tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54701743251506771192024-02-18T23:41:19.300-08:00life on the edge of EverythingShoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-65714181499933653192012-07-19T12:08:00.000-07:002012-07-19T12:08:49.408-07:00The Gift of Messiness<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today is Thursday, the second-most messy day of the week in
my house. I have a migraine, so instead of trying to work on cleaning up, I’m
sitting down wondering how the place can go from really clean to something off
a tv show about a family in crisis over the course of five short days. It was
clean last Saturday, and even Sunday, I swear!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are toys on the floor. I understand that. There’s a
wooden zebra, an overturned dollhouse sink, two stuffed animals, a play school bus,
a karaoke machine, a roller skate, and an unrealistically busty plastic eleven
and a half inch blonde in a wedding dress. Ok. Kids have toys.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I don’t understand are the two empty paper towel rolls,
the box of cereal (empty, too, thankfully), the gallon-size Ziploc bag, the
four empty bins, the disassembled guinea pig carrier and the disassembled vacuum.
Or the bin that’s supposed to hold toys, but now holds a half gallon of water
and a capsized rubber duck. Or the empty picture frame. Or the twenty-one
pieces of toilet paper that are scattered across the floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who <i>are</i> these
people? What in the world do these children, who are five and seven, for crying
out loud, not two and four, <i>do</i>?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, I know the answer. When I stop worrying about how
the house looks, and think about what they <i>do</i>,
I know. They play. Sometimes they play with toys, but they’re just as likely to
play with two empty paper towel rolls as they are with two baby dolls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right now, they’re in my bedroom playing Harry Potter Goes
to the Hairdresser.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every day, they create a whole world for themselves that has
nothing to do with toys or parents or big sisters or anyone else’s expectations.
The paper towel rolls are telephones and
swords and people. The toilet paper squares are islands. The bin of water is a
lake and a bath and a baptismal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love this about them. They see so many possibilities. All kids, I like to think, can create their
own space, as long as we don’t fill it up for them. We’re all such conscientious
parents these days; we try our best to supply our kids with the toys and
materials we think they need to learn and grow. I do it, too. But instead,
sometimes, I wonder if it is a better gift to relax, let the house get messy,
and let them create those materials for themselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They still have to clean this crap up, mind you. But, it
can wait until Harry and Ron are done at the hairdresser.<o:p></o:p></div>Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-91444458202895353672012-05-12T17:09:00.000-07:002012-05-12T17:09:58.259-07:00Six Little Things that Make a Big Difference<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have fibromyalgia, but you’ll probably never hear me talk about it again.<br />
<br />
I’m only talking about it today because it is National Fibromyalgia Awareness Day and I feel a responsibility to all the folks I know with this syndrome who could really use more support, but don’t get it.<br />
<br />
I think one of the reasons why too many fibro sufferers don't get enough support is because it is so hard for people to understand an illness that doesn’t show symptoms laypeople can see. There are no bruises, no scars, there might be some hair loss, but not enough for anyone to notice (thank God).<br />
<br />
There’s a lot of misinformation out there, too. Some people still believe fibro is a hypochondriac’s diagnosis, one doctors give to crazy women who go to the doctor so often with mystery symptoms. I thought that myself for a long time. Even those who’ve caught up with the medical community often still have a big gap in what they know vs. what they think they know. After I got diagnosed, two of the earliest people I told said “oh, so really, what that means is the doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with you.” No.<br />
<br />
So here’s what I wish people knew about fibro:<br />
<br />
1. It’s a real diagnosis. I got my diagnosis from the most respected rheumatologist in my big, big city. There are diagnostic criteria. If someone tells you she (or sometimes he) has fibro, she does.<br />
<br />
