Today I ran into a couple of friends from work.  Women I really respect and admire.  Consummate professionals and downright lovely people.  They were on  a lunch break and I won’t even sugarcoat it: a part of me wanted them to kidnap me and take me back to the office.  I wanted to settle into my cubicle with my dependable salary and delicious benefit package, and get some work done.  I wanted to answer the phone with no one screaming in the background.  I wanted to be taken seriously.  I wanted to drink hot coffee that I didn’t make or have to clean up.

There I stood with a tiny girl hooked on each hand, anxiously awaiting lunch and naps and the Groundhog Day schedule that only changes at my own peril.  And I realized that once again, it was a trade-off I could never make; I could not leave my girls.  I am now rooted in the answer to the many times I’ve been asked, “Do you miss it?” Absolutely.  So many things I miss (except for the stress…Oh heavens the stress).  But I wonder how I stayed as long as I did.  I regret the early days I missed with the girls while I worked, even though it was just part-time.  I wish I had been home, day in, day out, every single day, forever and ever, Amen.

I came home feeling deeply conflicted.  Last year I missed the adult conversation.  This year, I miss the money.  That money sure would be nice right about now.  I started making my list: more peace of mind, new floors, ballet lessons for the girls, a trip to Disney someday….and on and on, a truly dumb list of things I can live without.  I’d trade my time with my girls for NEW FLOORS?  Really?  Nope, nope, and 1000x nope.

Those things come at a high price: work travel, the juggle of sick days, missing school events for important meetings, working out the school commute, always being so tired at night, the rush to get home and make dinner, feeling drained, worrying about work when I should be enjoying the kids, trying to find the energy to get everyone up and out the door, the worry of someone else making parenting decisions for my children day in and day out, less time with Greg, the guilt of leaving the house any time other than work….and on and on and on.  That list woke up me up pretty quickly; it was like being struck by lightening, just as I was the day I realized I’d have to leave my career and come home.

I want both.  I want to work.  I want to be home.  Not being two people, I choose home.  Again.  I flipped open a sweet little book my Dad gave me a couple of years ago, now faded from so much use, “The Wit and Wisdom of Mothers”.  I opened to this Danish proverb: “A rich child often sits in a poor mother’s lap.”  I had a good laugh, and then I thought…maybe I’m not so poor after all.  Watching Kelly feel her first cold mountain stream and hearing the girls squeal at the unreal fish we saw at the Gatlinburg Aquarium…good stuff.  Rich stuff.  My decision remains a tough one for me to swallow, but I will never doubt that it was the right one for me and for us.  It bears repeating, “for me”.  This decision is each woman for herself!  I’ll never soapbox staying at home, and especially not on the days I daydream about working the cash window at McDonald’s, just to get a break from the work of parenting.  Blessings to the friends whom have admitted they often have similar daydreams!   That being said, keep the coffee warm for me friends…some days I need a break from this house and I like to pretend that I have a vocation outside of “the lady who can get syrup off any surface, including the moving head of a 2 year old”.  Thanks for the warm hugs today.  Miss you.