Diary Entry 11

The other coveted location that I visit, on an almost daily basis, is the grocery store. Maybe this is my connection with the outside world? As a roll my cart full of groceries down the air-conditioned aisles, I have the uncomfortable realization that I am in a state of flux. I am no longer part of the working class, yet I have not transitioned yet to the stay-at-home clique. I had the distinct feeling that I am invisible. I felt as if I no longer mattered. OK, snap out of it. “One pound of Boars Head Turkey, shaved please.” I mumbled to the produce guy. As he smiled and rambled on about the weather, I became increasingly aggravated. Did he think that I didn’t know about current events? Did he think that just because I wasn’t in a business suit that I didn’t have specific views on factors affecting our world? Did he think that just because I was dressed in sweats that I wasn’t capable of discussing global warming or the war in Iraq?  More horrifying, was that fact that I had been that produce guy.  No, I never shaved meat for a living, but I was guilty of the preconceived notion that stay-at-home moms were all about Little League and PTA. God, I had unwittingly been a female bigot all these years and had never realized it. What I had realized was that once one leaves the workforce, those around you seem to no longer view you as a center of influence or a source of information. Unless, that is, it has to do with a new recipe of a trick to get out grass stains from jeans. I had not only given up my title, I had given up a part of my essence. I liked being sought out for advice. After all, I am a problem solver. I miss not being vocal. I miss the verbal jousting that occurs when you are trying to convince someone to see a topic from your point of view. Was I being ultra sensitive to my new surroundings or was this reality. I could feel my brain cells diminishing as I rolled my cart out to my car, hearing the thoughts whirl in my head only slightly louder than the cart’s wheel which clicked incessantly.

Diary Entry 34

Today, I was asked by the “Team Mom” for Zach’s T-ball league to fill in for her in the dug out. She explained, “It is no big deal. The kids just need their helmets and bats and you send them out there to play.”  I told her that I’d be happy to help her out. There were thirteen children ranging in ages from four to six years old. It was like trying to herd kangaroos. “O.K. you guys, you need to sit in your batting order, so I can get you ready to bat.” I said. Utter chaos and pandemonium was still the response. Two of the boys were pushing each other; one boy was leaving the cage to follow a rabid, stray dog; another little boy was climbing the side of the cage; and yet another was rocking back and forth hugging himself. “Really, you guys, I need for you to listen, so we can beat the other team. You guys want to win, right?” I implored, appealing to their primal need to compete. Apparently, that primal need doesn’t kick in for a few years. I received slightly more cooperation, but not much. They calmed down to the point that they did not have to be sedated, but still rowdy enough that I briefly thought about needing a stiff drink in the middle of the day. After the second inning, they were back in full form. “ I have treats for everyone who sits down and waits for their turn to bat.” I announced. Bribery is such a wonderful motivator. They ran back to their assigned spots and allowed me to outfit them to go take their respective turns at bat. True, some had the wrong helmets and others were hitting for the first time with a teammate’s equipment, but there was no bloodshed. “Here’s your Tootsie-Pop, and yours, and yours.” I chimed as they left the dug out. The bag of treats was the best $2.00 investment that I had ever made. Give me corporate vipers any day over a bunch of sugared up children. The vipers are much more predictable and less scary.

Diary Entry 46

We went over to the in-laws for a family get- together. Not known for my culinary skills, I am usually in charge of bringing the wine or the napkins. Two jobs that don’t require any cooking or baking. My mother-in-law was busy preparing dinner in the kitchen. I wandered in there and asked if there was anything I could do to help. (Note: The majority of the dinner was already fixed, so this isn’t as altruistic as it sounds.) “Sure,” she said. “Can you put out some crackers on the cheese tray?” “No problem” I responded cheerfully. “What type of crackers do you want me to put out?” “Oh, you decide.” she answered. Wow, really, I can decide? This is where my life has led me? For a woman who once made hundreds of investment decisions a day, that would affect the fate of many futures, I was now in charge of deciding whether or not to have Wheat Thins vs. cracked pepper wafers with the cheese? I went with the Wheat Thins.

