an all-too-familiar thorn...

The wise saffron-robed version of me that has been the little voice of reason through my adulthood is right. It is a luxury to even revisit this topic as often as I have been doing these past four years.

I firmly believe it is terribly selfish to think about just myself and how difficult it is for me when weighing the decision to work outside home.

Both D and I being extremely frugal, living within D's income has never been the issue...

It has always been clear to me that I need to share the family financial responsibility, not in any noble equal-rights kind of way, but, in an empathetic and considerate way - knowing how my supplemental income, however meager, takes that much weight off D's shoulders, giving him room to breathe and soar and pursue his interests, whatever they may be. Especially in these tough economic times when the earth can be pulled from under our feet without notice, like once before...

The challenge evidently has been to balance my responsibilities, manage the household, raise healthy, happy kids, and not crack under the strain.

The nagging question has always been: would I be the blithe and delightful mom that I hold as ideal, if I stayed home with my kids till they were ready for their formal education? And, by sending my kids away to daycare, am I depriving them of much-needed bonding time together?

No, it has never been a question of much-needed "love", because love is a way of life not something offered in installments at one's convenience; love is not whether I co-slept till they were teens or set them in their cribs from birth, whether I nursed them till they were five or weaned them off at one... Love is not something easily measured and quantified in such terms.

If I could indulge in Idle Thoughts... I wonder if I'd be the ever-smiling mommy with monumental patience and infinite cheer if I had some extra help around the house - like, what if I had a dedicated cook, an efficient maid for laundry and dish-washing needs, a spiffy housekeeper to shine and polish and pick up after the mess, a personal shopper at least for supplies and provisions, and a chauffeur to share my responsibilities?

Case in point: Our Washer broke a while back. After budgetary considerations, we've decided to replace it next month. We started getting the laundry done at a nearby laundromat.

Agreed there are advantages: Not only am I doing fewer (read bare-minimum) loads due to this encumbrance, I have been able to teach Ana not to pull out fresh clothes from her cubby, wear it for about 2 hours, and throw it in the hamper even if it is perfectly unsoiled/re-wearable. And, of course, this has made me extra sensitive to Oggie's messiness...

However, in addition to all the stuff I normally have to do, I am pretty miffed that now I have to find time to spend at the laundromat, and schedule it so I don't have to lug the kids there... or, leave it in D's able hands, if he can spare the time, that is.

Getting extra help to do what I consider my duty to run a smooth household seems moot especially when my Idle Thoughts also include How are you going to pay your little helpers?

It's not like I do everything around the house... D takes care of sending out the bills, taking out the garbage/recycling, fixing the toilet, unclogging the sink, cleaning kitty litterbox, mowing the lawn, weeding the garden, Costco/Winco runs and all those little things I would rather not do. By the same token, I cook, wash dishes, mop floors, vacuum the rugs/carpets, scrub bathtub, sinks and toilets, bathe/feed/entertain/nurture the kids, do the laundry and put them away in respective cupboards, darn/mend/sew buttons as needed... all those things that D would rather not do.

Seems fair. Except, whereas D's tasks require attention about once a week or once a month, mine seem to be in an endless daily loop...

It is possible that feminism kicked chivalry out the door. Perhaps that's why I feel guilty even daydreaming that D would offer to slave away for the rest of his life to give me and the kids everything we want, not just need, expecting nothing in return from us, except maybe our resplendent smiles.

I am digressing... or, more precisely, I am just rambling.

The more I think about how my mom's mom and her mom before her managed, the more apparent it becomes to me that it did indeed take a village to raise a child. Aunts, grannies and neighbors kept an eye on the kids while moms were busy either nursing their littlest, or fetching water from the nearby well, or pounding grains for the next meal, or weeding their fields, or hanging up the laundry in the clothesline, or any number of other chores that kept them busy throughout the day.

Admittedly, kids all over the world have been growing up fine despite well-intentioned parenting... and the evidence so far suggests that my kids have learnt so much more from their daycare than I could have taught them with my limited experience in guiding the cognitive, social and emotional development crucial at this early stage.

So, it still takes a village, but the village that is helping the contemporary mother raise her kids (for a steep fee, of course) happens to be the urban daycare with trained professionals... and I am at peace with this modern arrangement.

It is not as if mommies of yore didn't have a busy life even if they never stepped outside their homes. In fact, they probably had it tougher, what with no washer/dryer, blender/mixie, instant noodles or canned tomato sauce.

Why then, with all these labor-saving and time-saving devices at my disposal, am I so strapped for energy, patience, and spirit?

I seem to be on a short fuse a lot more than I need to be, and about 5-7 days a month I am positively volatile... and while it is easy to shove it down the Hormone throat, it does not make my life any easier balling up the guilt and soaking my pillow with salty tears.

I realize I am not all bad, I couldn't be, not with parents like mine who manage to bring out the best even from a lump of clay...

Despite conscious effort to untie the knot in my stomach, this teeny little side of me, the little black-and-red-robed storm-clouds-over-head lightning-bolts-shooting-from-fingertips part of me, refuses to be quelled once and for all... and therein lies my weakness, the thorn on my side that I haven't managed to dislodge...

With her unique perception and understanding, my mom time and again has tried to remind me that it is a matter of shifting one's thinking - irritation and confusion are by-products of dashed expectations - expectations set up asymmetrically, expectations that ignore realities while striving for an ideal - an ideal that is conjured up in my mind carelessly discounting my severe limitations...



Rock Balancing image courtesy Google search