Summer Breeze Makes Me Feel Fine

I came back from a trip to the Cape with the kids to find a pile of back-to-school catalogs on the counter, delivered while we were away. And store circulars are advertising Glade's new autumn scents (Fall Hayride, ewww), and summer clothes are about 75% off by now.

The end of summer is around the corner--on a cool day like today it's almost palpable--and it totally sucks. I am absolutely against it.

To all those people who love to trill, "Summer doesn't really end until late September and the weather that month is so glorious!" I say, "Bite me."

Summer ends when school begins. Period. The end.

I love summer. Yeah, I know everyone says how much they love it, but I really, really do. Like really. As in I despise winter with every particle of my being; I believe autumn is a mere prelude to certain agony and is only made bearable by Halloween; and while spring is often lovely (but just as often winter lite), it makes me antsy because I just want summer to hurry up and get here already.

So, yeah: REALLY.

I will miss this.

This summer in particular has been extra fun, probably because my kids are finally old enough to be real pals. There are no more potty issues, no more naps. Fewer meltdowns, fewer tantrums. They are my partners in crime (and by "crime" I mean spoiling our appetites with ice cream before dinner and tracking sand all over my parents' beach house).

By mid-August, it's true that many SAHMs are counting the minutes until they can pack their little (or not so little) ones onto the bus and finally BREATHE. Hear themselves think. Finish a cup of coffee while it's still hot.

I will super-duper miss this.

But not me. Especially not this year. Because this year, my baby is starting Kindergarten...and for the first time in over 7.5 years, I will have HOURS to myself. Which sounds like a good thing--a great thing, even--until I really think about. Then I realize: September is going to be super, horribly, terribly lonely.

Luckily, I have freelance work lined up. Otherwise the situation at our house would be Code Red by Columbus Day.

But there will still be times when I won't know what to do with myself.

I will be restless.

I will have time on my hands to ponder the reality that my kids growing older means so am I.

I will pine.

I will cry.

And then I will breathe deeply. I will listen to my thoughts as I finish my hot coffee.

And it will be okay.

Thanks Anyway, Gloria Steinem

There have been a lot of heated discussions in the media lately about being a working mother versus a stay-at-home one. Both sides often adopt a holier-than-thou attitude, but there's no right or wrong answer; it's all about what's right for that particular mother and her family.

I chose to be a stay-at-home mom, and while I do not regret the decision at all, I don't love that I'm reinforcing the very gender stereotypes that I promised my younger self I would always challenge. Boo to me. I don't bring home the bacon (unless we're talkin' actual bacon, because in that case, yes, I do bring it home...but only the antibiotic-and-nitrate-free kind!!), I shop for the food, prepare the meals, wash the clothes, do (most of) the cleaning. My husband goes to work, takes out the garbage, and mows the lawn. I'm teaching my kids that dads go to work and moms stay home.

Sometimes I wonder how and why I let this happen. Part of it has to do with boobs: I have them, my husband doesn't, so when we had our first child, it made sense for me to stay home because I could breast-feed. After the baby got a little older, my husband could've quit his job and I could've gone back to work (we didn't want both of us working full-time), but it was just easier to keep going along as before. Then baby #2 came along, more breast-feeding ensued, and nothing changed.

I know I'm lucky that I don't have to work, and I'm happy (mostly) with how things are. But, yeah, I worry about the lessons my kids are learning.

But you know what's great? My kids have only ever experienced women doctors and dentists. That's a nice change from when I was little. Sure, their preschool teachers are still all women, but there are lots of female cops and mail carriers around. Quite a few of my kids' friends have mothers who work, and on any given day there's at least a handful of dads dropping off and picking up from preschool.

So things are definitely better than when I was growing up. I may be slacking off in the shaking-up-gender-stereotypes department, but as they say, "it takes a village" to raise a child. And luckily our "village" is helping my children learn that you can be whatever you want to be, regardless of gender.

Hopefully it's sinking in.

When the Future Isn't Quite How You Thought It Would Be

A thousand years ago when I was in my early 20s, I was in an exclusive relationship, as serious as two kids-pretending-to-be-adults could be. One day my then-boyfriend and I had THE TALK about THE FUTURE. We were way too young to be thinking about getting married and having kids, but I guess we were trying to figure out if we had what it took to make it or were wasting each other's time.

The usual questions came up: Where we'd live, how many kids we wanted to have, etc. Things were going great until we got to, "Would I stay home to raise the kids or would we get a nanny?"

I grew up in a traditional family where my dad worked full-time and my mom stayed home. And while I mostly appreciated my mother's home-cooked dinners and her quiet, supportive presence (except during my teen years when I would've preferred fewer calories and more freedom), Mrs. Happy Homemaker was NOT what I aspired to be. I wanted to be a Modern Woman! To rise to the top of my field! I was sure I could--and would--bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never, ever let him forget he's a man.

My boyfriend, however, wanted a wife who would stay home to raise the kids. We stayed together for a while after that, but knowing how he felt certainly created a rift. I felt myself slowly drifting away, my attention drawn elsewhere. Ten years later, I married a wonderful guy who didn't care if I went back to work or stayed home with the kids.

Fast-forward another five years, and here I am, a stay-at-home mom by choice. After my son was born, I tried to go back to work but only could stomach it for three weeks. I was shocked by how painful it was to leave him. I cried every day and couldn't focus at work. I began to hate and resent the job I had adored for five years. So I quit and have never (okay, hardly ever) regretted my decision.

I realize how lucky I am to have had the choice. However, now that my kids are no longer babies, I find myself thinking more and more about going back to work, getting an actual job in an actual office. Because as much as I enjoy the work itself, it's the office camaraderie and being an important part of a well-oiled machine that I miss the most. The grim reality is that after four+ years out of the game, it's going to be extremely difficult to get back in. And to be honest, I don't know if I can hack being away from my kids that much.

It makes me wonder: What would the idealistic (and naive) girl I was in my 20s think about the woman and mother I've become? On the one hand, I'm sure she'd be pleased about having two happy, healthy, smart, beautiful children...but on the other, I can't help but think she'd also be a bit disappointed to look in the mirror and see Mrs. Happy Homemaker reflected back. Where did the career girl go? (And who is this laundering, cooking, diapering, cleaning woman who has taken her place?) Have I let my former self down? And if so, is that a bad thing? Or is it just life?