Diary Entry 51

Part of the privilege of being a grown up is that we no longer have nightly homework assignments from school. We paid our dues along the way and did our fair share of quadratic equations and solar system models made from little Styrofoam balls. So, when Jessica approached me tonight for help in her math class, I was caught completely off-guard. “Mom,” she whined, “I can’t figure out these problems and they are due tomorrow!” She is in 8th grade Algebra and I figured, although I have never enjoyed Math, surely, I could lend my daughter a helping hand.  I stared at the page she handed me, as the four problems on the sheet of paper might as well have been written in an ancient foreign language. “This is 8th grade Math?” I pondered, as I was trying to formulate a plot of how I let her know that her mother, who spent seven years as a successful investment advisor, is incapable of doing her homework, while still being able to hang onto some of my self-respect. “Why don’t you get your Dad to help you with it?” I suggested, “He has always been a whiz at Math.” “I already did ask him for help. He doesn’t understand it either!”  So, now, not only did she think that I got my college degree from a cracker jack box, but she thinks we got a two for one special. “Well, it has been soooo many years since either of us has done this type of problem. It’s not like riding a bike.” I reason. “You can’t expect us to hop back on after all these years.” “Ugh, you guys are no help!” she groaned as she left our room shaking her head back and forth.” We love you, Jessica!” I yelled to her as she climbed the stairs to her room. That’s got to count for something. Apparently, that’s the only thing I could count on lately, since my abacus had been put out to pasture.

Diary Entry 114

I did the unthinkable today. I attempted to do back to school shopping with Zachary in tow. Usually, I’ll get his things during a few hours of power shopping on the weekend, so I don’t have to go through the hassle of hearing, “I don’t like that!” “This is too big!” “That’s ugly!” But, today, I had a momentary lapse in judgment and took him along. After he played hide- and- go seek in the racks of clothes and nearly gave me a heart attack because I thought he had been kidnapped, he went crawling across the floor collecting dozens of discarded pins. (Note to self: Feeding your child a large ice cream cone, dipped in chocolate sprinkles, prior to wanting him to behave is setting yourself up for failure Not only have you given away your bribery tool, but you have unwittingly given your child enough sugar to keep he or she buzzing for hours) As we exited the store, I remembered that I was out of my blush and concealer and I made a pit stop at the make-up counter. As I wearily approached the counter, hands full of bags, a woman, dressed in business attire darted in front of me. “I’m on my lunch break. I have to rush to get to a meeting!” she stated curtly. I stared her down, but did not answer as I watched Zach hopping around me in circles, pretending he was a frog .I felt like responding, “Oh, no rush here! I just have a six year old that I have spent the last 60 minutes trying to corral. How could you understand that it has taken the strength of ten men to keep his grimy little fingers off of all the clothes so that I don’t end up having to purchase a cashmere sweater laden with bubble gum? How could you possibly understand that I don’t have an endless amount of time? Just because I am not working in an office, doesn’t mean that I don’t have a schedule to keep. In twenty minutes, I have to pick my daughter up from her acting class. After that, I have to take them both of my kids for eye appointments to see if they’ll need glasses for school. Following that, I have to meet the exterminator at my house so that I don’t find bugs the size of small pack animals in my garage! No schedule for me to keep! But, by all means, you go right ahead!” That’s what I would have said if I hadn’t noticed that she was not wearing a wedding ring. That’s what I would have said if I hadn’t noticed that her nails were perfectly manicured and that her designer suit was perfectly pressed .All three signs lead me to the conclusion that she was not a stay-at-home mom. Only another stay-at-home mom could empathize with the demands that seemed invisible to the rest of the world. Only a stay-at-home mom could commiserate with the stresses, both financial and emotional, that we encounter on a daily basis. That’s when it hit me. How many other women are going through the same trials and tribulations? How many other women have decided to trade in their briefcases for diaper bags? There must be throngs of women who have made the same life choices. Why then, is it that you don’t hear about them? Why is it that you can find support groups for every minor disease known to man, but you rarely find support for one of the largest and rapidly growing conditions known to women…being a stay-at-Mom. I was now on a mission to find other successful women and hear what they were experiencing after they chose to derail their careers in the pursuit of raising their families

There Is An “I” In Family

As a new stay-at-home Mom, I initially felt that since this was now my chosen profession, every minute of my day had to be dedicated to my family. My house should sparkle; my laundry shouldn’t pile up; my refrigerator should be fully stocked; and a sumptuous dinner should be ready and waiting for my husband and kids when they arrived home. The only problem with this scenario was there was no time left for me. There were days when I needed a “Mommy Time Out.” Unlike time-outs we give to our children for misbehaving, this time out was for good behavior; a self-imposed reward of sorts. It was essential to recapture time that was solely for me. Friends, who went back to a career, after being at home fulltime with their kids, joked that they returned to work just so they could have a five-minute coffee break to themselves. I didn’t want to grow resentful that I no longer had a life to call my own. My adult time outs included a mixture of relaxation and pampering. I used to feel guilty when I splurged on a pedicure or treated myself to a massage. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel worthy; it was that it felt too egocentric. Now, I realize that these things are not selfish. These things are “investment spending” for the well being of my family. When I allow myself to relax, it recharges my spirit. I found the balance that I was so desperately seeking all these years. How can you be a good caregiver if you never take good care of yourself? If you spend all your energy on others and never focus on your needs, then eventually, there won’t be anything left to give. No, I didn’t need a big Swedish masseur named Günter to help me relax. Sometimes, I took walks. Other times, I took a bath. (We have a beautiful Jacuzzi in our bathroom that has managed to stay untouched for the last six years!) By taking these much needed breaks from my daily routine, I was able to rid myself of stress and found that it enabled me to give more of myself to others.

