Being a Stay-at-Home Mom

One of my goals for my blog that I had in its inception is to use it as a cathartic outlet for the various thoughts that come through my mind. However, I have steered away from getting too personal for a variety of reasons, but would like to delve into one thing that weighs on my mind greatly from time to time.

When I was in high school, I was the hyper-motivated, obsessive bookworm. I always had to be the best at everything, much to the annoyances (I'm sure) of those around me. My Holy Grail was to be my class's valedictorian, and I worked very hard to try and achieve that goal. Up until my senior year I was poised to be that person, but then I came to some very important realizations about who I was. In order to become valedictorian, I would have to take two classes (and do well in them): AP Physics and AP Economics. I did not like these classes AT ALL. They were tough, boring, and a bit over my head. A short time before I would have gritted my teeth, sucked it up, and taken the classes, but something inside of me said no. Why torture yourself and be very unhappy for a whole year to reach a goal that you very possibly would not be able to meet? I thought very hard about this, because I had wanted to achieve this goal for a LONG time and had worked really hard to get to where I was, but I realized that my happiness (and possibly my health) were not worth the expense that would have to be made. So I did something that was difficult: I accepted my weaknesses--that there were some things that I just wasn't good at (which was a very tough thing to admit)--AND THAT IT WAS OKAY. I still did manage to graduate from high school with a 4.0 and 3rd in my class, and sometimes I do look back in sadness that I did not achieve what I had wanted, but I know that I am a happier, better person for it.

Fast forward to college. I was still motivated and still wanted to do very well academically, but I started to realize that there was more to life than chaining yourself to books. There were experiences to be had and lives to live, and I decided that I would do that, too. So I stayed up till 3 AM during the week, I crammed for (MANY MANY) tests, I put off studying, went to concerts on a weeknight, drank when I shouldn't, got into conversations, and had fun. I still did well in school, managing to graduate magna cum laude, but I started to experience some of the same frustrations that I did in high school. The major that I had chosen for myself--Biology--put me in contact with many hyper-competitive, driven people. I would say most of them were planning to go to medical school or research. Then there was me. I had absolutely NO desire to go to medical school and I absolutely HATED research. I was afraid of blood (NOTE: in my Anatomy Lab when it came time to crack open our dead cat's sternum for dissection I had to cover my ears, close my eyes, and have someone else do it. It made me sick.), did not like the potential life style that doctor's would have (long hours away from family), and I though research was BOOORING. I, however, loved the actual material in Biology (and still do), and I thought that the best way to use this was as a teacher. High school. Now this put me, in my eyes, at odds with the other Bio majors, because I felt like I wasn't as good as them because I didn't have plans of being a doctor of something, and for awhile I was tempted to give up being a teacher and try to do something "better" with my degree so that I would feel validated in life and so that I would look like I'd done something with myself and my degree. Just like in high school, though, I came to another life-changing realization about who I am as a person. I realized that I am not person who wants to do something because everyone else is. Just because 80% of Biology majors (I have no clue if this statistic is correct, but it seems so based on experience) go into the medical or research field doesn't mean that I have to do so as well. I had a love for something, and it was important to express it in MY way, not the way that 80% of those like me do.

So I became a high school Biology teacher.

Fast forward once again till Summer 2006. I had recently found out I was pregnant with my first child. I had been working as a high school Biology teacher for two years in a rural school. And I HATED it. (The school thing, not the being pregnant thing.) It was kind of depressing in a way, because I had spent five years in college (four for my degree and another one getting certified to teach), numerous years in pre-secondary school, and two years out of school pursuing a dream that I had ultimately come to realize was not for me. I still loved the material...science is cool...but sadly I did not like the bulls**t that comes long with being a teacher. Parent-teacher conferences, meetings, recertification, standards, discipline, I still have nightmares about it (no joke). I did have something that I knew that I was going to like and love: a beautiful baby on the way. I grew up with a stay-at-home mom, and though there are some things that I'm sure could've been better, I always loved having my mom there in the mornings, at home with me when I got home from school, and throughout the summer. I never had to experience the pain of being left by my mom at daycare and loved having the experiences that I could only have if she had been there. And I knew that I truly wanted to be there with my baby; partly because I wanted out of this job that I had come to loathe, partly because I had started to realize that I preferred the simple life to the high-stress, fast-paced work world, and much because I didn't want to miss a single minute of my baby's steps through her own life. It killed me to think that I would be there for first smiles, coos, steps, words, laughs, and many other things. I wanted to experience them firsthand rather than have them be retold to me by a daycare worker. And so, with much discussion between my husband and I, we decided that I would be a stay-at-home mom for as long as it was financially feasible.

I grew more in love with Livers every day. I was not one of those picture-perfect mothers who is all rainbows and moonbeams the second she sees her offspring. It was a gradual but growing love that increased more and more, and I started to dread finishing off the last six weeks of my school year before I officially entered SAHM-dom. So much so that decided I couldn't stand to go back at all. So I didn't. I made arrangements with my long-term sub, and she agreed to take care of business for me if I gave her some plans to follow. It worked fine from our end, but I had to break my contract to do it, and as a result I cannot teach (legally) in the state until July 2008, which doesn't bother me because my time away from teaching has cemented the idea in my head that I will NOT teach again unless there is absolutely no choice.

