If you won a lottery, would you quit your job?

That was a newspaper headline this morning, a variation on the other lottery-themed headlines I've been watching for the past couple of weeks. I don't gamble. The lottery is gambling. Therefore, no lottery for me. But I really love the If I Won the Lottery game and I'm not sure my principles are up for the challenge.

I already don't "work." But there's lots of other stuff I'd do if I won the lottery . . .

1. Pay off everything. Loans, house, that pesky credit card, everything.
2. Go see our finance guy and set up everything we need to set up (including revised budgets).
3. Church (organ fund, mission fund, new parking lot, etc.).
4. Donations to our college, NPR, PBS, and local places we love like The Magic House, St. Louis Science Center, etc.
   
   Here's where the list really gets fun. This is where I usually start fantasizing:
   
5. Pay off this sibling's outstanding debts.
6. Pay off this other sibling's mortgages/student loans
7. Buy a new house for yet another sibling.
8. Buy my mother-in-law a red Mustang convertible.
9. Remodel my parents' house.
10. Encourage Paul to go back to school.
11. When the kids are all in school all day, go back to school, myself.
    
    And then there's the stuff for us that's fun to imagine:
    
12. Remodel this house.
13. Buy or build our dream house in our dream neighborhood (only about 3 miles from here).
14. Dress my children in the sorts of clothing I imagined they'd wear, before I had children and experienced the allure of inexpensive sweat-shop produced cheap clothes. And additional pairs of good shoes.
15. When I'm feeling decadent, I imagine all sorts of things for myself, too. A personal trainer. Babysitter. Hair cuts. Pedicures. Nice clothes. (I am very cheap when it comes to spending money on myself for anything other than food.)
16. Thinking of food - a personal chef to make nutritious, delicious meals a few nights a week would be awesome! Or even just someone to do the grocery shopping from time to time. But all this other stuff is second tier. At this point, I usually reload the fantasy and start again with imagining making my siblings' lives easier or just saying "yes" the next time a worthy cause calls to ask for money.

This pastime is one of my guilty pleasures. I don't find the game particularly constructive. It's fun. It helps me identify my priorities. But eventually I just end up wanting. And I'm not sure that's such a good thing.

Where I Work

I have a corner office, but this isn't as glamorous as it sounds. For one thing, it's in a corner of my living room. For another, it's a bit drafty there near all the windows. And, possibly related to the draftiness, when it pours rain occasionally my to-be-filed pile gets completely soaked.

But the view and the light are lovely. Plus, I get to work in my pajamas and the commute can't be beat.

Freelancing

Chime!

An email arrives and in it is a lovely little present: a simple-yet-interesting project. It looks very straightforward. We'll send you electronic files for a textbook along with a text file of the glossary. You find the words in the text and copy the definitions over into the glossary.

No problem! Estimate: 2 weeks.

The chapter files arrive and I collect them into a Master Document. I open the glossary file and begin to work. Hmm, that's odd. The second and third terms aren't defined in the text. (They're used in the text, just not succinctly defined in one place.) Let's go about this a different way, chapter by chapter. No, that's no better. Chapter 1 list of key terms: the first three are not included in the glossary. Should they be?

So what looked simple is not.

Question 1: How should the glossary be formatted? (Colons? Complete sentences?)
Question 2: Should all the key terms be included in the glossary?
Question 3: if I write my own definitions, is someone checking my work? I admit that this is the fun part: I'm writing, I'm using my college biology and chemistry education, I'm exercising my brain. But I never did take that advanced biochem class and college was a little while ago. What if I'm wrong?

Thinking I might need to revise that project estimate. As long as I can still turn this one around before the baby comes . . .

Professional Model

A couple of weeks ago a friend emailed me asking if I'd like to participate in a photoshoot for a massage therapy textbook. She was in need of a pregnant model for the maternity chapter.

