How do you call the day quits when your work is home and home is your work?
I’ve grappled with this boundary for years now, over six of ‘em. It wasn’t quite so bad when Princess Pinky was a wee babe. Those two-naps-a-day months are a sweet memory for me. Two naps meant two times a day, during actual daylight hours, where I could 1) take a shower; 2) catch up on laundry, dishes, and toy detail; and, 3) open the newspaper to see what was going on in the world.
Oh, and actually go to the bathroom without an audience.
Then came Prince Tatertot, arriving when Princess Pinky was 21 months old. Now there were two babies to care for all day and all night, meaning twice the laundry, food, mess, puking, sticky noses, dirty diapers, toys, drama, and tantrums. I tweaked my coffee consumption up a notch (ok, I was downing at least a full pot a day while nursing the Tatertot – and he didn’t grow a third arm or get the permanent twitchies so I don’t feel a bit guilty about it) and became very thankful for all my friends in my great mom’s group who loved me, with or without the benefits of makeup, a blowdryer, or even a daily shower. I still miss you chickadees at good ole St. C’s!
Fast forward to moving in late September 2004, then in January of 2006 celebrating the near-simultaneous arrival of Sir Screamsalot and Knute’s new, better, wanted-this-job-with-this-corporation-all-along job which required a 70 mile commute one-way (yeah, do the math…and this was just as gas prices started to skyrocket) each day. Which meant putting house #3 up for sale when Screamsalot was 7 weeks old and just coming into the full potential of his lung-power.
Now, I wasn’t just working to keep my home running at a safe and reasonably clean standard for The Royal Monkeys; I was working to sell my home, which meant making it look like no child or insane canine had ever set foot in it!
I bought more coffee in 2006. Lots more.
We’re now settled in House #4 and settled in our new town, which is so heartbreakingly picture-perfect, a Rockwell painting a la Midwest, that I know that the moving days, at least, moving-to-a-new-town days, are behind us for good.
But the line between working in my home and just being at home has become finer still. This boundary issue isn’t limited to just at-home moms; article after article I’ve read advises people who work for an income out of their home via a home office to actually keep business hours and put a lock on the office door for the purpose of instilling that boundary between work and home.
Try explaining that boundary issue to my 22-month-old, a child so clingy that his other nickname is Scotch Tape.
When you’re Mommy, the boundary between working at home and just being at home disappears. When one of your darlings has puked all over their bed at two am, you’re there. When school begs for volunteers, you sign up. When the laundry is six loads deep and threatening to explode out of the laundry room door, you do it. The clock is of no consequence — Mommy is a 24/7 job and if you’re at home with your little monkeys, you never punch out.
After three kids in less than four and a half years, I’m starting to get it. And starting to Get Over It.
My dryer has buzzed for the fourth time — I’m off to grab more joltin’ java, fold the laundry, and then scrape a few minutes of Me Time together before tackling the next thing on the list.
Here’s to hoping you’re winning a few minutes of Me Time in your daily war between Work and At Home, too!
WM
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