Now, how exactly does this tie into my discussions about high school, college, teaching, and my realizations about who I am as a person? The problem that I sometimes tackle in my mind is this: am I a stupid person and am I wasting my life by being a stay-at-home mom? This creeps up on me all the time, and I hate myself for it. I feel like I should be Miss Do-Everything Working Mom with the perfecthouseperfectkidsperfecthusbandperfectjob (that's a lot of perfect) who still has time to do all sorts of wonderful things for herself and who has a well-rounded, fulfulling everything. I feel guilty for spending 5 years in college and to be sitting on a degree. (Which was brought to my attention Saturday while picking up ribs at Sardi's--a former teacher asked what I was doing these days--I said taking care of my kid--he said what was I doing with my degree--and I said just that, sitting on it, to his shock.) I feel like that same girl in high school who felt like I should take classes that I hate; that same girl in college who felt pressured to be a doctor or a researcher even though she knew she wouldn't like the sacrifices to life involved. It is tough, because I know in my heart that this is the right decision for me right now. I absolutely love being home with my daughter. Sure, it can sometimes be boring because I don't have anyone to talk to much of the day (she can't hold a good conversation yet) and doing the dishes 18 times a day can get old, but I would much rather be spending time with her than with some snotty high school kid who hates me and anything I have to say about science. I have problems reconciling who I am with some sort of preconceived notion of who I feel the world thinks I should be. I want my daughter to be proud of her mommy and my husband to be proud of his wife. And I don't want to feel guilty because I am at home instead of working.

It's getting late, and that's all I got for now. This is something that I hope resolves itself more every day, and I'm sure eventually it will.

My New Favorite Picture

Thursday Hilarity

Today's humor is brought to you by my 14 month old daughter and the neighborhood recycling collector.

First, Livers and I attended the bi-annual children's consignment sale this morning. In line on the way out was a woman, her child, and who I assume was the grandmother. Said grandmother was walking around with an oxygen tank. Livers saw it, and thanks to her current fascination with vacuum cleaners, kept looking at the woman's tank and going "voom, voom, voom!", which in Livers-land means vacuum. Occasionally she'd sort of pronounce it right, but I still had to explain to her in public that it was, in fact, not a vacuum.

Second, I was spying out of my kitchen window at the recycling collector to see how much he actually was taking. (I think sometimes they just throw it in the trash.) I noticed he had stopped for quite sometime around the paper side and wondered why. Upon further inspection I saw that, yes, the collector had stopped throwing away the cardboard to take out a freshly recycled People Magazine from my bin and was standing at his truck reading it. What a hoot!

All Is Safe in the Land of Canine

Molly in the kitchen after polishing off the rest of our Thanksgiving Turkey.

Lacey lounging on the couch.

Today was a very stressful day in our household. Our beloved first and secondborn, Molly and Lacey, had to go the vet to have their teeth cleaned. We got the girls after less than a month of marriage in the summer of 2005. We got them from the local animal shelter, and they were quite the sad sight. They were SEVERELY underweight (Molly weight about 13 1/2 pounds and Lacey an even 12 lbs) and had very scraggly fur. Most people thought we were insane to be taking this on, but I had grown up with dogs and always wanted some of my own, and after seeing their pictures on Petfinder.com I knew that (Lacey) was the dog for me. We went to the shelter only planning to get her, but upon seeing her sister I knew we couldn't leave her to suffer at the shelter and possibly be put down, so I managed to beg enough to get both. It was one of the best decisions of our lives, because they are wonderful doggies.


Well, in recent days the girls' breath had gotten horrid, and no amount of Yip Yaps (doggie breath mints), teeth brushing, and breath spray for dogs was going to cut it. I knew that they needed their teeth cleaned professionally, but Jeremy was freaked out about it because he had heard horror stories of dogs dying from anesthesia. (And I was nervous, because my grandmother's 17 year old dog had died getting his teeth cleaned, though incidentally not from anesthesia). We finally decided to bite the bullet and made the appointment, and we sat in nervous anticipation for today's cleaning. We got up this morning and said our goodbyes, worried that it was going to the last time we ever saw them. (This had actually become a thing for Jeremy the past few days. He was getting very sentimental about everything pertaining to the dogs--this might be the last treat we give them, their last romp in the backyard, the last time they fight over the food, yadda yadda yadda, you get the point.) We went nervously about our days, periodically talking over Google Talk about how much we loved our dogs and hoped everything went okay. The procedure was scheduled for noon and they weren't supposed to call us about them until at least 3, so when we got a call from the vet at ten till 2 I got really nervous. Thankfully the vet said that everything had gone splendidly and they were recovering.


And boy, were they. Jeremy brought them home a little after 4 and there were druuuugged up. Poor Lacey tried to walk up the stairs but kept falling up them, so Jeremy had to pick her up and bring her to our bed to rest. We tried to keep them from jumping off of furniture as best as possible, because we were worried that their lack of coordination would cause them harm. Molly was a lost cause, because she such a Ms. Nosy Pants that she won't sit still, so we let her roam the house, but we put Lacey in my office on the sofa where she quietly and happily recooperated the rest of the day. We are very glad that this is over with (and that they teeth are nice and sparkly and breath nice and fresh) and grateful we won't have to deal with this for another couple of years.

