Keeping it Real

I don’t know what my deal is.

I go in these waves.

Waves where I ache for validation.

Yearn for recognition.

Demand appreciation.

 

Even though I know. Even though I am fully confident that I am where I need to be – it doesn’t make it less challenging. And the funny thing is, it’s not even all that hard. I mean, who complains about a full-time job that allows daily naps, making cookies, never wearing a bra if you don’t want to, going to the park, reading a book, pajama days, watching movies, sneaking snacks, and playing games? Really, how selfish am I?! It’s not so much the physical aspects of being a SAHM that are so draining, as it is the mental and emotional challenges.

There is nothing glamorous about not wearing a bra. There is nothing dignified in crawling around on the floor. Nothing rewarding about scrubbing vomit from the carpet or poop from baby clothing.

And yet it’s what I chose. What I wanted… What I want. 

My Grandpa says I’m smart - says I could be a millionaire if I stopped having kids. I don’t pretend to claim that is true. But sometimes it makes me think. And then I feel stuck. And resentful. And useless.

And… well… I don’t like any of that.

So instead, I look for validation. And find it in the most unlikely of places. And cry, while reading to my boy, as we ditch church, because he’s sick, and puking, while both in our pajamas - a lovely story from a children’s magazine.

A validating one.

Bitter Sweet

I cried when I left the office.

Here is what I'm going to miss:

Adult Interaction

Quiet Lunches

Instant Gratification

Problem Solving

Feeling Needed

Helping our Financial Situation

Being Thanked

Meeting Strangers

A Reason to Get Dressed

Satisfaction of helping others

A Job Well Done

But then I look at these guys....

And it is SO SO worth it!

A Song that's Stuck in my Head

As I was getting my groggy and grumpy kids out of bed this morning, I sang this to them:

It's my last day of work,

My last day of work,

And then I get to stay home with you guys!

Sung to a silly tune of I don't know what

And now it's been stuck in my head all morning. But I don't mind!

Count Down

To all you working Moms:

I don't know how you do it!

Setting out clothes the night before - Writing down the schedule for the sitter - Trying to figure out if the baby even has a schedule yet - Waking up early - Waking up the kids early - Getting them dressed - Remembering to get yourself dressed - Cramming in a breakfast - Loading them up - Loading up all their snacks - Loading up all their diapers - Dropping them off - Wondering what you forgot - Driving to work with wet hair because you were too busy doing your 2-year-old's hair to do your own


Two Days Down - Two to Go!

A Letter of Notice

Dear Rodney:

I am so very sorry. But I need to give my two weeks notice.

I had always planned on getting a flexible, part-time job, like this one, once my children were in school. But necessity demanded it be sooner. I expected it would be difficult to leave my children. I expected the days to be long. I expected to do the work well. But I never expected to love the job so much.

It tears my heart to leave it. But my children are just so young (3, 2, and 3 mos.). Now that my husband has a full-time job, I can no longer justify spending this time away from them – especially when child care would be taking ¾ of my paycheck.

This is a decision I’ve agonized over. But I know you are supportive of whatever is best for my family. I so appreciate that. It makes the decision a tiny bit easier.

I hope you know how much I have absolutely enjoyed working in this department. I hope to find a job as perfect as this one once I am ready to again join the workforce. Hopefully it will be with the school district again. This is where I would absolutely love to end up.

Thank you so much for making this work environment so inviting (and hard to leave). I feel I have made some dear friendships. I will always value the relationships I have developed and the time I have spent here.

With deepest gratitude,

Tasha Palmer

Good News Bear

Miracles do still happen!

What will happen in a week?

In one week I'm supposed to start a FULL-TIME job.

It's a job I already know - and I already know I love.

But when I interviewed for the position, I never actually intended to begin it. The start date was a month and a half away. We felt certain Greg would be able to find something in that time. I only accepted as a backup. But suddenly the day is already here.

And I am torn...

When I first got my part-time job, it was years before I ever intended on going back to work. I had fully planned to get a good, flexible, part-time job once all my children were in school. There is so much time during that part of the day that I could use to benefit someone besides my family. And the extra money around the house would be a good bonus too.

But my part-time job now has not been for an extra bonus. It's been our main source of income. For me, my time with my children is too important to substitute for something extra.

And I've loved my part-time job. I love what I do, and who I work with, and the adult conversations, and the satisfaction of helping others. There is only one thing I don't love about it -- that I look forward to going to work.

The first couple of months were heartache. I missed my kids. I felt guilty leaving them. And I thought about them constantly.

But lately, they rarely enter my mind.

I don't like that.

I know the debate regarding stay-at-home or working moms is ongoing and multi-faceted. I know all about it.

But I have to admit. I used to be very judgmental. Working women were never really a part of my life. My mother never worked once she had children and neither have my sisters. The other mothers in our neighborhood were always home as well. I suppose I was very blessed.

