Staying Home

When I quit my corporate job two years ago to stay home with my boys, I got crazy with the scheduling. Either I was trying to mimic the insane schedule I had in the office or I was trying to ward off the feeling of restlessness that pretty much every stay-at-home mom feels, so I scheduled something for every day.

There were days when our schedule involved more than one playdate plus multiple errands…plus my then 2 ½ year-olds still had to nap at some point. It was exhausting and stupid. And I still felt restless, only I wasn’t sitting still.

As with most things I do, I gradually lost interest in scheduling. It was too hard and the sense of contentment that I thought would come from feeling like I was “making the most” of staying home with my kids never really revealed itself.

So then we moved into the sloth phase, where I hardly made any plans and we spent a lot of time sitting around. Or more accurately, I sat around and the boys played happily because, well, they actually like staying home. Not surprisingly, this phase didn’t suit me either...in fact, I found it to be somewhat more exhausting in a teetering-on-depression sort of way. Preschool did help this predicament by adding some structure and giving me “free” time for a couple hours, two days a week. (Hooray for preschool!)

Fueled by boredom and a sense of impending doom where my career was concerned, last fall I finally decided it was time to start easing back into the workplace…the one where you have to get dressed and stuff. My part-time schedule means I get to be home with my boys for two entire days during the week still. This means I can fill one day with errands and playdates and then plan nothing on the other. Because now that I have less time to do it, I actually like staying home and doing nothing…but only in single day increments.

The prologue

Here it is, my first official blogspot blog entry. Should I introduce myself? Should I provide a recap of the events that have led me here?

I have been journaling since I was 12 and every time I start a new journal, I ask myself those same questions…perhaps that’s ridiculous when talking about a blank book whose contents I never actually intend for anyone other than me to read, but it seems like the act of journaling itself assumes that at some point someone will read your words (let’s hope that won’t be for at least 300 years). Being the obsessive that I am, I would hate for that mysterious someone not to have the appropriate context.

So in the spirit of context, here goes: I’m a writer. I’m a mom. I like to think that I’m decent at both of those things. However, my skills as a mom are being actively (forcefully?) honed every single day, while my writing skills sort of sit patiently by, waiting to be called upon. I have quiet ambitions to one day be paid for writing about what I live and what I think. I also secretly hope that my commentary on those things is interesting – maybe even entertaining or helpful – to someone other than myself.

I blog as an outlet. I blog to keep myself writing. And I blog to help me find my voice. I enjoy reading other people’s honest accounts of their own lives and I hope there are people out there who will enjoy reading mine...which I promise won't always be so serious. Thanks for reading.