Staying At Home

Maybe it's because my youngest child just graduated from high school; maybe not. I've had several conversations lately about how people view, and speak to, stay at home parents, young parents, and especially, heaven forbid, young stay at home parents. It's often not pretty.

I got married at 20, had babies at 20 and 21, and was a stay at home mom. To make matters, in many people's eyes, worse, we lived in small, rural communities for close to 10 years.

Many sincere, well intentioned people had feelings that fell on a scale from puzzled to horrified. It was - it is - a struggle for me to understand why.

I mean, they had reasons, they told me their reasons, but I couldn't quite make out what those reasons had to do with me, personally.

Sometimes, those reasons were phrased as concern for my mental and emotional state. "Wouldn't you feel better about yourself if you were bringing in money?" No. I'd still have the exact same IQ, abilities, knowledge, skills, and talents, no matter what I did with my days. I'm really unclear on why people expected the way I felt about myself to depend on factors outside of myself. I was certainly aware that some people thought that anyone who married young, had children immediately, and dropped out of college to be a stay at home parent couldn't possibly have two brain cells to rub together; I just didn't care. It's not as if that opinion actually lowered my IQ.

Sometimes, the wording was slightly different: the clumsily worded, "Wouldn't you feel better about yourself if you were contributing to the household?" Those people got a chilly, "I am contributing."

My responses usually led to an earnest attempt on their part to explain the query that just, from my perspective, dug the hole deeper. Insisting that the way others viewed me mattered more than what went on in my own household was an impossible task, because I will never believe that. Insisting that I "could be doing so much more" led me to point out, "Different does not mean better." If I'd decided to be a doctor, I wouldn't be a practicing lawyer. If I was a teacher, I wouldn't be an accountant. Choosing what you do with your time always means eliminating other possibilities. That's a good thing, not a bad one.

What really made me angry was people who kept pushing, getting into the idea that some jobs are "better" than others, and this makes the people who do them more valuable to society. That just smacks of Third Reich thinking. The Reich started out with policies against criminals, prostitutes (even though prostitution was legal), and Gypsies. Then they moved on to the mentally and physically handicapped. "These people don't contribute to society, but they use up our resources." After a significant portion of the population believed that some people were just lesser beings, the Third Reich had less trouble both expanding the groups considered undesirable and getting people to condone the killing of the country's own citizens. After all, those people weren't as valuable as other people. Any attempt to convince me that a person's worth lies in their employment skill set or employment status will fall flat.

Sometimes, those reasons were a reflection of how they felt about their own lives. "I just feel like my brain cells are atrophying." I never felt that way. I did sometimes crave adult company, but that's because children make no sense. They're irrational little beings, with little in the way of logic.

For instance, one of my daughters had a thing about wrapping up every bump or bruise in blankets and towels. She'd watched some show or movie where someone tore strips of gauze to tie around a wound, and became convinced that wrapping in fabric was the way to treat any injury. She further theorized that keeping a wound warm meant that it wouldn't hurt. I explained, over and over, that fabric strips were bandages, or held bandages in place, when you didn't have store bought, pre made bandages, but she refused to believe me. It was about wrapping to keep warm, she was sure. She'd insist on wrapping an entire blanket or bath towel around her hand, or wherever else she's been scraped or bumped. She'd often howl about how, "It hurts! It hurts!" until the wrapping was done, then tell you how, "Oh, now it doesn't hurt. I feel so much better." Then she'd walk around with a ridiculously mummified hand, until she had to unwrap it to, say, eat, then howl again about how being without the blanket "hurts!" Sometimes, she'd want 2 or 3 blankets wound around it at once, because more is apparently better. This went on for years. Irrational, and resistant to new information; that's the definition of childhood thinking. Sometimes I just needed to speak to people who made sense.

Maybe that's why it was so frustrating when other adults didn't make sense. And, why it was so frustrating when they wanted to critique my life and choices.

