I am in the midst of a career change. Last Wednesday, I packed up the rest of my files, said good-bye to my colleagues and moved all my "teacher stuff" into storage. Indefinitely. Usually, the end of a school year is liberating; this year it has been frightening. Now an entire week into it, I have experienced the full spectrum of emotions and in this short time developed a more complete respect for the vocation of a stay-at-home mom.
This was a particularly difficult year for me professionally and I spent a good deal of it romanticizing the idea of staying home. In my mind I weighed the options: being with my sweet little girl or combatting hormonal defiance. The choice seemed easy. I would learn to cook gourmet delicacies, have dinner ready at six every evening, and keep the house spotless. I would have time to read all the books I've ever wanted to read and I would also take up a new hobby like quilting or gardening. I would never again serve Amelia Spaghetti-O' s or frozen fishsticks or canned apricots; instead I would prepare everything from scratch. We would go to the park everyday and do lots of fun crafts like fingerpainting and hand turkeys. In the evening, I would take care of a little light ironing and still have the time and energy for a glass of wine and a game of Backgammon or Scrabble with my husband. It would be a domestic utopia.
And then reality set in...
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