2. We fake it all the time. Not the disease, heavens no. We fake being well. For example, I stagger from the house to my car to go pick up my kids from school, then once I get there, I take a deep breath and bound from the car to pick up my kids. I take care to change my walk, so no one can tell that I limp these days. I plaster a smile on my face. I make sure I walk upright, and I take care not to grimace when anyone could see. Then we go home, and the kids often have to help me get out of the car and into the house.<br />
<br />
3. We can’t predict for sure when we’ll hurt. Maybe people who’ve lived with fibro for a long time can. I don’t know. I just know I probably won’t commit to a meeting two weeks in advance, or a big project, because all I can promise you is how I feel today.<br />
<br />
4. We are fighters. I’ve never met or heard of a single person with fibro who wants to lie in bed, or sit on the couch, or not do stuff with their kids. Fibro is a problem of missing out, not of extra ease.<br />
<br />
5. It’s not a death sentence. Nobody dies from fibro. Not only that, a whole lot of us live healthy, active lives full of the things we love. We have to adjust our expectations, and live through a lot of trial and error, but really, isn’t all of life like that?<br />
<br />
6. We don’t want to talk to you about it, but we want you to be informed. Talking about why you feel bad or how you feel bad sucks. Look, support us when we need it. Learn what fibro is about (yes, I know I just said we don’t want to talk to you about it, but we’ll happily answer earnest questions to help you understand better). If you love someone who has it, take your cues from her about when she needs help and when she needs to talk about it. She’ll let you know what she needs, if you just demonstrate you’ll listen without judgment.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-14754332972904416392012-04-16T14:42:00.003-07:002012-04-16T15:00:46.847-07:00Mommy Wars 201.2My husband calls it a pissing contest.<br /><br />That’s what seems to be going on in the media and on social networking sites, as mothers (and some politicians) weigh in on Really Important Stuff, like who works harder, stay-at-home moms or moms who work outside the home. <br /><br />Ugh.<br /><br />Moms like to get in pissing contests, truthfully. We like to compare everything from our kids’ sleep patterns, what school we send them to, to what diapers we use (“I can’t believe anyone still uses Luvs.” “Oh my God, I don’t understand how anyone could use disposable diapers.” “Well my diaper material is completely organic, sewn with cotton fibers from a small local farmer.” “Can you believe those hippies who use cloth diapers?!”)<br /><br />All of us do it. I know I do, even when I try to say I abhor it. <br /><br />My biggest downfall is comparing the workload of being a mom based on the number of kids the mom has. Sometimes I catch myself looking down my nose at any mom with less than three kids, and looking with head-shaking reverential awe at moms with more than three kids. There’s nothing special about the number three, other than that’s the number of kids I happen to have. Moms with fewer have no idea how easy they have it (Oh my gosh, they still have an arm per kid!) and moms with more have some sort of superhuman capacity for sacrifice (I honestly think I would go insane if one more freaking kid came into my house permanently!), or so my thinking goes.<br /><br />It’s not my better nature, that’s for sure.<br /><br />The reality is that there are lots of factors that determine how hard it is to be a mom, and none of us (or almost none of us, if you prefer) has it easy. We do an often gross and mundane-seeming job, without any slaps on the back or performance reviews or promotions. It’s no wonder, when we live in a society that likes to rank everything from salaries to the top 100 episodes of our favorite TV show, we develop our own internal mommy ratings system to keep score.<br /><br />It’s just that we don’t really need to.<br /><br />The bigger picture is that most of us (all of us, if you prefer) want the same basic things when we think about our kids. We want them to be safe. We want them to have adequate food and water and clothes. We want them to go to safe, good schools where they learn to be whatever they want. We want them to get well when they’re sick. We want them to have a life at least as good as the one we do. And most of us want these things for all kids, not just our own.<br /><br />Life is hard right now for a lot of us, especially women and children. We need to stick together and remember what’s most important, because united, the voice of mothers is strong, and wields power. Divided over petty and arbitrary rankings, we lose a lot of our strength.<br /><br />Enough with the pissing contests.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-52216019406310942172012-04-12T08:33:00.004-07:002012-04-12T08:43:02.575-07:00An Open Letter to Ms. Hilary RosenMs. Rosen,<br /><br />Thank you for your service to the DNC and, by extension, to hard-working Americans nationwide. I appreciate that you must be interviewed in a way that promotes our candidate, hits on your talking points, and captures the interest of viewers while at the same time being concise. That can’t be a terribly easy job. You make very valid arguments about the how issues important to women are often misunderstood by Mr. Romney and the larger Republican party.