Belated Oscar Thoughts

Sunday, February 24, 2008, was the day that I looked forward to all year long. My World Series. My Super Bowl. My World Cup. My Daytona 500. It was: the Oscars. I got into the spirit of things early in the day. I took my People Magazine to Jittery Joes and devoured my celebrity smut. I parked myself on the couch promptly at 6 PM so that I could flip back and forth between E! and TV Guide Network (to minimize commercials) so that I could see the Red Carpet coverage, trying desperately to hear over Livers' screams, cries, and yells. And though most Americans disagreed with me as to how wonderful this year's award show was (the lowest ratings in years), I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I am not a fair weather fan. I was in for the long haul....all 3 1/2 hours plus of it.

What made the Oscars more enjoyable for me this year than in years past was that for the first time I had actually seen all of the films nominated for Best Picture (and many of the other films that actors were nominated for). I felt like I could actually form a valid opinion of the quality of movies and credibility of acting abilities this year. On this note, I will give my opinions of the major categories this year.

BEST PICTURE: This for me is kind of tough. I liked each of these movies and I understand why the critics did, too. No Country for Old Men is a good movie and I understand why it won its award. However, I personally would have chosen Juno instead. The movie is precious on so many levels. It is witty. The characters are deep and well-portrayed. The music was spectacular. It had everything I wanted in a movie, which is why, after watching over a dozen films this year, it remains my favorite movie (and I suspect might be at year's end). I also really loved Atonement. Maybe it's the hopeless romantic that still dwells within, but I felt like crying when I thought of this movie for DAYS after watching it. It really stuck with me.

BEST ACTOR: I only saw Daniel Day-Lewis, Viggo Mortensen, and George Clooney, and based on these I would have to say the winner was properly chosen. DDL was great and scary, and will drink your milkshake.

BEST ACTRESS: Only saw Ellen Page and Julie Christie. Would have chosen Page, because Christie's role got on my nerves (must not have a soft spot for Alzheimer's patients) because I couldn't tell if she was faking it to piss off a husband who cheated on her years ago. The Academy does love their portrayals of real-life people, so it's no shocker that Cotillard won.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: I think they got it with Javier Bardem. He was one scary brother pucker in No Country. However, I did love Hal Holbrook's emotional performance in Into the Wild (which was strangely absent in the Best Picture race; I would've preferred it over There Will Be Blood).

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Totally disagree with the Academy's choice here. Tilda Swinton did okay in this movie, but man, Amy Ryan's performance in Gone Baby Gone was gritty and depressingly good. And I somehow feel that Cate Blanchett's protrayal of Bob Dylan in I'm Not There probably would have been spectacular had I seen it. (I don't care enough for Dylan to watch five people be him for two hours.)

Into the Wild

In a completely unrelated Valentine's note, I have a new movie on my list of favorites: Into the Wild. Based on the work of nonfiction of the same name by John Krakauer, it chronicles the journey of Christopher McCandless, aka "Alexander Supertramp", as he roughs it for a year and a half across America after his graduation from Emory University and his trip to his final destination of the wilds of Alaska. I read the book Into Thin Air by Krakauer when I was in college, so I had high hopes for this movie, and I was not let down. The scenery is breathtaking, and though sometimes the motives that Alex had for his travels left me skeptical, I had to admire him for his determination to give up society and go back to nature to live a pure and simple life. The soundtrack for this movie is spectacular as well. I've always had a lukewarm relationship to Eddie Vedder and Pearl Jam (I like them and find them talented, but I never gave them the massive fan following that my husband did), but after hearing Eddie in this movie (he wrote the songs for the soundtrack) I feel I might have to reevaluate my opinions of his skills. It was amazing. (Listen to "Hard Sun". It's been in my head all day.) All in all, this movie HAS IT ALL: good plot, great characters, beautiful music, and a message that will make you think about what it is to be human and a part of this world.

Happy Valentine's Day!

(Livers, after a nap yesterday, with a SERIOUS case of bedhead...this picture doesn't even do it justice...)

In many ways Valentine's has become an overcommercial Hallmark holiday. People are running around racking up credit card debt trying to prove with their wallets that they love each other more than the other person, all the while secretly hating their obligation to the 14th. However, with the birth of Livers I have come to have a new appreciation and respect for what Valentine's really means. It's not about expensive chocolates, hastily purchased flowers, or candlelit dinners at a restaurant with 500 other couples. It's about remembering the people in your life that you love and who love you back, whether they be your husband/wife, boyfriend/girlfriend, children, family, friends, or pets, and celebrating the bond that ties you to one another. Just knowing that I have this little angel in my life makes me realize every morning that, though life is tiring and tough, that I have someone who depends on me and who loves me unconditionally. I would take one of her toothy grins or time spent hanging out with my husband watching TV in the comfort of our own home to any of the Valentine's cliches on earth.