When my oldest children were young, I did a lot of work with a university theater company - it was my comfort zone - and that meant spending time around people who were close to my age, but thought that my life was unimaginable, and/or that I was doing things all wrong. Sometimes, they'd snark at me.

I lived 45 minutes away from the theater, (across two county lines) in a small farming community. (Yeah - you can see already that I'd be winning friends on a university campus, right?) Rehearsals or shows often ran until 11. That had me getting into bed no earlier than midnight. Even before I had kids, midnight was LATE to me. I never watched a live episode of "Saturday Night Live." I never saw "The Tonight Show" live until I had nursing babies who were hungry at that hour.

One night, some of us were talking, and somebody groused about how hard it would be to get up for work in the morning. (Her day went work, then school, then the show.) Several of us who had school or work in the morning chimed in. I said, "Tell me about it!" Most days, I dragged through the morning, anticipating nap time after lunch.

One of the young men in the group looked shocked. "What are you talking about? You don't work!" he said.

If you have a Handy Dandy List of Things Never to Say to a Parent (and if you don't, consider it!), put this comment on it.

"I have kids!" I said. Kids don't care how tired you are, how much sleep you got, how you feel, what you have going on.

"It's not like you have responsibilities!" he said. Seeing my face, he scrambled. "You don't have, like, obligations to meet or a schedule to keep." (That Handy Dandy List? Yeah - you know what to do.)

There are certain sentiments that one might find on a bumper sticker or T-shirt to which I wholeheartedly subscribe. One is, "Never try to teach a pig to sing. It wastes your time, and annoys the pig." Explaining life to this guy was looking like the equivalent of trying to teach the pig to sing - an exercise in futility. But, I simply cannot let certain kinds of ignorance stand.

"What happens if you have a bad day at work?" I asked.

"What?"

"What happens if you have a bad day at work? Do you get written up, maybe get a demotion, get docked pay?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"If I have a bad day at work, people die." Most of the 20-somethings worked retail (the most talented guy in the group at the time was a grocery store bagger). To think that a retail job was more responsibility than taking care of human lives was an astonishing and inaccurate judgement.

He looked shocked. "Isn't that being a little overdramatic? I mean, it's pretty much babysitting."

(Pig! Singing! Handy Dandy List!)

"Why do parents hire babysitters?"

"Because they want to go out to dinner or whatever."

"Yes, but why do they need a sitter? Why don't they just leave the kids alone?"

He stared at me.

"Because a babysitter's entire job is to keep the children alive. If they are left alone, they may not survive it."

I did not point out (pig! singing!) that a parent's job is indeed NOT babysitting. Sitters might, occasionally, be asked to serve a meal or give baths, but their entire purpose is indeed to keep the children alive. Happy is good, fed is good, amused is good, but alive is a must. Plus, their job has a start time and an end time. Parents are constantly (even when the kids are with a sitter) responsible for the children's health, nutrition, character, cleanliness, manners, education, chores, and relationships. They are legally, financially (and occasionally, morally) responsible if the kids break any laws. It makes me just crazy to hear a man refer to staying with his own kids as "babysitting." Nope, Pop - you are a parent. You can babysit other people's kids, but not your own.

"Have you done much babysitting?" I wanted to know - because it seemed pretty obvious that he'd spent very little time around children.

"Some."

I thought, uncharitably, that he might have spent an afternoon or two plunking kids down in front of the TV, so they don't "bother" him.

"Well, you might want to do some more. Overnight, or maybe even for a whole weekend. Then tell me how easy it is. Then think about the fact that I do that every day."

It still astonishes me when people who are not parents think they know what it's like. I don't care if you've worked day care for 20 years, you have no idea what it's like to be a parent unless you are a parent. And yet, non-parents are so often just sure that they know as much, or more, about it than parents do.

A couple of years later, someone again voiced one of those opinions that was so egregious in its inaccuracy that I had to speak up. In fact, I fairly ripped the guy's head off, verbally.