<br /><br />I am writing to urge you to stop defending your comments made on Anderson Cooper 360 regarding Ms. Romney. Ms. Romney is not the presumptive nominee. Pointing out her lack of suitability as an advisor on women’s issues is beside the point. Mr. Romney remains out of touch with issues affecting most women because he lives a life of privilege far removed from the struggles of ordinary Americans and has demonstrated thus far an inability to place himself in the shoes of working and middle class people. His remoteness has nothing to do with whether or how much he listens to his wife.<br /><br />Your point that Ms. Romney is out of touch because she “has not worked a day in her life” was flawed, as was your further clarification via your CNN opinion article published today that “It is a wonderful luxury to have the choice (to stay home). But let's stipulate that it is NOT a choice that most women have in America today.”<br /><br />Many women who choose to stay home do so at great personal sacrifice. I go without a savings account, haircuts, vacations, fresh razor blades, and other niceties in order to stay home with my kids. I don’t stay home because I have the “luxury” of staying home, I do it because I make tremendous sacrifices to do what I believe is best for my kids.<br /><br />That’s just my story. All mothers make choices regarding what’s best for their families. There are many working moms who must choose between government help and work. There are non-working moms who do not have terrible financial burdens. And there are working moms who choose to work, not because they “have to” but because they understandably like their jobs or the financial security and/or financial freedom. And there are stay-at-home moms like me who choose the often scary world of living paycheck to plate. All of our choices are valid, and none of them makes a woman less qualified to speak about what issues, economic or otherwise, are important to women.<br /><br />Please stop doing the women of America, and President Obama, a disservice by continuing to claim otherwise.<br /><br />Best wishes from a fellow Democrat,<br /><br />Lolly Walter<br /><br />Link to Ms. Rosen’s CNN opinion piece: http://www.cnn.com/2012/04/12/opinion/ann-romney-hilary-rosen/index.html?hpt=hp_c1Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-86929500649158045642012-02-09T15:55:00.001-08:002012-02-09T16:19:22.309-08:00Small Victories<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4taxqxhwPX7CZuASRJNK_8ZfDKuWSSQvDttQErrT45wPqWOVhequChDefiI1K4QDrUX2WgGBw-VLS-8106S-6FeukZP9A0BY60OyjLtNEddTeC5Jd6f4n9R5fWfJMCz7Dc-7yuRztD1E/s1600/IMAG0870.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4taxqxhwPX7CZuASRJNK_8ZfDKuWSSQvDttQErrT45wPqWOVhequChDefiI1K4QDrUX2WgGBw-VLS-8106S-6FeukZP9A0BY60OyjLtNEddTeC5Jd6f4n9R5fWfJMCz7Dc-7yuRztD1E/s320/IMAG0870.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707293832354549650" /></a><br />I have a clean floor. It isn't my whole house, or even one room. Not even one floor. But I do have a five by five foot patch of pristine carpet in my living room. And I'm claiming it as a victory.<br /><br />The week's been rough - I've been sick, my husband has been away even more than usual, and the girls are, well, just the same as always. Every inch of the house looks like I've given up on ever cleaning, except this spot.<br /><br />Sure, getting it clean means I neglected the huge stack of laundry, and every person in this house will probably tell me they have no clean undies in the morning. And it means I let my seven and five year old play unattended in the front yard with a water hose in fifty degree weather for the last hour and a half (pneumonia is treatable these days, you know). But my patch of carpet is clean.<br /><br />Being a mom is chaotic under the best of conditions. When you are a mom living with less-than-ideal conditions, well, sometimes it feels like you're sinking under a mountain of things you should be doing better.<br /><br />But not today. Not for me. I'm giving myself a break and honoring my need for sanity; finding something that makes me feel happy and accomplished. Today, the biggest thing I could do was clean that square of carpet, and that's okay.<br /><br />Everything else will still be there waiting for me tomorrow.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-12607239154967485692011-09-13T09:15:00.000-07:002011-09-13T09:22:17.135-07:00Why Everyone Should Have Kids<span style="font-weight:bold;">Immersion therapy.</span> You become immune to poop and vomit and blood. So if you ever have to take a job as a fish gutter or a janitor at an amusement park, you’re all set.