Jeff said when he and his wife got the great news that she was pregnant,
discussions began about one parent taking a career sabbatical to stay home with
the baby. I gave him great kudos right then and there.
He said they were basing their decision on who had the best insurance.
His wife, a teacher, had great benefits but then so did he. The verdict was
made straightway when, one month before their baby was born, Jeff unexpectedly
lost his job. Alas, he was instantly promoted to stay-at-home dad.
He said he always tried to have the house straight when his wife got home
but that grew to be more and more of a challenge as the baby went from infant
to toddler. And he said he had to really resist the urge to hand over his son
the minute his wife walked in the door so he could have a break. He wrestled
with all the typical mommy stuff (atypical for “normal” dads) so much that, in
his desperation for answers, he actually wrote Dr. Phil. That letter led to
Jeff being a guest on the good doctor’s tv show to talk about his dilemma!
His best story, however, had me in stitches. He said that, as they’d
become a one-income family, he’d begun penny-pinching at every turn. Coupons,
combing over grocery store ads, getting diapers at the best price, whatever it
took to maintain the family budget. He said his wife came home from work one
evening and, while catching up on some mommy time with her son, noticed that
the baby’s clothes looked kind of funny, kind of bunchy, just plain weird. She
pulled up his little onesie to notice that, um, in an effort to not waste a
dime, her husband made a decision to save the diaper regardless when the tape
broke…he had duct-taped the sides together! What frugality!
I also put my career on hold to stay home with my babies. It came as a
surprise to those who knew me during my college days. I had been determined to
establish a great career and achieve success with a capital S. I networked like
crazy and planned that when I graduated, I’d have more than just a diploma.
My networking paid off when I went to work for one of the utility giants.
Was I ever proud as I sat in my office with windows from ceiling to floor! But
bored? Out of my mind!
I’m sure the corporate atmosphere is a rewarding experience for some
people. I, however, found out quickly that it wasn’t for me…and still isn’t as
I type this column from home.
I’d learned how to give a firm handshake and look the recipient straight
in the eye. I could carry on the most professional conversation and I had the
navy suit/white blouse/navy pumps/briefcase look down to a tee. All the while,
my creative side was pitching an unprofessional tantrum for relief.
In my very best of creative performances, I struck out on an adventure to
conquer uncharted waters, to seek out exciting challenges that would change
with each new morning. Something that would stretch me and grow me and test
me: ah, motherhood.
Six years and two babies later, I’d done plenty of stretching and growing
(more than my new friend, Jeff, I’m sure). I decided that maybe once again I’d
venture into the working world. But this time I wanted to do it on my own
terms. This was before the days of virtual offices and not many others were
working from home. It proved to be quite the little challenge for me as well.
I found the perfect job. I became the National Accounts Manager for a
radio station. No one had to know that while I was speaking professionalese,
quoting rates and making proposals, I was usually sitting in my bedroom at my
little desk or beside my girlies singing along with Raffi or Barney or Big
Bird.
I arranged it that while my six-year-old was at school, my just-turned
three-year-old would spend a few hours each morning at a friend’s house so I
could work. I talked with account reps from New York to L.A. and no one knew
that I was usually in my jeans (or maybe even pjs), my hair in a pony tail and
certainly wearing no make-up.
The real challenge came, however, when both girls were home in the
afternoons. I had a special ring tone that would signal me that I was getting a
call from an ad agency. The phone would ring and I’d make like an Olympiad
jumping over Little Tikes toys. It’s a miracle that I didn’t break something
(like my neck!) trying to make my way over them to climb the stairs to my
office aka bedroom all the while trying to switch gears from apple juice to the
Big Apple.
Like the duct tape ordeal that Jeff and his wife will never forget, my
unforgettable moment came the afternoon I experienced my own little potty
ordeal. With phone ringing, I bolted for the bedroom, shutting the door behind
me, hearing a noise in the hall. I heard my toddler trying to join me – with a
distinct purpose in mind.
“Mommy!” she called loudly. “Come wipe me!” I hurried to the furthest end
of my bedroom.
“Mommy!” she was yelling by now. “I had a stinky and I need you to come
wipe me!”
I ran into my closet and pulled some clothes around me to sound proof
myself. When would potty training and this call ever be over?! As she persisted
banging the door with her little fists, I tried to pretend I was sitting in my
old office with the big windows and nothing but busy adults doing monotonous
things outside my door.
The call finally ended. Details were attended to on both ends – up north
and down south (literally!). After some deep cleansing breaths, I survived with
my nerves still intact. I wondered if the New Yorker had any idea what I’d been
doing while we spoke…
My neighbors these days know if they decide to visit during work hours I
might not answer the door and if I do, I’m likely to make all kinds of hand
signals if I’m on the phone.
Suffice it to say, if you call my house and I sound like I’m in a well or
a closet or with a pillow over my head, don’t ask
Just don't even ask.
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