AS KIDS GROW, STAY-AT-HOME MOM ENTERS NEW LIFE PHASE
Turns out, there are term limits to being a stay-at-home mother. This fact I ignored even though the graffiti was everywhere. How can I officially be in my house as a “stay-at-home mom” without a child breast-feeding or toddling or playdating or even attending elementary school?
So after nearly a couple decades of holding down the job of fulltime family caretaker of two kids, I have now arrived at that final phase of staying at home, which is NOT staying at home. But what’s next? Now that my kids are old enough to have their own phone and keys to the house, my fragile ego dictates that I somehow
should be resuming a stellar career at a top business partnership or a neurosurgeon practice or a professorship. But I don’t have that. I simply flew through all the previous stages of “Motherhood without Employment,” which are in random order: joy; loneliness; sloppiness; cleanliness; fear; grocery shopping; hermiting; social organizing; elaborate cooking of balanced meals with equal servings of protein, vegetable and fruit; endless trips to the park; endless stroller walks; second childbirth; somewhat less elaborate cooking; living for naptime; preschool; endless trips to the park; endless stroller walks; playdates; meals that resemble campout cuisine; volunteering; self-doubt; microwave-only meals; loneliness again; dinner of goldfish and lollipops; and long bouts of gratitude.
Now, having worked my way through this entire labyrinth, I stand outside the exit door, blinking my eyes at the glaring expanse with no neatly painted arrows ahead. All I have to take with me are a couple of above-the-knee skirts and an outdated resume — you know, something with a pager number on it.
So how is this unfair? I should have seen this coming like puke landing on a baby’s bib. It was no secret that both my children would grow older, abandoning me for the outside world, while I sat at home listening for the letter carrier to shut the lid to the mailbox.
Somehow, I forgot to keep up with the modern world. While I was busy assembling Thomas the Tank Engine tracks and then later chauffeuring groups of kids to afterschool gatherings all over town, I should have been keeping up my credentials for the real world. I sometimes think the outside world must be muttering: “Get a job, slacker.”
How did all these other responsible parents do it?
I have, in fact, had a few stints at jobs – such as teaching fitness classes, assisting at a preschool and freelance writing. I even spent a year leading around kindergartners.
However, my last true day of long-term employment came unceremoniously on the day my daughter was born. I clocked in a full-day as a copy editor at the newspaper, leaving about 6ish. Then – to this day, I’m still astonished – I went to my tap-dancing class, at full-term pregnancy. I’ll go ahead and admit that I did not put the full Broadway pizzazz into my steps. And not realizing that I was in the beginning stages of labor, I just thought I had a bit of a stitch in my side from all those shuffle ball-changes.
But that side-stitch turned into labor pains, and a few hours later I held my perfect child. I took the on-the-job crash course orientation in parenting. Then four years later, her brother joined the mix.
Staying at home, I found a rhythm to the day that required long chunks of solitude as well as self-motivation to get things done during breaks (aka naptime). I grew into parts of the job, such as developing skills at networking (aka finding other new mothers who lived nearby). I turned into a bit of an organizer, planning gatherings and playdates, playdates, playdates!!!
I understand that not everyone has the option to stay at home with their children. And in our case, this lack of work came with sacrifices. My family of four lives in a house with one bathroom. Our two cars are about 15 years old, with more than 100,000 miles each. Most of my shoes and clothes come from yard sales. I don’t mind one bit.
But now my children are away from the house longer than they are inside the house. My daughter is filling out college applications; my son is taller than me. I’m home, but it’s lonely. And starting a career at 50-plus is trickier than when I had just exited college. I have some long gaps on the resume to explain. I could seek out work in my former profession, though the copy-editing industry has diminished quite a bit. Or start a new path. If so, I need a good compass to point me in the best direction.
Because now, having worked myself out of a “stay at home” job, I stand before you: equal parts unprepared and eager to go.
Some of you know. I had drunk the Kool-Aid. Heck, I had MADE the Kool-Aid. But then the juice ran out, and here I am. Loyal, hardworking and slightly rusty. But I can set up an awesome playdate.
So, take me, dear future employers. I am yours.