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Not really crazy, see?</span> You can talk to yourself all you want and people just think you’re talking to your kids. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Bobby is sick.</span> You never have to stay the full time at a boring party ever again. One of your kids is almost always sick anyway, and you don’t even have to blame the fake illness on your spouse!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The dog is off the hook.</span> You’ve got someone new to blame your farts on.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Lice, nature's gift.</span> Know someone who doesn't respect your personal space? Watch how fast they back away when you utter the L-word. Also works when friends want to come over but you're feeling too lazy to clean your house or put on a bra.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">You can have a legacy.</span> Share all those fart jokes you learned in grade school – with an audience that actually finds them funny.<br /><br />There's also a bunch of crap about deep and abiding love and junk, but really, the resurrection of your fart jokes is all the reason you need.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-55578026457278349972011-06-08T11:50:00.000-07:002011-06-08T12:05:17.078-07:00The "New" Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVsEk-uuTG5URPh3wguJtTbFxdNj519xkfSRk1XgUZ1c-guwj1SEPIt-uHGW7ydirJE30hXd1reQtp55wlSgo2RuWVsRyP89LNreBhHKnJjbiRBLn0mYzC3YMek7eXg7z7ZM9v5ZnZTE/s1600/31750_1501418262163_1435390513_31329275_6053339_n.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVsEk-uuTG5URPh3wguJtTbFxdNj519xkfSRk1XgUZ1c-guwj1SEPIt-uHGW7ydirJE30hXd1reQtp55wlSgo2RuWVsRyP89LNreBhHKnJjbiRBLn0mYzC3YMek7eXg7z7ZM9v5ZnZTE/s320/31750_1501418262163_1435390513_31329275_6053339_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615926485979529522" /></a><br />My oldest daughter turns ten today. It occurred to me that, while this is a milestone for her, it’s one for me, too, and thus an appropriate time for some reflection.<br /><br />I’m one of those moms who really focuses on her kids and I make no apology for it. I buy second-hand everything and skip vacations and restaurants and comforts so I can stay home. I breastfed for more than eight years. I play. I let my kids make crazy messes then make them clean it up, so they practice both creativity and responsibility. I drive for every field trip, go to every school party. I hang art done in crayon on my walls.<br /><br />The funny thing is, none of that is what I intended to be.<br /><br />I was a workaholic. My goal was to be an award-winning educator and to rack up multiple advanced degrees. When trying to get pregnant, I decided I needed a little less stress and work in my life, so I took a different full-time job, got a part-time job, and started grad school. When pregnant, I thought breastfeeding sounded nice, and hoped I’d be successful, but I knew there was no way I could commit to more than a year – I wanted my body back. I remember throwing the baby book across the room in frustration at the idea of being a stay-at-home mom. It sounded great, but we couldn’t afford it. Perhaps most telling of all, I once begged my husband to promise that he would never love any children we had more than he loved me.<br /><br />And then she was born. Perfect. Beautiful. She had deep brown eyes with a blue ring around the iris and those eyes told me she was ageless and wise and mine. She had monkey fur on her shoulders and ears and dark hair and dark skin and she was a she and she cried and it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.<br /><br />The nurses took her from me to clean her and suction her and assign her an Apgar, while other nurses attended to me and the part of birth no one cares about. And I said to my husband, “Go with her!” He went, and so did my heart. Nothing has been the same since, and I am so glad.<br /><br />I love you, Eleanor.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-85330475457362113052011-05-31T08:53:00.000-07:002011-05-31T09:01:32.858-07:00No More Stifled SneezesWhen I was in college, I had this very old professor who was charged with teaching philosophy to a bunch of freshmen. I wish I’d gotten more out of the class. The old professor certainly had lots to teach us. Like many eighteen year olds, though, it was hard to separate the meat of deep thought from endless Venn diagrams. The most enduring lesson I learned in the class came when a student tried to stifle a sneeze. The professor told her, and us, that sneezes weren’t meant to be stifled. They’re good for you and everyone sneezes, so just let it out, he said. You’ll feel better.<br /><br />I remember feeling sort of embarrassed for the professor. After all, he was forgetting his audience. We were eighteen, and image was everything. None of us were about to let out a sneeze and admit we were less than the perfect image we’d worked so hard to sculpt.