Mulling my career options

Seven years (and change) ago, this moment never would have crossed my mind. I was brand new to my role as stay-at-home mom. (Sorry - I know that phrase irritates some, but I don't much care for "homemaker." It conjures images of a woman wearing a full-skirted dress and high heels, pulling a pot roast out of the oven. She probably needs Valium to get through her day, which, incidentally, I can understand.)

I had recently quit my full-time job at Kimberly-Clark to care full-time for Ben and newborn Paul. I knew we wanted three kids, so this would be my life for the foreseeable future. I love the phrase, "The days are long, but the years are short." It sums up the past seven years perfectly.

I'm on the cusp of change. Gus will be in school half days in the fall, and lately, the idea of going back to work has been gnawing at me. I feel a little stuck right now, because I'd like to plan, but I'm not even ready to start applying for jobs.

If only the picture of me working outside the home weren't so blurry. My career before kids was kind of a mishmash. My degree is in journalism, and I spent my first year out of college as a copy editor at The Oshkosh Northwestern. It was a job I loved, but the hours were making me miserable. I worked second shift and every weekend. Mark and I were newlyweds, working opposite schedules. I saw him two nights a week, and that was about it. I left before he got home from work, and he was in bed asleep when I arrived.

Looking back, I wish I would've stuck it out in the newspaper business, but I didn't. My brother worked at K-C and told me about an administrative assistant position. I stayed with K-C for the next four-plus years. I can't say the job brought me nearly as much fulfillment as copy-editing, but the hours sure were nice, as was giving up the commute to Oshkosh. Plus, administrative assistant work at a major corporation pays more than my other career. That's journalism for ya.

So here I sit thinking I'd like to get back out there in the not-too-distant future. I'd like to be able to save my income for the boys' education. It would be lovely to be able to help Ben, Paul and Gus, even if it's just some. I shudder to think how expensive college will be, and I hate the idea of sending my kids into the world saddled with crippling debt.

But what would I do for work? I felt confident in my computer skills ... almost a decade ago, but something tells me employers wouldn't think they're so fresh today. I'm sure it's a whole world of new computer applications about which I know nothing.

I wish I had a background with an obvious path. My friend, a social worker and fellow stay-at-home mom, has been able to stay minimally connected to her field, teaching parenting classes, staying current on her skills so she can easily segue back in at some point.

I envy my friend and my mom, who after raising kids for 15 years, knew exactly what she wanted to do. She went to UW-Oshkosh to become recertified as a teacher. Seeing that Menasha was starting an elementary foreign language program, my mom knew instantly that she'd love to teach Spanish to elementary students. She pursued it with all her energy and got her dream job.

Me, I have no idea what to do. And I have all these disclaimers. I'd like to work part-time. It'd be great to have a flexible schedule so I could take care of the boys when they're sick, chaperone field trips, volunteer at school. Gosh, I'd love to still have the summers off. I'm starting to think it's all pie in the sky.

I vascilate between wanting to do find a career that will be really fulfilling and wanting something that's easy and won't require a whole lot of me - just a paycheck. It's intimidating, this contemplating re-entering the workforce after a seven-year hiatus. I'm filled with a potent mix of excitement, dread and sorrow. As you can see, I'm freaking out a little bit here.

One thing's for sure, whenever I'm ready to make my move, it's going to be a process. It could take time, and I may not find the perfect opportunity on the first try. I'm steeling myself for some trying times. Wish me luck in my journey.

The free ride is over, boys!

After more than 10 years as a parent, I still make a lot of mistakes. Having my kids participate in household chores is on the long list of things I know I should do but still fail to do.

I listened as my friend described how each weekend her 4- and 6-year-old help with vacuuming while her 8- and 10-year-old clean the bathrooms. I felt sheepish. It's not that my kids don't help at all, but I certainly don't have them doing anything on a regular basis.

I've fallen into the trap of realizing that I can do the housework better and more quickly than my kids can, so I (and Mark) just end up doing the vast majority of it. Plus, there's none of that pesky nagging involved with this option.

The problem with my method, of course, is that my kids aren't exactly learning to do these things for themselves. Sure, they may do a mediocre job at these tasks at first, but they would get better. That's the idea. I get exasperated when the boys treat me like a maid, but I'm a participant in sending the wrong message.

I read a book recently in which a character's wife describes him as "milk-fed veal," meaning he was coddled. He was raised as the only son in his family and his mother, in particular, babied and doted on him. Similarly, my mom described how growing up, her mom and the daughters of her family served her father and brothers.

I don't want my boys to be milk-fed veal, and I certainly don't want them to get the idea that women are there to serve them. In short, I do not want my kids to have a sense of entitlement. Furthermore, I want Ben, Paul and Gus to know how to do these jobs for their own good, so they can go off to college, or whatever, knowing how to clean a bathroom and do laundry.

So it's time, I guess, to start assigning some chores. I may have to put up with a little bit of whining and protest. Maybe I'll remain a little skeptical about having the boys clean the bathroom - I think I know them too well. But setting and clearing the table, vacuuming their rooms, putting away their laundry - those they can do. And we'll build from there. Here's hoping this will do us all some good.

Sometimes it's just stupid to try to be super mom

What is it about women that it's so hard for us to accept help when we need it, even when it's offered? This has been on my mind this week after I got sick for the second time in less than two weeks.

First, I was down and out with the stomach flu. I lay in bed early on a Wednesday morning after enduring a hellish night of vomiting and stomach pain. Mark had a dentist appointment at 8 a.m., and on top of everything, it was the day of that huge snowstorm.

Mark immediately said he would cancel his appointment. "No, no," I moaned, "I can get the boys to school."