I agreed and we went back and forth a little bit. I was thinking: I like this friend, I want to help out, I like to maintain connections with my former employer (the textbook publisher), photoshoots are fun and it would be neat to be on the other side of one (rather than as the organizer), I like being pregnant, and, hey, cool, someone wants to take pictures of me! Plus, it was a paid gig.

Then I got a follow-up email that included information for all the models, including instructions on attire. "Female: Dark colored sports tank or bra and fitted shorts, or Tankini, without huge logos." Hah hah hah, she obviously didn't mean me; that's for the other (non-maternity) models. I emailed to verify, then packed an assortment of clothes. I figured I'd be in yoga pants or leggings with a tank top.

All those seasons I've watched of America's Next Top Model really came in handy. I knew what to expect and was prepared. I was on time, I had a variety of clothing options in various colors, I had a ponytail holder and comb in case those were needed (and they were). I enjoyed hanging out in the back of the room chatting with the other models, editors, massage therapists, and the author's son. I enjoyed the craft table. I liked the green room just fine. And I certainly didn't mind watching the model ahead of me as he worked (he was a very very fit young man).

The photoshoot was in a professional studio. We were set up in a large, concrete room, dimly lit with tables and cords stretched out all over the place, people clustered around the outside edges (mostly at the back near the door). One corner of the room contained a raised wooden floor with a massage table, a folding screen, and lots of bright lights. The photographer stood nearby, perched on a ladder overlooking the set.

All too soon, it was my turn to model. The author (and massage therapist) scanned through my clothing and then selected a plain black sports bra and maternity swim suit bottoms (basically, large shiny underpants). !!!

!!!

I changed in the green room, wrapped myself in a tablecloth, and headed out to the stage, still thinking that I'd mainly be on the table, "draped modestly."

Not so much. The author wanted a series of shots of the massage therapist greeting the pregnant lady then helping her up onto the massage table. Without the wrap. Are you imagining this scene?!

!!!

I had a moment to decide. I could walk out and leave them without a model. I could be a prima donna and argue for more clothing. Or I could just go with it and be a good sport. Again America's Next Top Model came to my rescue and that's exactly what I did. I dropped my drape, apologized for my cellulite, and cracked wise as I posed in front of friends and strangers in little more than my underwear.

The shoot went well, I think. I hope. And then . . .

"OK, we're ready for the husband, now."

Say what?

My "husband" came out of the green room, took off his boots, and climbed up onto the massage table behind me. The author placed a pillow between us to support my back (loved her a little bit right then) and asked me to lean back against him, relaxing. He reached around to rest his hands on my belly and both of our shiny silver "wedding bands" shone in the floodlights. The baby kicked at him and probably freaked the guy out.

We practiced relaxing and he "learned" how to position his hands to help me with backache in labor. Very soon, it was all over.

I never did catch his name.

A Room for Girls

makes room for a (very temporary) office for me. After all, if Ada's room becomes Mama's work space before it becomes the baby's nursery, she can't be quite as jealous, right? Here's hoping.

(At any rate, they both love the new arrangement.)

Bloody Sunday

President George W. Bush Covers U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday. (Awesome editing!)

This week brought to you by financial planning, family budget meetings, and freelance freelance freelance. (I'm trying to put in 5 solid hours each day in my "free" time without interfering with my TV parenting time. The spring class I was taking just ended tonight, too. It's been a time management logistical puzzle!)

Being a Stay/Work at Home Mom

The Good:

This morning I played with my girls while we leisurely got dressed and listened to books on CD. We're all in comfortable, casual clothes. No make-up, no fancy hair styles, just everyday casual plus extra relaxed.

Then I walked Ellie to her bus, waved as she left, packed lunch with Ada, and drove my little one to preschool.

After getting her settled, I headed outside. The weather here this morning is sunny and lightly breezy with temperatures in the upper 60's. I took a brisk 3 mile walk before heading home.

And now I can . . . work, write, clean, or relax. The next few hours are all mine!

The Less Good:

Instead of going to bed when my eyes threatened to close last night, I was up finishing a freelance project on deadline.