<br /><br />The other day, a friend admitted on her Facebook status that she was losing her job and her husband wasn’t being quite supportive enough. I was struck by her honesty. There isn’t a lot of that, at least in my Facebook world. It’s filled with posts that read like one of those never-ending Christmas brag letters some families send out: home renovations, fancy vacations, hip restaurants, perfect children, pictures of the lovely food we cook. We paint the edges of our personal picture with references to politics, tv shows, and music videos.<br /><br />We (and I’m including myself here) paint a rosy picture. It is lovely. It just isn’t real. You won’t find job loss, divorce, foreclosure, illness, scraping to pay the bills, or depression anywhere. I know that unpleasant events exist for so many of us, though. Someday cultural historians will probably examine old Facebook posts and marvel at the disconnect between the life we’ve portrayed and the life we actually lived during one of the hardest times in American history.<br /><br />I wonder why we do it.<br /><br />Are we really so close in emotional development to those image-conscious eighteen year olds in my philosophy class? Can we still not admit to being human enough to let the bad stuff touch us? Are we mired in notions that we shouldn’t share our pain or failures because it isn’t polite? Do we refrain from sharing the negative because people will judge us as “no fun” or not positive enough?<br /><br />I worry every time I post a negative status. I know I have friends who think that admitting to negative thoughts or worries is a weakness, and that people should be able to reframe anything in a positive light. I worry that they’ll think that just admitting to the negative somehow means I’m not trying to be positive, or that I won’t get there eventually, or that they’ll somehow “catch” the bad ju-ju I’m giving off.<br /><br />Bad news isn’t contagious. It doesn’t need to be shunned and hidden. And it definitely doesn’t mean the person who is experiencing a bad day or week or month isn’t worthy of compassion and acceptance. Admitting the negative gives us a chance to be really honest, and in turn, to practice compassion when people share what’s really going on in their lives. I can’t help but think more compassion and honesty are good for all of us.<br /><br />So from now on, I’m going to work on taking my old professor’s advice to heart. When I’m feeling the need to share something negative, I’ll let it out and feel better.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-87026530043402903812011-04-18T14:50:00.000-07:002011-04-18T15:55:43.310-07:00In defense of the ignorant. Kinda.The other day, things were going terribly. I had dental pain, a migraine, the kids were being lousy. Not only that, but my husband was working both his jobs, which translates to “mommy is the only game in town, kids, so ask her for everything you need, and ask often.” <br /><br />After my husband got off work, we met him for dinner at a wonderful upscale restaurant (okay, it was Ci-Ci’s Pizza) for some relaxation. Not surprisingly, the meal didn’t improve the day; the kids were loud and overactive, and we ended up leaving after my youngest child licked the parmesan cheese shaker. Oh, yes, she did.<br /><br />When we left, my husband gallantly offered to let me drive his car for a break from the kids. I was desperate enough to accept – and this is something astounding, since his car is a/c-less, heat-less, and smells like a garbage dump.<br /><br />I got in, turned the car on and got pelted by his too-loud radio. The station was the local NPR affiliate, and a reporter was explaining how polar bears are being adversely affected by melting ice caps as a result of global warming.<br /><br />I turned it off.<br /><br />Not just down. Off.<br /><br />Let me just say that being well-informed is a big deal to me. The first thing I do every morning when I wake is scan the headlines at cnn.com and nytimes.com . I read current events voraciously, and I’m passionate about the importance of knowing as much as I can about everything. Actually, in this regard, I’m probably pretty annoying.<br /><br />And I turned the radio off.<br /><br />I didn’t care about polar bears, or melting ice caps, or even global warming. I cared that finally, finally, I was alone with no one to touch me or talk to me or demand one more second of my brain power. I didn’t have any left to give, frankly.<br /><br />I sat there for a while, and when I finally started to drive away from Ci-Ci’s it hit me: No wonder ignorance is rampant! There are lots and lots of people for whom what I had isn’t a “bad day”, it’s an every day. When your brain is so full of the hard work of scraping by, making ends meet, getting the children fed and clothed and homework finished and happy all on your own, worrying about the broken washer or car or stove that you don’t have money to fix, and you can’t afford a necessary trip to the dentist – there isn’t room for worrying about polar bears, or ice caps, or global warming, or wars in distant lands, or some new bill being passed in Congress that probably won’t even affect you anyway.