Tag Archives: part-time

The Case for the Stay At Home (not to be confused with the Stay At Home Mom)

I’m determined not to sound whiny – especially after Hubby’s comment about some of my Dilemma Diary posts – but really, working part-time is both a blessing and a curse.  It’s great when your home life is going swimmingly and you don’t have deadlines falling all around you, but quite the opposite when you have sick kids, a sick nanny, a sick husband work deadlines right and left.

As a rule, childcare is short on the days you’re supposed to be home and not working (but need to be) and the days you’ve designated for the office are cut short by this or that from the home front.  As a mom, you’re the one (at least I am) who has to leave later in the morning and take care of the kids before work and the one who has to come home early to let the nanny go and take care of the kids before bed.

Plus, if you’re as lucky as I am to have a daughter who loves you so much that she won’t let her Daddy put her to bed on nights you want a break (read with sarcasm), you can’t log on to continue your work until 9 p.m.  And if you do manage to do so, you’ll be in bed at midnight, only to be woken up periodically by screaming children, and then struggle to fall asleep for an hour and wake up at some obscene hour to start the same day over again.  Forget just being more tired than the previous day (when you thought you couldn’t possibly get more tired) – try being infinitely more in the hole at work and infinitely worse at the doomed, desperate scramble to get out.

Yes, in the scheme of life, it ain’t so bad.  I have two healthy kids, a partner, a home, a job with a nice paycheck.  I have the luxury of grumbling, as it were.  But I make no claims to comparing myself to someone in actual dire straits.  I’m comparing myself to the imagined Wonder Mom who I admittedly foolishly think exists:  she is never tired, never burdened by work, financial or child-related woes, and lives a peaceful, unblemished existence . . . somewhere in an alternate universe, of course.

So, today’s verdict: Forget the decision whether to be a SAHM (Stay at Home Mom) or a working mom.  I’ve decided.  I want to be a Stay at Home (SAH).  You know, a SAHM, but without the responsibilities of having children . . .

(blissful daydreaming for six uninterrupted minutes, aka .1)

. . . now back to work before it’s time to go home and pick up the kids.

(That was a little whiny, wasn’t it?).

The Nightly Ritual

Trying to have a conversation with my husband about what to do:  continue working part-time, move to a “balanced” schedule, go back full-time, or quit completely and be a stay at home mom, feels like walking through a molasses swamp.  Each step is painfully slow and laborious and we inevitably get stuck on this topic or that before ever being able to see our way to an answer one way or the other.

The conversation has been going for months and we’re not any closer to figuring out the answer as a unit as we were when we first started the discussion.  For one, we can only talk about it when neither of us is working and when we’re not tag-teaming the children, leaving us a small window between 9-10 at night, which isn’t exactly the ideal time to talk about anything.  And two, it’s anxiety provoking to wade through all the options right before bedtime when we’d much rather spend our 30 minutes of precious downtime watching Netflix’ed 30 Rock episodes.

The nightly scenario goes something like this:

Hubby pressing the mute button on the t.v. remote, “Have you thought about what you want to do with your job?

Me looking up from my laptop, “Yeah.” I continue Internet surfing.

“What do you want to do?”  Hubby fiddles with the remote, getting ready to press the volume button.

Me:  “Well, I think we need to come up with a flowchart that shows all the different options we have, how they affect us financially and what the timeline is for each option.”

I think that’s called a matrix,” Hubby corrects me.  “Not a flowchart. Yeah, we need a matrix.”  Hubby un-mutes the television.  I go back to the Internet.

Tonight’s version was basically all of the above, ending this time with, “Well, let me know if you quit your job.  Or decide and then blog about it and let me know when the post is ready for me to read.

Tonight’s verdict: Still undecided.  (Back to surfing the Internet).

The Fear

I complained to my Hubby Sunday night about my writer’s block for the mediation brief I blogged about trying to write on Sunday.

His response:  “You don’t have The Fear.”

The Fear?”

Thoughts of one of my favorite teenybopper flicks, Fear, starring a young Mark Wahlberg and even younger-looking Reese Witherspoon (both pre-stratospheric stardom), came to mind.

Further clarification: The Fear.”

Maybe he’s referencing Lily Allen’s lyrics lambasting materialism in The Fear?  That doesn’t make sense.  (But it’s still a great song).

Hubby:  “It’s what keeps me going at work all day long.  If I’m not good — make that damn good — at what I do everyday, I’ll lose my job.  That’s The Fear.  And you don’t have it.

Then he added (in pedagogic tone),

You should produce your best work product everyday.”

Hearing this instantly ignited my “Aaaahhh!” response.  Don’t tell me something I already know.

This is probably the worst part about working part-time and working at all, for that matter, when you have young children.