Luckily, I have a wonderful husband whose sanity prevailed. He canceled his appointment and made arrangements to have my mom take care of Gus. And thank God because I barely moved the whole day. I most certainly could not have gotten the boys to school.

So, ok, I could accept that one instance of needing help, but then Sunday night, I developed a scratchy throat, and my legs began to ache. I woke up in the middle of the night completely achy, knowing that something was coming.

Sure enough, on Monday morning I woke up with chills, a low-grade fever, and body aches. But no, I was not having it. I showered and drove Ben and Paul to school and got Gus to preschool.

I was starting to feel pretty lousy walking out to the car at Gus's school, but still I was thinking, I can do this. I will rest when I can, drink tea with honey and lemon. I will pick up Gus, make him lunch, keep the play date with my friend and her son, make supper. Sure, I'd be wiped out, but my family would look at me with admiration, thinking, she just keeps pushing through even when things are hard.

Clearly I was delirious. My family would think I was an idiot for trying to do it all while sick (and would be really keen on eating a meal prepared by a sicko, I'm sure), and I'm sure my friend would be delighted with me for keeping a play date while nursing an illness with fever.

It didn't matter, because physiology took over as soon as I walked in the door. I tried to sit in a chair and read, but even that was too much. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck, and my fever was climbing. Meekly, I called my mom and asked for help. I even told her I'd pick up Gus from school and bring him to her house. My mom, being the angel she is, of course said she'd pick up Gus, keep him the rest of the day and make supper for us. Play date canceled, I sacked out in bed the rest of the day.

Here's the thing. My mom wants to help. She's one of those generous people who's made happy by making her children's live easier. I know this. When people ask me for help I feel honored that they've trusted me enough to ask. I'm more than happy to do it if I can. And yet it's still so hard to accept assistance.

I guess it will remain a mystery, this resistance to asking for help. All I can say is this: if someone offers aid; if you're lucky enough to have someone in your life who's there for you, for God's sake, take that help when you need it. You'll be doing yourself a favor and maybe even making someone else feel good in the process.

Now, to diverge a little bit. I don't know about you, but I have so had it with winter. I get to this point every year around this time. This is when I need to start actively looking for little bits of happiness.

Today I found one of those morsels. It was my day to volunteer in Paul's first-grade classroom, which has brought me unexpected joy this year. I had asked the teacher's permission to bring Valentine's cookies. I'd promised Paul I'd bring bakery cookies for Christmas until a snow day canceled it, so I owed him.

I called the bakery to order the cookies yesterday, and the woman asked if I wanted the small ones. By small, I pictured her meaning miniature, so I said that we probably should do bigger. Silly me. In these times, small means normal size and "bigger" means ginormous.

So I brought these huge frosted heart cookies to the class, and I explained to Paul's teacher a little sheepishly that they were really big and apologized for the sugar rush. At least it was 2:30 and the kids would soon be leaving for the day.

As I was getting ready to go, the kids yelled a big thank you, and several came and enveloped me in big hugs. I left with a warm feeling in my heart and a huge smile on my face.

So whether you take pleasure in noticing the days gradually increasing in length or you decide to give a bunch of first-graders a sugar high, find yourself some little joys that will bring you through to the warmth of April. Happy late winter, y'all.

It's so unfair being called unfair all the time

If you have more than one child, there's one thing you can count on. One or more of your kids will be watching you to make sure everything you're doing is "fair," and believe me, you will always come up wanting.

In our house, Mark and I call Paul the fairness police. He is the one, more than any other, who is ever-vigilant in the hunt for infractions. If the scales tip slightly in favor of one of his brothers at any time, we hear about it promptly. "But that's not fair!" he shrieks, two, 10, 20 times a day.

It doesn't help to have Gus as one of Paul's brothers. When one of the children stays home while the other two are at school, he just naturally and unavoidably gets some perks the other two may not- a trip to the children's museum or the Family Fun Center at the Y, lunch out with Mom occasionally.

Once in a while, I take Gus to get a Happy Meal after a job well done accompanying me to the grocery store. It's not the toys that get me busted. Believe me, we have enough junk around here that an extra trinket could easily go unnoticed. No, even though I've explained to Gus that it would hurt Paul's feelings if he knew about the treat and asked him to please not mention it, Gus can't help crowing about it. Thanks a lot, Benedict Arnold! (I'm sure specifically asking Gus not to spill makes it all the more likely he will.)

Boy do I hear about it when Paul finds out what I've done. He trots out everything. "You NEVER take me to McDonald's! You ALWAYS take Gus!" This went on for days after the last time.

I remember how it felt. My brothers and I were the same. My older brother, Sean, went on his junior high class trip to Washington DC. I didn't even want to go on mine, but I didn't let that stop me from holding over my parents' head that Sean got something that I hadn't.

 

All of the accusations of unfairness can get to even the most confident parent. Does Paul have a point? Am I really being as equitable as I can? I don't feel like I favor any one of my kids. They irritate and curry favor with me in fairly equal measure. I hope that's what they see.

The only conclusion I can reach is that it's impossible, and maybe even undesirable, to be perfectly fair. We've undoubtedly spent more money on Ben's many lessons and sports. He just happens to be more of a joiner. Paul prefers to be at home, content to have free time to doodle and daydream. Of course, if he found a passion for art classes, karate, whatever, we'd offer the same backing to Paul.

I'll take solace in knowing that the fairness battle does have an endpoint. All adults now, my brothers and I have long since forgotten about keeping score. I think we recognize that my parents did the best they could.

In the end, I don't think it matters who got more birthday presents or trips to McDonald's. If I'm fairly equal in the time I spend playing a board game with Ben, drawing Skylanders with Paul, building Lego structures with Gus, I think I'm doing my job pretty well.