And so when we were taught in church that
"Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children,"
it seemed so obvious to me that my place was at home. To me, that was what a good mom does. I had never known anything different.

So what now?

How am I supposed to be a good Mom if I'm not present to mother? How do I get that paradigm to shift? And do I even want it to? Because even when and if I am able to stay at home full-time again, I want to still know that is where I am supposed to be. Without absolutely knowing that, I'm sure I would want to turn right back to the office. Life is sometimes easier there.

And so ........ I just don't know............. what to think...........

Praying that a miracle will happen in a week.

Seven days.

God can do a lot in seven days.

Just look around.

Home Body

I love the days I stay at home.

It's still hard work.

But at least I can do it in my pajamas!

Not the Mommy

Our flyswatter is missing.

It disappeared one day while I was at work.

But with a house full of little kids that leave the doors open in the beautiful fall weather,
we have a lot of flies.

I need my flyswatter.

When I confronted that day's babysitter (by the name of Greg) about its whereabouts,
he replied, "Oh yeah, I saw Zion running around with it in the front yard."

Now all you Mom's out there, what is your initial reaction?


Mine...?


GROSS!!!!
Why in the world did you let her run around with a flyswatter in her hand?

To which Greg responded, "It never even crossed my mind. I'm not a mom."

And then Evan echoed, "Daddy's not the Mommy. You're the Mommy!!"

ssshhhhhh... he doesn't know

There's a birthday boy in our house today.
But "shhhhh," don't let him know. We're pretending his birthday is on Saturday because we didn't have time to celebrate properly today. And this boy deserves a proper celebration.

Checking the clock, it's been three years exactly since Evan graced us with his presence. We waited about that long for him to finally join our family. But the wait was well worth it. What a beautiful little life we've been given to cherish and enjoy.

He is BOY through and through (even with painted toenails) and it is thrilling and entertaining to see the new things he does each day. From somersaults, to dare-devil stunts, to spelling words, and singing songs, there is no end to his creativity and personality. But the greatest part about watching him grow is seeing him become such a fantastic big brother. He is sweet and forgiving, disciplinary and teasing, and affectionate and loving.

We have been so blessed these last three years to have Evan in our lives. It's hard to remember life without him, and even harder to imagine life without him. He is our sunshine in the morning, laughter in the afternoon, and comfort in the evening.
We love you Evan!

A Little Reality Check

I had the most wonderful surprise today.

While at work, I was busy "working". (It was actually really slow today so I had to try to find things to do with my time. I even resorted to reading the employee handbook. Yeah, I was bored). Suddenly I notice a handsome grey-haired man talking to the receptionist out front. He had a beautiful and precious, sleeping baby on his shoulder and a rambunctious little boy running around his knees.

My heart leapt. And for an instant as I ran out to meet them, I wanted to cry. I don't think I have ever been so happy to see my family in all my life.

I walked the halls with Evan on my hip and Zion still in dream-land on Greg's shoulder. I showed them off to all my co-workers with pride. Yes, pride. It was the first time I had felt that way too. Having them there in my office was a bit surreal. It was like two world's colliding.

In my world at home, my children are a reality. The diapers to change, hungry mouths to feed, tears to wipe, and games to play are the constant reminders of just how real my little ones are. This may sound strange, but at home they are not special. My neighbors all have their own flocks of kids and mine are just a couple of others on the block. A part of the crowd. A part of the norm. This is the reality.

But in my world at work my kids are a dream. They are always in my mind. They are a picture in a frame and a topic of conversation. They are where I long to be. And yesterday that dream became a reality as I showed them off.

We walked from office to office saying "hi". It was much like Halloween for Evan, because my co-workers all have candy dishes on their desks. And how often do they get to give their candy to darling children? Never. There were oohs and ahhs and "how old are you's?" and many many "oh so cutes." Here, they were special. To these grandmas and mothers of teenagers and single women my kids were important. They were a breath of fresh air in the middle of a monotonous day.

We walked down to the corner Mexican restaurant. Sometime during the chips and salsa, I looked in the big blue eyes of my children with a new appreciation for just how special they are. And even while cleaning their messy little faces, I was still beaming with pride.

Daddy's Fashion

I often wonder what my kids will dress themselves in when they are old enough to do such a thing. I don't imagine it will be much different than the outfits their Daddy picks.I returned from work to find Zion in this hideous combination of imaginary pajama monsters, name-brand b'goshes, and holey Sunday stockings.

To my chagrin, the eclectic ensemble became pretty adorable by the end of the day.

And I'm Feelin' Good (or at least better)

My fever finally broke after two days. It's amazing what can get done when not curled up on the couch with the shivers and shakes.