For part-timers, you have shorter office hours and/or days, so you try to squeeze in as much as you can in as little time possible.  As Hubby would say, “Those days are your ‘work days,’ and you just jam it all in during the day and after the kids go to bed at night.”  It’s a great plan – in theory.

But running at full steam on the designated work days only works when you’re firing on all cylinders, or at least most of them.  When you’re scraping by on only fumes, it’s all you can do to stay awake in front of the computer screen and remember to state your appearance correctly during a Court Call.

It’s not only the lack of sleep, but the lack of focus and motivation that comes with it.  In a totally zapped mental state, you are expected to function like Joe and Tom sitting in the offices to your left and right.  Not only is this impossible, but it makes you tear your hair out.

Good thing I have an office and am not in a cube , so I can keep my self-reprimanding moments private:  “Focus!” or “Stop!” when my mind wanders or “No!” when I reach for my iPhone for a diversionary game of Words with Friends or Memory.  (Although, Memory has been getting a lot harder lately).

I know I used to have The Fear, but I don’t think I know what it is anymore – at least in the sense that I used to.  In the numb haze my life and mind have become, The Fear doesn’t have the same intensity.  And having been blessed with the faults of procrastination and sloth, living without The Fear is virtually not living.  No motivation has me drifting aimlessly through day after day.

Maybe subconsciously, I’ve worked to erase The Fear because I want to get laid off.  Goodbye handheld device, goodbye Outlook calendar, goodbye billable hour!  And goodbye worrying about staying on top of my game when it has become perfectly evident that I’ve slipped.  In this fantasy, I am 100% mom, 100% happy.

That’s the key word:  fantasy.  It’s not just unreal because it’s not my life, but because I can’t fathom the idea of not being a lawyer anymore.  As much as I want to be a full-time mom, no work hassles involved, would I be happy as “just” a mom?  What would this new identity be like and would I like it?  My mind reels with the unanswered questions and worrying about whether I could take that leap when I’ve always thought I would be a career mom, working full-time, setting an example for my kids and conquering the world.

Back to Hubby’s comment:  Okay, maybe I don’t have The Fear.  But, that’s not to say I’ve completely lost the will to be my best and succeed.  Now something else has the power to motivate me to give 100 percent (or as much as I can muster) instead of The Fear.  Something I didn’t have before that pushes me to succeed because those two little ones’ very existence depends on me.  I don’t need The Fear.  I have The Love.

Today’s verdict: Hung jury.

Another Working Sunday

It’s a dreary, rainy Sunday morning and here I sit at my desktop trying to write a draft of a mediation brief that should have been completed a week ago.  I left the house half an hour ago with my toddler clinging around my neck, begging me not to go, and my infant staring at me and silently judging (I’m sure of this), “what kind of mother leaves her children at home on a Sunday, especially when we can’t even get out to play!” (critical gaze turns to scowl).  Looking at the clock, I have just wasted .3, logging on to this blog, memorializing the bleak landscape of my desk in a photograph, and typing not the brief, but this post.  I suppose I can’t bill for this – well, at least not ethically, and probably not legally.  “Minus point three.”

I really should get cracking, but my mind turns to my never-ending dilemma:  should I keep working part-time, go back to full-time or just quit the law game completely?

“Part-time” seems to mean you’re part lawyer, part mom, but never whole of either.

Your colleagues at work – mine all happen to be male – say they admire your ability to juggle both, but they are really thinking:  “When is she going to quit?” and “Can I really count on her?.

Your children know that you’re not there everyday when they want you to be.  When you are with them, you have to resort (sometimes for hours) to the television babysitter so you can hastily take care of a filing or send a flurry of urgent e-mails.

And, your constantly plagued heart wishes you didn’t have to be split in two.

It’s especially hard when you’re A-type (well at least about work!) and you can’t stomach churning out anything less than stellar work product.  It isn’t just your professional reputation at stake, but your own sense of self-worth.

Growing up in a household where the response to an A on a test was “where’s the ‘plus’?“, not being on top of my game kills me.  But motherhood has thrown me for a loop:  do I want to spend every last fiber in my body obtaining a multi-million dollar victory for our client  . . . or . . .  do I want to take my toddler puddle-jumping on this beautifully rainy day?

As I sit here today,” I cannot make this either/or decision.  I want both.  (I think).  But as far as my experience informs me, both is not possible.  And I have yet to meet a mom who has told me otherwise.

So here I sit, .7 in the hole, in the middle of my working mom dilemma.  Babies waiting for me.  Client waiting for the brief.  (Husband not waiting for anything from me, as he has given up on expecting anything after two years of patiently waiting for my sanity to make its encore appearance).  And me, waiting for some kind of final judgment.

Update:  much to my pleasant surprise, Hubby showed up with Jane and Sam at my “ofsup”!

I did get to take Jane puddle-jumping.

 

Puddle-jumping in the office parking lot

Today’s Verdict: Affirmed; I need to stay at home with my babies.