Again, we were in rehearsal for a show. It was early in the process, and there was some "getting to know you" stuff going on. Someone asked, "So, what do you do?"

"I stay home with my kids."

As usual, there was some surprise, and some tepid smiles. One man, probably mid-20s, said, very jovially, "Oh, gosh, great hours on your job!" Seriously? Parenting is a lot of things, but the hours are not great.

"No, not really," I said. "I don't work 8 hour shifts, or even 12 hour shifts - I work 24 hour shifts. I don't leave my job at the end of the day, and go home to relax - my job is at home. I get no days off - no weekends, no holidays, no sick days, no vacations. If I want to take a vacation, my job goes with me. If I ever want to leave my job, for even 15 minutes, I have to find someone willing and competent to do it, and I, personally, have to pay them, even though I, myself, do not get paid."

He looked stricken. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's not about me being offended. It's about accuracy."

I don't care how people feel about my religion, my job, my family, politics, world news - I do care that their opinion is based on facts.

The poor guy, to his credit, tried, from then on, very hard to be very nice to me, so I didn't feel shunned. I tried hard not to make him feel judged; but man, I hoped he'd never make that mistake again. (Handy Dandy List!)

I hoped that my children, having been raised in my household, would not make those same mistakes in talking to others. That hope was, apparently, in vain. One of my kids in particular has informed me repeatedly that I "never worked." She also has often said, "You got to take naps!" as evidence of how "easy" my days were.

Sure, parents get naps - if their children are sleeping, or are old enough to avoid death or injury if they're left relatively unsupervised for short periods of time. Our culture considers it perfectly normal, acceptable (and even beneficial) for people to go out drinking alcohol "to unwind" after a day's work. I absolutely will not feel bad about sleeping, in my own house, with my kids at school or in the next room.

I never really expected my kids to fully understand adult concepts while they were kids, but I certainly expect other adults, including those to whom I gave birth, to have a better handle on things.

A couple of years ago, my daughter was again telling me that I had no perspective, and I'd had an easy life, because "You never worked!"

"I was a full time parent. When I was your age, the age you are right this minute, I had a first grader and a second grader. I also had two extras (my niece and nephew were living with us), and I was pregnant. Do you want that job? Do you want to wake up tomorrow morning and do that job, instead of going to work?"

"No." (This is the child who still says that parenting looks like "no fun.")

"Then don't ever tell me that I didn't work." Honestly, it's more aggravating to have my child say this than to hear a stranger say it, because I know what my kids have been told. "And if you're going to measure everything by money earned, I had a second job. When I worked it, I made $100 an hour - and that's a discount rate for the industry." For my entire adult life - actually, starting when I was a teen - I've been a self employed photographer, shooting mostly weddings. Back in the days of film, my husband and I charged by the roll of film shot. When we went digital, we took the average number of rolls we'd shoot in an hour, and used that for the hourly rate. That price has gone up since I was in my 20s, and I'm still less expensive than the industry standard. And you know what - none of that equals my worth.

You know what? The more that I think about it, everybody needs The Handy Dandy List. In fact, we need two - The Handy Dandy List of Things Never to Say to a Parent, and The Handy Dandy List of Things Never to Say to a Stay at Home Parent. I just watched somebody (who thought they were being funny, I'll bet) snark at my nephew online the other day, because he's a stay at home dad. I grew up with my dad staying home, and my mom going to work. I knew it was age related - Dad was retired, and not very Mr. Mom - but I also knew it was a perfectly reasonable way to live.

Go ahead! Get out your phone, or your notepad, or whatever you need, and make lists! If you get stumped, I'll volunteer to help.

Not For Sale

I will concede that I could be cranky and overreacting. Let's establish that right away.

Still, I keep hearing in my head the growling, snarling noises that the cartoon Tasmanian Devil makes; that's what I hear in my head, too, every time I see, "&^$%#@!" or the equivalent.