That's such a minor complaint, though. I have the freedom and flexibility to work from home as my schedule allows. I get to make money and be home during the day. And I'm a night owl, anyway.

Also, it's sunny, warm, and spring! I feel very fortunate today.

I Never Call, I Never Write

So, decent blogging has been sparse around here, lately. And my "drafts" folder is filling up with the clutter of posts I start but lack time to develop and finish. The time problem isn't just due to the busyness of the holiday season - by which I mean the holiday season, Thanksgiving to Advent, Christmas, and New Year's, and that's just what we celebrate/observe in our house from late November through the end of the year.

The problem isn't just due to parenting two young children, each of whom has her own "special needs." (Ada with her fabulous two-year-old's desire for attention and lap time, Ellie with her academics and monthly "team meetings" at school.)

The problem isn't just due to my writing and the time it takes away from my family. (That bit of guilt courtesy of my mother.)

The problem is also due to the fact that I've been doing a lot of freelance work for pay lately. I appreciate the work. I don't mind doing it (mostly). And I really enjoy earning money. But this one last thing on top of the pile makes the whole thing wobbly and threatening to fall over. It's an important thing, so I've jettisoned other things to make room for it (Christmas cards, big Christmas open house, exercise).

This is just an adjustment period. And until I get the balance settled again, well, boring and irregular blogging. Alas.

When I write again, some things I want to talk about include Ellie's latest round of assessments and her IEP, a "cure" for Down syndrome, managing finances, what I'm reading and why, what I'm writing and why, and my opinions on the SO YOU THINK YOU CAN DANCE finale. No, wait. I don't want to blog about that; I just want to watch the finale! Nighty night.

Mario Brothers Are Back

Sure, I've said that I don't sleep. I've said I'm busy. But I've also suggested that all work and no play makes Sarahlynn a sad, dull girl. So I play, too!

When dinner's in the oven and the girls spontaneously go downstairs to play for a few minutes, I break out the Wiimotes. When the girls go to bed on time and I want to goof around before picking up my freelance project, I break out the wiimotes.

Paul and I are playing the new Super Mario Brothers for Wii. We got it on vacation over Thanksgiving and our first experiences were with four person cooperative play with Paul's sister and her husband. Chaos! Impossible! Also, hilarious. My throat began to hurt from laughing so hard.

Since we've been home, Paul and I are questing together. This is both good and bad. In the hard stretches, it's really nice to be able to rely on someone else. If your character dies, your partner can pop your little safety bubble and bring you back into active play. And when you feel like you can't stand to fight through a stupid dungeon one more time, maybe your partner will stomp the monster and complete it for you.

On the other hand, I tend to play worse in cooperative play because I know I'm not fully responsible.  And with the way the game's set up, your partner tends to kill you a lot.  Inadvertantly, of course.  But say I'm jumping up through a series of sliding ledges.  If I stop or slow, I'll fall off.  But if my partner isn't keeping up and he falls off the bottom of the screen as it scrolls upwards with me?  He dies.

Paul (aka Luigi) also tends to jump on my head and shove me off cliffs a lot.  This problem happens much less frequently now that we've acknowledged that he simply must lead.  I don't mind following a lot of the time.  And here we are back at my review for The Surrendered Wife!

Seriously, I think it's great for couples to play together, whether it's tennis or board games or Nintendo.   And home-based games are fabulous once schedules are tied to wee ones.  (That was a tiny wiittle pun.)  Maybe this is WHY my freelance project is dragging on so long and WHY it takes me forever to finish editing a completed novel.

Or maybe it's what keeps me sane so that I can continue working.

To Make a Living

In order to finish my freelance project on budget, I need to complete about 2 chapters an hour. No biggie, right? I'm mostly just updating page numbers from one edition to the next. Except - HOLY CRAP - some of the chapters are long. With tons of new information to research. Gulp. I just finished a single chapter that took me 3 HOURS. Not that I'm stressed out or anything.

