the pleasure of being in that place for nearly three solid years. I have learned patience, I've tested my limits, I've laughed, I've cried, and I've experienced the overwhelming power of giving and receiving complete and unconditional love.

But this week I have been surprised that I do not feel bad for myself, as I have for others in my situation. I may not be at home, but I am still providing for the well-being and survival of my children. I hadn't expected to feel this way, but it is empowering. And I know I am being buoyed up.

Though leaving them is heartache; returning to them is shere bliss.