My parents bought their house, on an acre and a third, back when the house was one of only three on the entire dirt road, outside of town. We kept horses in the back pasture the entire time I was growing up, even as the city grew up to and then past us. Today, the property is on an ordinary street in an ordinary neighborhood - a neighborhood that's considered "aging" and not very desirable, real estate-wise. The house across the street was the home of local casino owners for a while, the only one in our neighborhood with two bathrooms and a family/rec room. Now, even it's considered fairly ordinary. Its most unusual feature is an RV garage; plus, many of the surrounding homes added on those second bathrooms and rec rooms.

My parents had originally planned to sell off pieces of their property, but they never did, so it's still an acre and a third. The largest portion, by far, is behind the house, reachable only by going down a gravel driveway.

My brother owns the house now. He isn't sure if he wants to live there or sell it, so for now, he rents it to a family member. The agent who came out to appraise it kept saying, "If only it was 2005. You could have gotten so much for this in 2005." Now, of course, it's worth far less, and "You'd never get your money back if you tried to develop it ("develop," of course, meaning "subdivide and build houses on.")" We understand that. If my mother had wanted or needed money more than she needed an unused horse pasture, she would have sold it in 2005.

I bring this up because it's relevant backstory.

My dad died years ago. After my mother died, while we were still measuring her loss in days, we started getting notes in the mailbox. "Hi! I'd love to buy your property! Call me." We rolled our eyes and tossed the notes. Is there a "for sale" sign out front? No. Then please assume that it's not for sale. Most of the would be buyers gave up, but some kept sending new notes, getting progressively pushier. One of the last ones said, "I can't believe you haven't taken me up on this offer!"

Really? You're surprised by this? Note, pushy neighbors, the continued lack of a "for sale" sign! Nobody took you up on your offer because the property is not for sale! This cannot be a difficult concept to grasp.

I mean, good heavens, my mother has four children, ten grandchildren and four great grandchildren. If my brother decides that he doesn't want the house, there will be any number of heirs who do. Does anyone honestly imagine that we're just waiting for the neighbors to swoop in?

I thought they'd given up; I hoped they'd given up. It's been a year and a half. For crying out loud, we haven't even emptied the linen closets. The house is occupied by family. If the owner wanted to sell it to strangers, he'd put it on the market, not wait for little notes to be dropped in his mailbox.

The day before Easter, we were in the back yard hiding eggs. Friends and family, including at least two toddlers, were invited over for a BBQ. Normal, wholesome family holiday, right? The neighbor came out, stood on their side of the fence and yelled over, "Are you selling that property?"

Truly, neighbor? You left "pushy" behind in the dust long ago.

My husband was the nearest one to the disembodied voice. He said, "Probably not." (He has an almost pathological aversion to uttering definitive declarative statements.)

What I said to him was, "Don't say 'probably.' They're thinking that you've left the door open to the possibility."

It's probably a good thing that he answered them, instead of me. What I wanted to say to the neighbor was, "Do you SEE a 'for sale' sign? NO! You do NOT! The property is NOT for sale, and if it was, we wouldn't sell to YOU! Stay on your own side of the fence, you opportunistic jackals!"

Which, you know, all things considered, may be an overreaction.

But the property still isn't for sale.

"What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate"

When there's been an instance of information that's not passed on, incomplete instructions, an assumption that I'll magically know something because I'm the mom or other common occurances, I say to my family, "Verbal communication, folks! It's what seperates us from the animals!' yet again. Then again, perhaps what seperates us, communication-wise, is the opportunity for so much misunderstanding. Do you think that moose have conversations with each other about how, "Yes, I'm looking for a mate, but I don't want to mate with YOU," or that lionesses say, "Just for once, could you go out and get dinner? You take me for granted!" I don't think wolf cubs complain that the other cubs didn't ask them to play.

I wrote this almost 4 years ago. I don't think that my family will ever get quite used to each other's communication styles, but I hope we're avoiding more and more "Huh?" moments.