So that's why I'm not blogging this week. Wait.

I'm Adverb Happy

I'm a writer. So of course I think about language. I think about it a lot. I have my little quirks and idiosyncrasies, little stylistic flourishes that I like to (over)use. I think about how to say it, not just what to say. Or, at least I do that sometimes.

With all this daily blogging, I also get a little lazy. And not just in my blogging. I get focused on story, on what I want to say, and don't always pay quite enough attention to exactly how I'm saying it. I might agonize over a word or a phrase here and there, but probably not every word, every phrase, or even every sentence.

I met with a new critique group for the first time, today, and it was a humbling experience. I am most definitely the junior member of the group, in terms of age, experience, and publication history.

They liked my story, which is a good thing, and had some very nice things to say about my dialogue, descriptions, and ending. But they really smacked me on my weak spots: adverbs, unnecessary words, passive constructions, overlong sentences, "was," "that," and so on. The sorts of things that get manuscripts rejected for being, "not quite polished enough." (See above. And below.)

I know better, I really do. And not all of my sentences are bad. But the really bad part is that even knowing what needs to be fixed, I have a hard time seeing incidences of the mistakes I know I'm prone to making until someone points them out to me. This makes revision a challenge. I write very much by ear, by what "sounds right" to me.

I hope that someday I manage to break my bad writing habits. I hope that I can develop a style that "sounds right" to my ear without losing what makes my voice . . . my voice.

It's not all bad news for me. At least this story wasn't cluttered with cliches. I can learn! And I was pleased that I was able to listen to all the criticism and take a lot of it to heart without feeling hurt or defensive, or letting the "constructive comments" completely bury the praise.

I didn't accept all of the suggestions - like the ones that involved ditching my main characters and making a minor character into a pedophile; that's just not the story I'm writing - but I saw the wisdom in all of them, I saw the reason why the reviewers were making the suggestions they made, even if I didn't agree with the way they suggested I solve the underlying problems.

(Now isn't that a fabulous sentence.)

I have a lot to improve. But I feel motivated, not defeated. I know that I will get to a place where I'm more practiced at storytelling, so that parts of this work come more easily and naturally, allowing me to focus more closely on finesse. (easily, naturally, closely)

On that note, I'll head off to bed. But not hurriedly.

Working Writer

So, I've decided to take this gig seriously. I'm never going to be completely comfortable calling myself a writer, no matter how much I write, until, well . . . I don't know exactly when that will be. I've been published, so that's not the magic bullet. Perhaps there's some big milestone that will do it for me (publishing my second novel?) or perhaps it will be a gradual accumulation of things, little rocks piled up on top of each other to eventually create a mighty wall. I guess I'll know it when I see it.

Until then, I'll occasionally refer to myself as a writer in conversation or on some non-tax form, but I'll be doing it with the same level of aplomb that I exhibit when I lie. (I am a great liar, you know. Sometimes, I lie without even thinking, and then spend time later wondering to myself, "Why on earth did I tell that real estate agent that I was pregnant?")

But back to the writing, and the taking of it seriously. I have been writing or working on my writing every single day for weeks and weeks, and more often than not for months and months. And intermittently for year and years. What does it mean that I'm now doing it for real?

I have a nifty spreadsheet, where I'm tracking all my submissions. I have another nifty spreadsheet (thanks again, Paul!) where I'm tracking my expenses. I have a new file box with neatly organized project files, budget files, and mailing supplies. I have a sort of business plan, or at least a revenue goal and schedule in place to try to meet the goal.

Upon the advice of several inspirational professional writers, I am sticking to a schedule of working on stories, essays, and the submission of stories and essays one week a month, and concentrating on my novel-in-progress the remaining three weeks each month.

So far, it's all working very well and I'm feeling -- dare I say it? -- increasingly professional. Sometimes, saying something over and over really does make it true.

Author: Promote Thyself

Much is made of the need for authors to do self-promotion, and it's all true.

