Paging Henry Hill

I was laid off a month ago and was unexpectedly thrust into the role of Almost Full Time Stay At Home Mom.

I was not used to it. I am still not used to it.

Am I happy to have this time with my kids? Yes. Do I miss my paycheck? Hell, yes. Do I miss not having to be the house/life/marriage manager in addition to the kid manager because I work, too? Yes, I think I miss that most of all, Scarecrow.

Seriously, I was lucky enough to work part time at a job I liked in my field. I had one foot in the playground and one on the on ramp career coaches love to talk about. And yes, sometimes on the days I was at work I wanted to be home with my kids. And sometimes on the days I was home with my kids waiting out the afternoon eternity between nap and dinner, I wanted to be in the Caribbean, by myself.

I can't lie. When you've spent a lifetime working, being a full time mom in suburbia feels like being in the witness protection program, only without the wistful memories of a past life of glamorous danger. Remember that last scene in Goodfellas, when Ray Liotta as snitch gangster Henry Hill opens the door to his cookie cutter subdivision witness protection program house to get his newspaper? Remember the look of panicked boredom on his face?

Sometimes I know how he felt. But then I read The Butterfly Book for the billionth time or replace the wheel on the hapless firetruck whose sound mechanism has been mutilated by someone or something, making it sound like a malfunctioning droid, and a strange, zen like calm overtakes me and for a moment, I am a good mom.

Sometimes I feel like I fell off the planet and entered a time warp of daily survival. Before my eyes open every day my body is moving to fulfill needs - all kinds of banal needs - that have nothing to do with my own. Time is divided by meals, sleep, bodily functions and their respective cleanup, Play Doh, the playground, the Fight of the Day (today's was "He Took My Fishy"), the broken fire truck and its creepy noises, and 30 minutes of Big Bird.

So here, for all those considering quitting your job to spend more time with your kids, or quitting your kids to spend more time with your job, are the pros and cons of each. Here are all the answers you need, in one blog (seriously someone should pay a lot of money for this list) about work and motherhood:

PRO - I know my 3 year old's digestive schedule now, and as a result can handily intercept him on the way to his secret corner to do what we both know he should be doing in the bathroom.

CON - Because I eat kids' food all day long now, I have no digestive schedule of my own.

PRO - The laundry and dishes are done and dinner is made by 5:30.

CON - I spend my days doing laundry and dishes and dinner. And it's never Beef Bourguignon.

PRO - No more rush hour traffic.

CON - No more listening to what I want to listen to, when I want to listen to it, in my own car, as I eat breakfast and read the Times.

PRO - No work schedule means we're free to vacation with no time restrictions!

CON - No 2nd paycheck means no vacation!

PRO - Because I'm lucky enough to have a part time babysitter, I can get away to interviews, write or work on my resume.

CON - I end up Facebooking and cruising Overstock.com with the time.

PRO - Every morning I get up with my kids and make them breakfast and get them dressed, and every night I am there for dinner, bath and bedtime.

CON - Every morning I get up with my kids and make them breakfast and get them dressed, and every night I am there for dinner, bath and bedtime.

I hope this has been helpful to all those struggling with balancing work, motherhood, and sanity.

When you figure it out, let me know, will you?

Full Hands

The scene: Parking lot outside my suburban gym.
The players: My three year old son, really into peeing outside (thanks to my husband's ideas about potty training); me, fresh from a workout (free childcare and unlimited shower time, yay!); and my two year old son, really into running across parking lots, particularly when screamed at not to.
Oh, and the "older" gym goer, exiting her car and not in the least inclined to be helpful.
The time: half way through a very long day

Three Year Old: Mommy, I have to pee.
Me: Right now?
Three Year Old: Yes. On this tree. (Begins disrobing).
Me: (Pleading) Why don't we go inside where the potty is?
Three Year Old: (Pants and Thomas the Tank Engine underwear around ankles) No, here. On this tree. Like Daddy.
Me: But honey. We pee inside.

Sensing weakness, the Two Year Old makes a break for it, heading for the seemingly unlimited frontier of the parking lot. Thankfully, he is fully clothed.

Me: (Screams at Two Year Old while balancing peeing, half naked Three Year Old).
Two Year Old: (Smiles and laughs maniacally).
Three Year Old: Look Mommy. Pee. Some is on my shoe.

Just then a Lexus SUV rounds the corner, narrowly missing the Two Year Old. An older woman (well past the toddler years) parks and exits the vehicle, all benevolent smiles and grandmotherly nostalgia.

Three Year Old: Mommy! Where are you going?
Me: (Sprinting after Two Year Old, completely abandoning Three Year Old who is naked from the waist down) Be right back, honey! (Screams again at Two Year Old).

The Three Year Old begins chase, pants and underwear still ankle high. He trips. Falls. Cries. The Two Year Old, now across the street, is in stitches.

Me: (Obscenity).

Lexus Woman: (Striding leisurely and yet full of purpose toward gym) You've got your hands full!

Me: Yes. Thank you. Enjoy your Zumba Class.

This message brought to you by the "It goes by so fast" cliche.