******************

Recently, I was in a play with my youngest daughter, Hallie. She's nine years old, and loves being a social butterfly, so I didn't mind when we were put into separate dressing rooms. She can get dressed and on and offstage without my help, and she's not particularly clingy. Still, I occasionally wished I was around to give her the parental "eye" – you know, that look that only Mom gives.

I walked into the enormous ladies dressing room she was in one morning (I and several others were assigned to a wing of the men's dressing room), and I could hear her all the way down the hall. She was shrieking and making the frustration noise she makes that sounds like nothing so much as a bird squawk - a very loud squawk. I walked in and saw her carrying on and dramatically jumping up and down, demonstrating that she couldn't reach the hooks provided for hanging coats. This is typical Hallie behavior, but as usual it was alienating. The louder and wilder she got, the more all the other girls inched away and studiously ignored her, except to sneak quick glances that said, "What is wrong with this girl?"

"Hallie, stop that!" I barked in my best Mom voice. She immediately stopped bouncing up and down, stopped making noise, and informed me in a perfectly reasonable voice, "But I can't reach the hooks."

"So all that was helping?"

"No," she said, and sighed. We've had this conversation before.

"So what should you do?"

"I can't do it! I need someone to help!"

"So how would you get help?" She looked blank.

"Well, have you asked anyone to help you?"

Sigh again. "No."

"Well?"

She turned to the girl at the mirror next to hers. "Would you help me, please?" she asked, in her sweetest voice. I know she knows how to do these things.

The girl immediately smiled and said, "Sure!" She nicely took the coat, hung it up, smiled at my daughter and assured her it was "No problem," when thanked. She couldn't have been nicer.

"See?" I pointed out. "Nobody can answer you if you don't actually ask for anything."

Was Hallie happy? No. Did she get the point? Undoubtedly not. We've been over and over this territory before. She hates actually expressing what she needs or wants, because she only feels loved when someone does something for her and she hasn't asked. She complains and howls, louder and louder when she fails to get the attention she wants, to give people the opportunity to demonstrate that they love her by leaping in and helping her do whatever. If she has to ask, she reasons, that means that no one really loves her. But in order to attract their attention, she's willing to be very vocal otherwise.

We've already been over this same territory with Lana, our oldest, now in college. She's always felt the same way. If you have to ask, it means that you're unloved. If people really loved you, they'd see what you needed and do it for you.

I've explained over and over that it's a simple matter of manners. If you need something, you ask politely. People like others who display manners. People do not like loud complainers. I've pointed out how quickly and easily someone pays attention when they're asked nicely, and how quickly whatever it is gets done. It all falls on deaf ears. My girls are sure that if you have to ask, it means that no one loves you.

We've had variations of this discussion about other matters. For instance, when you announce, "I'm thirsty," or "It's so hot," well, that's a statement of fact. It's no different than saying, "The sky is blue," or "My name is Sharon." If you want me to get you a drink, you have to actually ask. When they were toddlers and preschoolers, I'd prompt them: "You have to ask nicely. Say, 'Please may I have (fill in the blank)?'" When they get older, though, and certainly after their age hits double digits, I expect them to remember these instructions on their own. More times than I want to count, I've listened to a child state, with increasing frequency and volume that they want something and finally point out, in exasperation, "Is there something you'd like me to do about that?"

That's usually met with, "Oh. Could I have (blank)?"

"Maybe, if you ask."

Then, my darling child would roll his or her eyes, say, "May I please have (blank)?" and then go away thinking that I'm just stubborn or mean for making them jump through unnecessary hoops.

When Lana was growing up, and she was upset or worried about something, she'd wander around hanging her head, sighing more and more dramatically. She would wait for someone to say, "What's wrong?" before she offered anything. If you just let her drag around sighing, she'd eventually retreat to her room, quite possibly slamming things around, convinced that she was ignored and unloved. I would keep ignoring the theatrics as long as I could, waiting for her to say, "I'm really stressed/angry/worried," but that was futile.