I worked in educational publishing for 10 years, which has some significant differences from trade publishing (although the publisher for which I worked, like many educational publishers, does publish some trade products and expects trade sales on many of its titles). From my perspective in both editorial and marketing at an educational publisher, author self-promotion can be a wonderful boost for sales. And publishers just simply don't/can't do all the promotion for a book. There are places that the author is better equipped to reach, either by merit of being the author or by simply not being a large multi-national corporation (or small, over-worked publicity department, or whatever). Author self promotion is even more important for trade titles, I believe, than educational ones.

One of the most obvious vehicles for author self promotion is a website. As a reader, I often prefer sites that are created and maintained by the authors themselves (or whomever they contract to do so) rather than those created by publishers, as long as the sites are current. Publisher owned sites are often focused on the newest releases and usually only mention the titles still in print and published by their own houses. They rarely contain updated information about where the author lives and what s/he is working on currently. (I'm not some crazed stalker, I'm talking about dust jacket style information.)

Some examples:

I read Laurell K. Hamilton's novels. Check out her own website and her publisher website. In my opinion, her website does what it needs to do: it's current and contains relevant information about her books and personal appearances. That said, while I doubt that it hurts her sales any, this simply doesn't look very professional. The Random House website looks much more professional, but it contains far less information, is updated less frequently, and only lists titles published with that publisher. In this case, I'll take substance over style, but not without making a few quips (those bats!).

I also read Patricia Cornwell. Her personal site is about as professional and slick as they come, yet I don't really like it. It's too focused on her newest release, and doesn't neatly catalog the author's whole body of work, delineating the various series and non-fiction titles. (Cornwell's publisher directs people to her site from theirs.)

Good author website: Sue Monk Kidd
Site that would be good, if only it weren't missing its content: Audrey Niffenegger
Brandon Sanderson obviously has a great site, but it's a bit too busy for my taste.

I love Julie Kaewert's Booklovers Mysteries. Love them! But it's very hard to find current information about the author or anything she's written since publishing the 6th novel in the series several years ago. Is she retired? Dead? I also enjoy reading Dorothy Cannell. Thank heavens for Wikipedia and someone else gathering available information into one place! Author websites should be the authoritative place for finding out what an author has written, what she's working on next, how to contact her with requests for appearances, etc.

Calling?

I don't remember when I was last in a Cokesbury store, but after many years of subconscious avoidance, I dropped by today to pick up some books for the adult Sunday School class I'm leading again this fall.

I was wearing Ada in the sling and having a really good time, imagining myself buying and using everything in the shop. About this time, I noticed that I was clenching my right hand so tightly that my nails were digging into my palm. I started to feel a little panicky.

I felt like I had been running away from something for a long time. I felt like I was ignoring a calling, the most obvious calling, one of the first careers I ever considered (and rejected and considered and rejected). What child doesn't imagine herself, however briefly, following in her parent's footsteps?

But this is not what I want to do! This is not how I want my life to be!

And then I found myself in the marriage section, looking for a gift for a newly married friend, perhaps a book about adjusting to seeing herself as a spouse. And the books I found weren't what I expected for a United Methodist ministry. My choices tended heavily toward Dr. Dobson and an entire book built around dancing imagery - with the husband leading and the wife following.

And all I wanted was out. I paid for my books and headed for the door as quickly as possible. Fortunately, the urge has (mostly) passed. Again. For now.

Aging

I have always liked my hair, even though brown hair isn't quite as glamorous or exotic as some other options. My hair is soft, full, thick, and healthy. One of my favorite things about it are the strands of bright copper that are sprinkled throughout my hair, visible only in certain light. They look metallic, more like copper tinsel than human hair, but the same texture as the rest of my head.

Lately, the copper strands have been matched and are quickly being out-paced by the development of pure, shocking white strands. The white hairs are more wirey, curlier, and just as metallic-looking as the copper strands. I am trying to embrace this, but am failing.

