Post by Rhonda on Jun 11, 2009 3:09:41 GMT -5
All Dressed Up
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Power Moms
By Christopher Harder
People tend to think of [full-time parenting] as babysitting, and that's only because they have never done it.
~Ann Crittenden
No one noticed my Halloween costume, even though I had worn it all day. Not that I can blame anyone. The costume consisted of a gray sweatshirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers. I was in disguise as a stay-at-home parent. The biggest twist of my masquerade? I'm a dad.
Halloween or not, I've been wearing pretty much the same costume every day since I quit my job two and a half years ago to care for my son, Nicholas. Among the skeletons, witches and superheroes at the local Halloween parade, I was as much a freak as anyone.
I'm used to it. I'm regularly the only dad at the playground and at parent-child classes. Statistics, although all over the map, bear out this abnormality. Depending on the source of the numbers, I'm one of anywhere from a few hundred thousand to a couple of million men in the U.S. who stay at home to care for their children¯a small minority.
Other than it being Halloween, the day was much like any other, pretty routine and unexciting, filled with errands and chores. I had worn my camouflage to the grocery store to shop with Nicholas. He sat in the shopping cart, wearing a glow-in-the-dark skeleton shirt, while I made my weekly rounds up and down the aisles among the moms and seniors. I collected enough food to last the week and supply a couple of dinners I would prepare.
We came home and I made lunch for the two of us. My wife, Beth, was at the office. During Nicholas's afternoon nap, I mowed the lawn. After that, I worked on a wooden toy garage I was making Nicholas as a Christmas gift. For a couple of hours, I almost felt like a regular dad.
When he woke up, it was really time to show off my costume. The Halloween parade is a big deal. Hundreds of kids and parents blanket the main street, many in elaborate outfits. Nicholas looked good in the skeleton shirt Beth had picked out.
I observed the parents as much as the costumes. There were plenty of dads who had taken time off from the office to be with their kids. But the parents I really related to were the stay-at-home moms. I had been working in their limbo since Nicholas was two months old. As I looked around at the moms, I knew that much of their virtuous work was probably unappreciated. Their day had likely already been filled with shopping, making meals, getting decorations ready, doing laundry, washing dishes, all with at least one very excited and unpredictable child in tow. None of this work was paraded.
I knew that at the end of another physically exhausting, mentally numbing and sometimes hellishly confining day, all that the husband saw was an exhausted wife. But before he got home, she had already worn many masks: teacher, cook, dishwasher, chauffeur, wrestler, musician, tour guide, psychologist, doctor.
I worked in offices for eighteen years before my role reversal allowed me to glimpse this other world. Sometimes that reversal took a funny twist. When Nicholas was just three months old, and I had only been home a month, we scheduled a boiler checkup. The "gas guy" showed up, wearing a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, and explained to me what a solid old boiler we have and how they don't make ‘em like they used to.
"You've got a ‘59 Mustang here."
The gas guy's name? Mary. She worked and spoke while I sat on the couch cradling Nicholas and feeding him his bottle. It was a shock to the system, but I became used to being the odd man out.
When Nicholas and I got home from the parade, I lit our jack ‘o lantern and displayed it in our window. Few trick-or-treaters came by, so Nicholas made his own plans for the rest of the evening.
"First we have food, then we see Airplane and Moon (a video he likes), then we go paint," he said. So we did. Then it was time for a bath, bedtime reading with Mom and lights out.
Does this sound like a rough day? Not necessarily, but that's the point. Staying at home is a marathon, not a sprint. Stay-at-home moms need to string together months and years of such days. Their strength lies in their ability to store vast reserves of the energy, patience, resilience and affection required to raise a child. Marathoners need a healthy heart, and so do stay-at-home moms.
Two nights after Halloween, Nicholas had a cold and his asthma kicked in. But we didn't let that get in the way of Halloween-season festivities. Nicholas ate his first pumpkin pie, which he helped me bake. Then we made another. I'd like to say we baked them from scratch, but I confess I used frozen crusts and canned mix. It was another of my disguises.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Power Moms
By Christopher Harder
People tend to think of [full-time parenting] as babysitting, and that's only because they have never done it.