I do not relate to these feelings. If I've had a bad day, I announce when I walk in the door, "That was a miserable experience!" Then I tell you why it was miserable. Then I move on. If I feel ignored, I'll say to my husband, or child, or mother, "Hey, I need you right now." I expect everyone else to do the same. And sure, it's nice if, say, your arms are full and someone opens the door for you just because they can see that you need it. I just think it's unnecessarily self centered to expect the entire world to watch your every move, trying to anticipate whether you need or want something.

Lana's gotten better, but still has a tendency to hint instead of ask. I'm working on Hallie.

I realize this is not limited to my kids. In fact, I seem to be the one out of step.

A girlfriend of mine was telling me about being on vacation with her husband, tired and sore and wanting to get back to the hotel. Her husband asked if she'd like to stop and hail a cab or keep walking. She told me, "I said, 'No, I'm fine,' by which, of course, I meant, 'Call me a cab right now.' But no, we kept right on walking. He's so oblivious." I was just flabbergasted. If she wanted a cab, why didn't she ask for a cab? And why feel hurt when they kept walking? Because, when her husband failed to read her mind, she felt unloved. I just cannot imagine.

Of course, this is the problem with being an extremely literal person. My husband is always sure I must mean something other than what I say. "You just can't win for losing," as my mom says. I'll say A and he'll be sure I meant B, because "People always say A when they mean B." He's sure that direct, clear communication is somehow rude, and that civility is maintained by deciphering what people really mean when they say something. "I end up barking, "Did you just meet me yesterday? If I meant B, I would say B!"

My husband and his family do this ridiculous phone call thing that drives me insane. They are all convinced that whoever receives the call is the loved one. So, they'll all wait for the other ones to call, waiting to see if they're loved. It's maddening.

We'll be sitting there on, say, Christmas, and instead of phoning his relatives, Dan will wait for them to call him. As time goes by, he'll start feeling blue, sure he's forgotten and unloved. "You realize that your sister is sitting there waiting, just like you are," I tell him. "While you're thinking, 'She doesn't really love me," she's thinking, 'Danny never remembers me. He doesn't care.'" He's sure I'm wrong. She can't possibly be thinking of him. If she was, why wasn't she phoning? Oh. My. Goodness.

Finally, I'll snap at him to pick up the phone, and he will. They'll all be delighted to hear from him, but he'll still be vaguely sad, because he's the one that phoned, sure that only the receiver of phone calls is loved.

Maybe I'm odd, but my sister hasn't written me in literally years, and she just phoned me for the first time in probably a year, and I still feel that she loves me. She knows, I'm sure, that I adore her. That seems, well, normal to me.

My husband and one of his sisters also have a deep misunderstanding about family dinners. My sister in law, Deanna, has made it abundantly clear, over several years, that on any "occasion" – a holiday, or when a relative is visiting – she expects everyone to come to her house for dinner. Dan refuses to go unless he is specifically invited. "I'm not just showing up!" he'll say in horror. "That's rude! I will only go if I'm wanted." Deanna, on the other hand, tells him what she tells everyone else – "Whaddaya want, a gold engraved invitation? Should I get the butler to deliver that?" She gets very impatient with the idea of individual phone calls. She has no patience with being told, "I didn't know I was supposed to come." So, it is an impasse. Each feels ignored by the other.

Verbal communication, people! It's what separates us from the animals!

What keeps me from assuming that others can, or should, know what I need or think without my saying anything is simple. One, I know that I can't read minds, so I can't assume that anyone else can. Two, do you really want someone to read your mind? Really? Think about it! All the people you know or come into contact with running rampant through your head – your childhood memories, secret crushes, your opinion of your cousin's decorating and your employer's wardrobe! The checker at the supermarket knowing about your sex life, your kids knowing what they're getting for Christmas – all of it out there for public consumption.

No, thank you.

Now, could you please help me with this problem? Because it's stressing me out.