Another natural part of aging is becoming one's mother. We all become our mothers, it is said, and I've been rather looking forward to it. My mother has spent her life trying not to be her own mother, and has had some terrific successes.

If I become my mother, I will be thin and fit, running several miles several times a week. If I become my mother, I will be able to manage a budget and get straight A's in grad school while running a household. If I become my mother, I will be an excellent mother. I will approach motherhood like any other high-powered career, preparing the each day's activities in advance.

When my children are bored, I will have wonderful, creative activities for them to do. My children will brag about me and share stories of the things I've done for them for years to come. Who wouldn't want to be my mother?

But as my mother ages, I think she's changing.

Did she used to just hide her feelings from us, or has she always been so negative, critical and judgemental?

One of the things we tease my mom about is her willingness - almost eagerness! - to accept any discomfort to avoid telling anyone what she really thinks. Martyrdom suites her. But lately . . .

"You have to do this with your daughters."

"You're crazy to do that with your daughters."

"Sarahlynn, that's horrible! You sound like my mother!"

Ack.

My mom was a special education teacher. A learning disabilities resource room teacher, to be exact. Then she became a school diagnostician, the person who tests kids for inclusion in various special ed services. And now she's a school psychologist, and spends lots of her time in meetings with school officials and parents, trying to find the right diagnosis and educational solution for each child.

She's becoming increasingly bitter, and, especially given the communities she serves, I can imagine the tendency toward burn-out for people in her job.

Still, I was stunned recently when she expressed frustration at the mothers who work jobs that keep them out of the home in the late afternoons/evenings, especially when the kids don't have a great dad at home to help raise them.

"When the kids are young, you just find a different job," she said. "I don't care how; you just do it. There are things more important than money." Among the unacceptable jobs some of the mothers had were waitress and school custodian.

Wow. This is my mom, the liberal from a large extended family of liberals, most of whom choose jobs (clergy, social work, teaching) based on helping people, rather than making vast sums of money. These are people who are usually so sympathetic, who see the various sides of a problem, who go (almost too far) out of their ways not to be judgemental. It's . . . stunning to see how she's aging, and, yet, almost inevitable.

She used to lecture me about the mind being like a steel trap, tending to close tighter and tighter as we age, so that we must work ever harder to keep it open.

My mom's hair used to be such a dark brown that it looked nearly black. It's pure white now, and she looks exhausted. I hope that I'm in a position, as I age, to indulge myself with things I love to do, things that energize me, rather than feeling tethered to things that hurt and exhaust me.

As much as I love and admire her, perhaps I don't want to become my mother after all. I might even dye my hair.

The House is Neat, Finally

Quick update on my way to bed.

Adelaide is the most wonderful, sweet, easy baby to care for. Lots of smiles and laughter, great eye contact, little crying, quite a bit of playing on her own with a toy (or just watching the nearest ceiling fan). I'd be constantly overwhelmed with gratitude for this amazing gift, if I didn't spend the other half of my time panicking because she's too easy. Might something be wrong? Or might I be giving her too little, since she demands so little from me and Ellie demands much more? Ah, motherhood.

I had a challenging trip to the dentist today, with another planned for two weeks from today. I am such a dental whiner. But I take such good care of my teeth and get cavities anyway. It's very frustrating.

Ellie is 3-1/2 years old now, yet still our basement is much more accurately described as "Pit of Despair" than "Fun Playroom." My "30 minutes in the basement nightly" plan failed miserably last fall. My new plan is "one box per day," and so far it's working wonderfully, not least because I'm just doing it, not waiting for help. I find that when I start, I always get company and support!

One other not-so-little thing. I decided to stay home. I had a fantastic conversation with my boss on Friday, and as soon as I told her what I wanted to do, I felt amazing. It was the right decision! We left things on very good terms, with the possibility of me doing some work for the team over the summer and possibly coming back part-time later in the year or whenever I'm ready.