<br /><br />The truth is that in the times we live in, when so many people are struggling, knowledge and passion about that knowledge are luxuries.<br /><br />On that ride home, I promised myself two things: That I wouldn’t be so quick to judge (ex., what do you mean, I posted an article on Facebook about the union protests in Wisconsin and instead of replying, you guys are posting about tv shows and what you ate for dinner?), and I’d be more grateful for the luxuries I enjoy, even on the “bad days”.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-70152064241520295082011-03-01T11:25:00.000-08:002011-03-01T11:32:33.700-08:00<span style="font-weight:bold;">Stay at Home Parent Wanted:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Qualifications:</span> Love, Patience, Integrity, Commitment<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Expectations</span>: You will provide constant care for all children in the home who are too young to attend elementary school. This job entails meal preparation for the children, as well as providing for their entertainment, education, hygiene, socialization, dressing, and life skills.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Pay and Benefits:</span> None. To be clear, you will not be paid. Sick leave and vacation time are not provided. Should you become ill, you will not be relieved of your duties. There are no health, dental, or vision benefits.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Information of note:</span> <br /><br />There are no “breaks”. Lunch and bathroom times will be observed in the presence and care of the children. This is not a guarantee that you will receive lunch or bathroom times. <br /><br />Appointments for personal doctor visits, haircuts, etc, <span style="font-style:italic;">should you choose to continue to make them</span>, will be conducted while the children are present.<br /><br />Your children will not nap. This establishment understands that some other children do nap. Yours do not.<br /><br />You do not have money to hire a babysitter, mother’s helper, or go to those really cool kid-friendly places other caregivers do. This information is subject to change based on the economy and the work-outside-the-home secondary caregiver’s career advancement/blind luck. <br /> <br />Your working hours are unlikely to be a time to do “housework” or other activities that do not directly involve care of the child. You will have some flexibility, but generally, these chores are to be done on your own time.<br /><br />You will do more for your school-age children’s school than caregivers who do not Stay Home. Caregivers who work outside the home tend to believe (and say out loud) that you are not as “busy” as them, and can therefore do more for the school. You will accept that their views come from ignorance, not an intent to hurt, and forgive them with grace. After all, your children are always watching and listening, in order to learn by your example.<br /><br />On occasion, this establishment will require that you take odd jobs in order to cover the bills the establishment incurs. These jobs will either be done in the evening or on weekends, or during the day if you are able to find a job that will allow you to work while caring for the children at the same time.<br /> <br />Thank you for considering this position. This will be the only thanks you receive.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5470174325150677119.post-69978305503676185052011-03-01T11:10:00.001-08:002011-03-01T11:24:22.275-08:00Getting StartedThe title of this blog post is unoriginal, but sometimes "obvious" works.<br /><br />I'm writing because there's always a lot on my mind that's too potent to articulate in polite company, too much to lay on my husband (at least, as often as I've been doing it), and too long to post on Facebook. Now the polite company can read if they're inclined. Facebookers will be spared. My husband, well, he's still on the hook, but at least he can read it on his own schedule instead of hearing it full blast the first second I see him each day.<br /><br />There isn't, at least in my mind, a recurring theme to what you'll find here. I can offer a few guarantees: no recipes, cleaning or decorating tips, or ways to do something perfectly. I am an unabashed failure at any of those things. There will be lots of talk about parenthood, politics, family life, and random ideas that strike my fancy. I regularly fail at all this stuff, too, but it's a lot more interesting!<br /><br />Mostly, what I want to present is an honest look at how I'm affected by life - what's happening globally and locally and right in my own living room.Shoestringshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16976337492844567736noreply@blogger.com0