These last few months have been a gift, really. Since Eli was born, I’ve wanted, with
increasing intensity, to stay at home with my babies. Not because I don’t like to work or want to
work, because frankly I’m good at working.
Sometimes it feels like the only thing I’ve done successfully in the
last decade. And I like…really like…my
paycheck. I derive a lot of self-worth
from the twice-monthly deposit in the bank account. Say what you want about me, but I have
managed to pay the bills, even if it meant one or even two side jobs. I like the security of a tenured teaching
position, too; I’m a security junkie and I’ve worked a long time to be where I
am.
But.
I’m not
a person who balances all the spinning plates with any kind of grace; I am
calmer, more centered, when I can put my best attention toward what matters
most. And I’m an introvert working in an
extroverted profession; God help you if you want to get chatty with me right
after work. I want to be left
alone. And balancing life with three
kids is hard; just getting everyone fed, dressed, and out the door in the morning
is a full-day’s work in itself, and usually a full day’s worth of tears as
well. In my heart, I know that my kids
would benefit from a mom who is present to pick them up and drop them off, who
is available to have conversations with teachers, who has time and mental energy
to help with homework in the evenings. I
hate everything about daycare and after-school care and college student nannies
who text on their phones while the kids run wild in the park. Hate might be an understatement; the thought
of putting my kids back into the daycare Eli went to when he was little makes
me want to hurl this computer through the window. But them, of course, I’d have to pay to fix
the window and the computer.
You
would think that the opportunity to scale back my work life for a year would
instantly calm my spirit, but I haven’t spent my days radiating peace. If anything, my emotions are even more out of
control than before. Caleb throws
constant tantrums these days, and frankly, so do I. My soul churns in my chest; I can barely
remember to take three deep breaths before I scream. If this semester was a test, I’ve failed
it.
I’ve
been praying about this lately, in part in an attempt to understand Caleb’s
emotional explosions and in part to understand what is happening to me, and
what I’ve realized is that all of my anger comes down to a lot of fear and a
lack of trust. I have absolutely no
control: I am in a situation where I am powerless to make the changes I want to
see. I mean, I can float my resume and
network and try to find a work from home job that doesn’t involve selling
something, but I cannot make a miracle happen.
I can try to prove to my husband that having me at home is a good thing
for our family, that I am worth more than my paycheck, but I keep falling
short. I can try to pay down school
loans and car payments if we get money to spare, but we don’t get any money to
spare. I can’t budge a thing. Everything I can do, I’m doing. So I am oh, so terrified that come August, we’ll
be back to the same old, same old. Tears
just welled up in my eyes when I typed that.
For me, that signifies the death of the dream, and in some ways, the
death of my faith. I stepped out on the
water and trusted God to hold me up; if he doesn’t, what does that mean for
me? Did I mess up, or is my faith
worthless?
It
looks like August is going to happen, and probably the daycare I hate, so I
feel like I have to make.every.day.matter in the meantime. And life doesn’t work like that; some days
just have to be mundane. Work just has
to be done. Messes have to be cleaned
up. Discipline has to happen. And when those moments start to pile up, I
feel like I’m wasting this time that I bought with such a great price…and I
explode. Usually Caleb is standing in my
way when that happens, because there he is wrestling with the same kinds of big
emotions I am, and he’s only three. If
the big emotions are this hard on me, they must be even bigger for him. And he lacks the vocabulary or the wisdom to
process what he feels. All he wants is
probably the same thing I do: to know that his desires are valid, to know that
his needs will be met, to know that he is oh, so loved and valued, to know that
he is doing good things, to know that he can trust and not be let down.
I have
no control over what goes down in the next few months, but I hope that I am
standing where God wants me to stand. I
am pursing and honoring as best as I can.
In the meantime, I know I need to try to give Caleb some of what I’m
looking for. With a lot of prayer and a
lot of grace, maybe both of us can get to the other side.
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