I'm tanning right now, as I type in the middle of the night. Also moisturizing and wearing sunscreen. Thanks, Neutrogena, I hope you work your magic on my skin.

Happy! Energetic! Getting things done! Must be spring!

Working at Home or Elsewhere

This one's less personal and more of a response to the at-home-mom vs. working-outside-the-home-mom debate.

In the comments to my last post about work, Paper Whore said, "I am a strong supporter of 'if you can afford to have a parent stay home, they should'."

I'd qualify this to add that we should consider many more factors than just finances during the affordability discussions. For example:

• Is the at-home parent considering returning to work someday? If so, it makes a lot of sense to keep a finger in that pie.
• What if the unthinkable happens the marriage falls apart? Without an "in" at a paying job, the at-home parent is in a tenuous position at best.
• Do you find being at home full-time rewarding and fulfilling? I know that when I returned to work 12 hours per week when Ellie was 15 months old, that made me a better mother to her and a happier person overall.
• Choosing to have one partner support the family financially while the other stays home to care for the children will likely change some things in your relationship and the way each partner sees him/herself and partner. It's worth considering those changes.
• There's no use denying that most at-home parents are women, mothers. And there's no use denying that there's prejudice against women in the workplace because of that. It's lovely to pretend that our decisions are made in a vacuum and affect only us, but in reality the ways in which we choose to live our lives have much greater effects than that, not least with the examples we set for the children we're raising.

Paper Whore also said, "We chose not to outsource parenting."

I have a stronger reaction to this point.

1. It's incredibly offensive to the families who - for any number of good reasons - choose for both parents to work outside the home.
2. I hardly think that 8 hours a day, 5 days a week - or less, depending on how parents arrange their schedules - is "outsourcing parenting." Or, if it is, isn't that what we're doing every time we hire a babysitter? Ask the in-laws to watch the kids for a hour? Send the kids off to school for the day?

"Outsourcing parenting" would be hiring someone to have primary responsibility for your children 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, throughout their childhoods.

Amanda said, I think that daycare or preschool or whatever, where children get to interact with other kids and adults, is good for children. If you can provide that if you stay at home then that's great. I know it's pretty hard now with friends who work or even if they stay home.

Very good point.

The first time I took Ellie to visit her first preschool/daycare, we went to the toddler room. One-year-olds - babies, in my eyes! - were eating yogurt cups at snacktime and serving themselves with spoons. None of the other children in our at-home-mom playgroups were doing anything like that at the time. Our first children were far less independent and self-sufficient. But it gives kids a lot of pride to be able to do things for themselves.

In my opinion, the decision to work outside the home or to stay at home with the children full-time is an intensely personal one. No hard-and-fast rules apply to all families. That said, our decisions are not made in a vacuum. Many pressures are applied to both fathers and mothers, and the decisions we make can help to shape the debate for future families.

Here's hoping that at some point in the future, perhaps even in my lifetime, it becomes more of a common choice for fathers to stay home, and that mothers are judged less harshly regardless of which path they decide to take. I know that a lot of the criticism of moms who work by moms who stay home, and the criticism of moms who stay home by moms who work, comes from a feeling that each choice implies judgement of those who choose differently. It shouldn't.

To Work Or Not To Work

I don't know! But I got an email from my boss yesterday, saying that if I'm coming back, I need to do so by May 1! That feels like tomorrow.

Pros to working:

• I have the best possible arrangement for working part-time with flexibility, in a good job. Millions of people would love to have what I have. It would be wasteful to throw that away.
• If I do decide to go back full-time at some point, I have kept the lines of communication open, my "skills" current, haven't interrupted my career track too much, etc.
• When I went back before, when Ellie was 15 months old, I loved it.

Cons to working:

• Arranging for childcare for the girls is stressful.
• Paying for childcare for the girls would be very expensive.
• Nursing/Pumping/Bottles/Argh!
• Less schedule flexibility (travel, doctor appointments, etc.)
• I'd probably have less alone time with Ada, unlike the time I have now while Ellie's at school.
• I don't know if I want to. My job is a little different than it used to be.