In addition to relaxing, I found it was equally crucial for me to find hobbies. My brain was screaming for something to keep it stimulated. Learning to fly became my passion. Having something that I always wanted to do and finally having the chance to pursue it, was extremely empowering. It bolstered my self- esteem. It gave me a new way to define myself. I was no longer Rachel, the businesswoman; I was Rachel, the pilot! It also gave me something to talk about at cocktail parties besides what fabric softener worked best. I now make a conscious effort to live outside my comfort zone by doing something that has been on my “always wanted to try this” list. Sure, it’s scares me a little, yet it helps me see myself from a different angle. For me, stretching my inner boundaries is the equivalent adrenaline rush of closing a big deal. I decided to take advantage of the time during the day when Zach and Jess are in school, to look at this chapter of my life as a learning opportunity. By trying on this new role as stay-at-home mom, it not only has brought me closer to my kids, it has afforded me the chance to discover and fulfill my dreams; dreams that always seamed so far off, but are now at my fingertips. Finding my passion has helped me to find myself.

“Having It All” Does Not Necessarily Mean Having It All At Once.

I had spent decades trying to live up to a preconceived notion about what it is to be an accomplished woman. All the bra-burning women that came before made great strides with the women’s movement. The women who fought for Equal Opportunity opened doors, that without their persistence, would have remained slammed shut. Women were released from their shackles of domestic servitude and, in record numbers, former housewives and daughters of former housewives claimed their rightful place in corporate America.

Women knew they had something to prove. “I can do anything a man can do…maybe better!” was the theme song of this generation. It was the mantra we said to ourselves when we woke up in the morning. It was the proverbial beacon of light at the end of the tunnel when we were trying to claw our way to the top. The women who were pioneers in the women’s lib movement certainly gave us the opportunity to make our mark in the business world. The only downside to having the “keys to the kingdom” was that some of the women, who were now on the fast track to the top, still had a maternal instinct gnawing at them inside. These women still wanted to fulfill their dream of having a family, and raising children, complete with the white picket fence.

So, here sat the dilemma. Which path did we take? We were at a fork in the road. “Do I pursue a career or do I start a family?” we pondered. “Do I bolster my self-esteem and claim my independence by earning a salary of my own or do I become a Mom?” we fretted. On the one hand, money and respect are good things. On the other hand, raising another human being is pretty special, too. Which to choose? Chocolate of vanilla? Peanut or Plain? Salt or pepper? I’m not sure if the answer was born out of the same Gloria Steinem attitude of “you can have it all!” but there it was. Be both. Take both. Be everything at once.

The great juggling act began. Women chose to take on multiple roles. Negotiate mergers during the day and negotiate your way through your lasagna recipe for dinner. We were the breadwinners, while simultaneously being the moms. We were kicking butt and taking names during the daylight hours and we were wiping butts and noses at twilight. Having it all! Ah, yes, having it all…having high stress; having headaches; having no personal time what so ever; having divorces; having affairs; having guilt. Guilt is a biggy. We were damned if we do and damned if we don’t. When we went off to work and dropped our children at daycare, we were feeling guilty for abandoning them. If we took sick days off to tend to our children when they were ill, we felt guilty that we left our clients hanging. It seemed, we had created an un-winnable game. Not only did we endure our own guilt feelings, we had guilt flung at us, like bad cafeteria food, from mothers who chose not to work. “How can you leave your kids with strangers?” they would ask incredulously. “How can you let yourself be dependent on a man for income and shelter?” we working Moms would counter. Guilt. Guilt. And more guilt. There had to be a way to deal with the pressures of “having it all” without self-destructing; without sacrificing our families; or our careers and without crushing our spirit in the process.

Like all obvious answers, there was the solution staring me in the face. The women’s libbers did have it right. We can have it all. However, nobody said we had to have it all at once. It sounds like such a small and subtle distinction, but, to me, it was a huge revelation. I can have a career. I can have a family. Who mandated that it needed to be simultaneous? Today’s stay-at-home mom is a “new breed of stay-at-home moms” because she has the power of choice