It was a bit of a craft day. After a trip to Michael's and lunch at the Carl's Junior playland, I finally got up the courage to teach Evan how to paint. "Teach" is a relative term. I was successful at teaching him to clean his brush between colors so they don't mix. But unsuccessful at teaching him not to mix his colors on the paper. He definitely liked to keep that brush in one spot. It was a black hole sucking him in. And that is basically what it turned into until I would show him other areas of outerspace not yet explored. But he loved it. And every minute or so he would turn to me and exclaim, "I'm painting!" Until today, it had only been an activity he had shared with friends on tv. Now he knows what a brush really feels like and how to manipulate paint onto the paper. It was a fun realization to witness. Maybe some day I will get up the guts to introduce finger painting.

I painted along with Evan - a rack for our keys to put by the garage door, now that I can finally use the garage. Poor Zion wasn't given a paint brush. But she's so easy-going, it was nothing a box of raisins couldn't cure. And then I worked on framing a family photo to put on my new desk at work. I have another project I'm working on to bring some life to my office, but it is not yet finished to show off.

All-in-all it was a good day. Productive in ways I have not attempted in a while. Unfortunately my kitchen still looks a bit like this (and the rest of the house matches pretty well) but I'll let Greg work on that later. Afterall, I'm still recovering from being sick. ;)

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.

Back to Work

The current economic times have forced me back into the workforce.
So today felt a bit like the day before the First Day of School. Lots to be done and plan for. Lots to get excited and nervous for. Lots of expectations and unknowns.

FIRST DAY OF WORK CHECKLIST
X Haircut
X Plan meals for the week
X Grocery shopping
X Fill up car with gas
Plan first-day outfit
X Purchase some makeup
Calm my nerves
X Enjoy this last day with the kids

Treasure Hunting

A part of me became lost last week. After Evan fell down in the snow in our backyard, I wiped his hind end off. During this process I felt my wedding ring loosen on my finger and then suddenly it was gone.

There have been times when I thought my ring was cheap. No, not cheap. That's not the right word - Simple. And it is simple, but that's what I have always loved about it. Greg picked it out himself, and did a marvelous job. But as I've seen some of my friends become engaged and married, I have marveled at their rings. Most are comparable to mine - modest. But then there are some that I can't help envy a little. Platinum, diamond crusted, rows and tiers, and of course the price tag. I have friends with rings close to or into the double-digit thousands. I've seen the receipt for mine. And at different times in our marriage it's monetary worth has had a different value.

When it was first placed on my finger it felt like a bag of gold bricks. I held the bulk of my fiance's savings on one little finger. That seemed a huge responsibility. Later in our marriage, there were moments - brief moments - when I would occasionally look at that same ring and think it was piddly and I wanted something bigger (brief brief moments). But most thoughts on the subject include my love for its simple elegance and the way it magically transforms my monstrous fingers into something dainty.

Then there are moments like last week when that simple and yet stunning ring suddenly embodied a fortune again - both monetarily and emotionally. And when I could not see it atop the snow packs, I started to panic.

Evan joined me in the search, running back and forth atop the snow and grass, telling me it was this way or that way, while I took a more calculated, inch-by-inch approach.

We said a prayer together. How I hoped it would be one of those instant miracles and awesome teaching moments. But it wasn't.

I called Greg. I reigned in my panic. He soothed me nonetheless. He could sense the emotions I was not sharing. It could be anywhere in our backyard. But at least we knew it was in the yard. He calmed my fears and said if we couldn't find it we would use a metal detector.

During nap time I went out with a fork and started sifting through the white sands of ice. The sun sparkled off the snowy pebbles and I kept imagining it was the reflection from my diamond.

Thoughts of panning for gold came to mind. And then I remembered my treasure-hunting neighbor. He was Greg's former home-teaching companion and boy oh boy the stories Greg would share after their visits. There was my answer.

He was out of town. But yes, they had two metal detectors. Salvation! But she didn't know how to use them. I borrowed one and tempted my knowledge of fine-tuned machinery. It is poor.

The sun was getting low as I waited for my more technologically-savvy counterpart to return home. My fingers kept moving to my left ring finger out of habit. I like to play with my wedding ring. But there was none for me to toy with. That piece of me was missing.

Upon his arrival, we went out together and he tested the detector on something he knew was metal so he could listen and compare the results. I watched disappointingly as he would come across a lot of metal tubing far beneath the grassy surface and waited with bated breath after each squeal of the machine.

Finally it was time to change a dirty diaper. While standing there with soiled wipes in hand, Greg came up the stairs with a huge smile. He stooped down on one knee and asked me to marry him. Between the fingers of his out-stretched hand stood my ring. It was beautiful. More dazzling, more elegant, more perfect than the first time I laid eyes on it.

It's value has increased ten fold since that first giddy moment. I never take it off and each scratch and foggy diamond corner has been earned. It's been on my finger through all times good and bad. A constant symbol and reminder. That I am loved.

And I felt complete again.