Plan of action:

• Call Ellie's old preschool/daycare and see what my options are
• Feel around for a babysitter to come to the house
• Check with Special School District to see what the Extended School Year schedule looks like (summer school for kids with IEPs/special needs)
• Go to work dinner next week and see how it feels to be "back"

Comments? Thoughts? Reflections?

Edited to clarify: I'm talking about 10-15 hours per week here, not 40 or more.

No News is Good News

Ellie was due on Wednesday, and I went into labor the preceding Friday evening. New Baby is also due on Wednesday, so it wasn't a big surprise when I started having unmistakable signs of labor late Friday night. After an hour or two, I woke Paul up.

I wasn't ready! I told him. It really hurts! I told him. I need to go into the office for just and hour, and nail down the recommendations for my grad school applications, and . . .

Drink some water, he told me. Then he walked around the bed, picked up my glass of water, added a straw, and held it to my lips until I'd done so.

After we'd talked for a little while (who to call in the middle of the night to watch Ellie? How inconvenient that my mom was unusually far away that night, up in Michigan with my also-pregnant sister) the labor, surprisingly stopped.

And I slept. And all was well.

On Saturday, I had my pregnancy massage (ahhhhhh!) and went into the office for an hour. I accomplished everything I needed to accomplish, then headed home and worked hard on grad school applications. I've completed the online application for 3 of my 4 schools (one school's online application is down this weekend but it's not due until February 1, so I'm not concerned yet). I just need to read over my personal statement, write a teaching statement for one school, and polish my writing sample. Then it's all ready to go.

Which means that . . . I'm about ready to go!

Except, perhaps . . . I do have a project at work that I should do more on. And I need to send out a postcard notifying my neighbors of the upcoming annual trustees meeting. And I am behind on thank you notes and . . .

Well. I don't think it's ever possible to be done, or ready, do you?

No, Not Yet

I don't think I've ever posted Ellie's birth story; I'll do that later this week. It was a fantastic labor and delivery experience, all things considered. As Paul and I were studying recently, in preparation for our second experience with childbirth, we read about the emotional signposts of labor. The first one is supposed to be "elation." We joke that, for me, the first signpost was "denial," and it was pretty strong. In retrospect, it's pretty humorous that 4 hours after my water broke, when I was laboring hard enough that I was really uncomfortable and wanted to be home in bed, I called my parents from the car on the way home from Borders and told them that I was in "false labor" and would definitely be having the baby the following weekend - a full week away.

It was a Friday, and I'd spent the entire day at work. I'd had a meeting way down the hall from my office that morning, and I remember running back and forth (literally running!) with huge stacks of textbooks that I was using as samples. When my water broke - still at work, later that evening after my colleagues had gone home - I just convinced myself that I'd wet myself. I cleaned up and finished what I was working on before packing up my computer and some projects to work on over the weekend and heading home.

This time I hope denial doesn't last quite as long; I hear that labors often go more quickly the second time around.

So, I'm not in labor yet (I hope!) but I think I'm doing everything I can to try to start early. I'm 36 weeks along, so it's not a disaster if I do go into labor, though I'd rather not do so yet.

Sunday we hosted an open house. There was a lot of prep work: cleaning, decorating, baking, and then we had a house full of people all afternoon. I loved it. I was also exhausted afterward. And then I worked more than 13 hours yesterday, barely pausing for meals. This morning I've already taken Ellie to school and had a visit from the door installer (they gouged the floor in the master bathroom when they installed my beautiful new doors last week). I'm headed off to a prenatal appointment in a few minutes, then to pick up Ellie from school, and, after lunch, I'm going into work to give a presentation to our new - and notoriously critical - vice president. My boss suggested that I wear my protective armor. So that should be fun.

Anyway, here's hoping that the pace slows down a bit later this week. I think I'm supposed to be "taking it easy" at this point, right?