~Ann Crittenden
No one noticed my Halloween costume, even though I had worn it all day. Not that I can blame anyone. The costume consisted of a gray sweatshirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers. I was in disguise as a stay-at-home parent. The biggest twist of my masquerade? I'm a dad.
Halloween or not, I've been wearing pretty much the same costume every day since I quit my job two and a half years ago to care for my son, Nicholas. Among the skeletons, witches and superheroes at the local Halloween parade, I was as much a freak as anyone.
I'm used to it. I'm regularly the only dad at the playground and at parent-child classes. Statistics, although all over the map, bear out this abnormality. Depending on the source of the numbers, I'm one of anywhere from a few hundred thousand to a couple of million men in the U.S. who stay at home to care for their children¯a small minority.
Other than it being Halloween, the day was much like any other, pretty routine and unexciting, filled with errands and chores. I had worn my camouflage to the grocery store to shop with Nicholas. He sat in the shopping cart, wearing a glow-in-the-dark skeleton shirt, while I made my weekly rounds up and down the aisles among the moms and seniors. I collected enough food to last the week and supply a couple of dinners I would prepare.
We came home and I made lunch for the two of us. My wife, Beth, was at the office. During Nicholas's afternoon nap, I mowed the lawn. After that, I worked on a wooden toy garage I was making Nicholas as a Christmas gift. For a couple of hours, I almost felt like a regular dad.
When he woke up, it was really time to show off my costume. The Halloween parade is a big deal. Hundreds of kids and parents blanket the main street, many in elaborate outfits. Nicholas looked good in the skeleton shirt Beth had picked out.
I observed the parents as much as the costumes. There were plenty of dads who had taken time off from the office to be with their kids. But the parents I really related to were the stay-at-home moms. I had been working in their limbo since Nicholas was two months old. As I looked around at the moms, I knew that much of their virtuous work was probably unappreciated. Their day had likely already been filled with shopping, making meals, getting decorations ready, doing laundry, washing dishes, all with at least one very excited and unpredictable child in tow. None of this work was paraded.
I knew that at the end of another physically exhausting, mentally numbing and sometimes hellishly confining day, all that the husband saw was an exhausted wife. But before he got home, she had already worn many masks: teacher, cook, dishwasher, chauffeur, wrestler, musician, tour guide, psychologist, doctor.
I worked in offices for eighteen years before my role reversal allowed me to glimpse this other world. Sometimes that reversal took a funny twist. When Nicholas was just three months old, and I had only been home a month, we scheduled a boiler checkup. The "gas guy" showed up, wearing a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, and explained to me what a solid old boiler we have and how they don't make ‘em like they used to.
"You've got a ‘59 Mustang here."
The gas guy's name? Mary. She worked and spoke while I sat on the couch cradling Nicholas and feeding him his bottle. It was a shock to the system, but I became used to being the odd man out.
When Nicholas and I got home from the parade, I lit our jack ‘o lantern and displayed it in our window. Few trick-or-treaters came by, so Nicholas made his own plans for the rest of the evening.
"First we have food, then we see Airplane and Moon (a video he likes), then we go paint," he said. So we did. Then it was time for a bath, bedtime reading with Mom and lights out.
Does this sound like a rough day? Not necessarily, but that's the point. Staying at home is a marathon, not a sprint. Stay-at-home moms need to string together months and years of such days. Their strength lies in their ability to store vast reserves of the energy, patience, resilience and affection required to raise a child. Marathoners need a healthy heart, and so do stay-at-home moms.
Two nights after Halloween, Nicholas had a cold and his asthma kicked in. But we didn't let that get in the way of Halloween-season festivities. Nicholas ate his first pumpkin pie, which he helped me bake. Then we made another. I'd like to say we baked them from scratch, but I confess I used frozen crusts and canned mix. It was another of my disguises.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~