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A Working Mom’s Guilt

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Before I get started, I just wanted to let you know that Squidge is MUCH better and feeling like his old self again and hanging out with all his buds. 🙂

Squidge

And now, the topic of the post – a working mom’s guilt. I have it, and it’s most certainly compounded by 1000 because I’m Catholic and my guilt level is high anyway. Here’s the situation.

I have a good job. I don’t mind working for a living – I’m by no means lazy. Plus, with my student loans (hello private undergrad and grad school immediately after!), my car loan, our mortgage, and now a little Squidge, there’s no way I can afford not to work. Mike and I are aggressively trying to pay stuff off and we’re making some serious headway.

But my working means Squidge goes to daycare. And I know there are tons of benefits to daycare:  a stronger immune system (eventually), socializing skills, interaction with different people, etc. My problem, and the source of my guilt, arises when I think about the fact that Squidge is spending 8-9 hours a day with people who aren’t Mike and me. Then, when I pick him up at 5:15pm, I only get him for about three hours before he goes to sleep for the night. I get 1/3 of what daycare gets.

Then my stupid mom brain starts asking questions. Will he know that it’s ME that’s the mom and not the nice ladies at daycare? Will he learn from ME? Will he get enough quality time in those stupid three hours I get to squeeze him and feed him and love him? I find myself waking up at 5am just to see him more, even though I could probably get away with getting a little more sleep.

I just remember the years that my mom stayed home to raise my brother Jason and me so fondly that I wish I could give that to Squidge. She played with us all day, taught us things before preschool, took us to play with our cousins at my grandparents’ house. And then I realize that I don’t know any babies around here. Squidge’s cousins are all over an hour away and go to daycare, as well. He really wouldn’t have any kid interaction, and that’s when I see daycare as a blessing.

My mom tells me that this is a good thing. She says that if he just had me, he’d ultimately get bored not having anyone his own age to play with. I understand this and I agree. I know he’s going to want little buddies. My cousins were my best friends, but I just don’t have access to family/kids like that around here. It’s just hard, ya know? SUPER hard.

Think my boss would pay off my student loans and my car loan and let me stay home until both my kids (NO I’M NOT PREGNANT) are in school full-time? I’ll sign up for 20 years of service after that. I promise. 🙂

 

 
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Posted by on January 22, 2015 in Raising My Youngins

 

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Cheers – My Life As a Sitcom?

I get pretty excited when I do things in my life that reflect things that happen in sitcoms–like going to the bar after work with my coworkers.  We’ll be at the Winking Lizard in Brunswick if ya’ll want to join!

Which is all I am looking forward to right now because I am insanely busy today.

Talk to you tomorrow…when I GET MY PURSE!

 
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Posted by on February 7, 2012 in Daily Happenings

 

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…I don’t have a fun fact…

So I’ve been doing some profiles at work and I’m asking each person to include one fun/interesting fact about themselves.  I thought, “Oh, I’ll be clever and give them an example!”

Four minutes later with my fingers poised at the keys, I had nothin’.  Then I had to show a coworker something in the reception area, came back, and still had nothing.  What is my fun fact?

I don’t run marathons.  I’m not a doting pet mother.  I don’t think I can count the fact that I was born on Earth Day because I am hardly green.  I’m a serial long-distance relationshipper…but I don’t really like that about myself.  I only went skydiving once, so I can hardly call it a hobby.  I haven’t ridden my bike in over a year because it’s at Mike’s house.  Not a movie buff, either.

Maybe it’s not about hobbies…

Let’s see.  Fun facts fun facts…  I wrote a book that I refuse to publish.  I spent wasted spent three years in North Carolina for grad school.  I’m in love with my hometown, but that sentiment is hardly elusive among the peoples.  There’s a bridge I love to visit…but no one really cares about that.  I tried to live in Pennsylvania for five months, but it didn’t work out.

I’m not crafty.  I do not write for fun anymore.  I followed the Backstreet Boys around for awhile.  I never took a cross-country trip.  I love my car, but I’m not obsessed.

So what did I end up saying for my fun fact?  That I worked my way through college at a factory making washing machines.

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There are fun facts about me, but the truth is that they are hardly awe-inspiring, and they are small-scale in comparison to most others.

I did love to teach.  I loved sitting in lifeguard stands at 3:00am.  I love to climb trees.  I like Roseanne.  I love getting paintings from artists I know.  I wish I were an avid quilt-maker.

I like wine…but I like cheap wine so that’s hardly impressive.  And I do not collect anything anymore (so sorry, Beanie Babies and key chains).

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What it comes down to is this:  I’ve been stagnant.  It’s time to up the ante and actually start finding things that I like to do…things that I can do on a regular basis, regardless of the weather or the city, of who is with me or who isn’t.  I’ve got to find something that is me…

Lord…any suggestions?

 
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Posted by on February 1, 2012 in Daily Happenings

 

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I do not have the time to breathe…

much less to post.

Tomorrow, maybe.  But don’t count on it.

On a happy note, my cousin Heather will be induced tomorrow.  🙂  Which means baby-squeezing this weekend for me.

 
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Posted by on August 17, 2011 in Daily Happenings

 

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Working On the Line – A Source of Pride

It’s the last day of the factory week here at Bon Bons and Martinis.  And today, I want to talk about pride.

I may not have been working during her war, but I worked during ours.

You heard me.  I’m damn proud that I worked at Whirlpool, and I’m have so much revere for those who have made factory work their careers.  It takes a lot to be a factory worker–strength, determination, willingness to be in the actual setting of the factory.  Everyone who works at a factory deals with a hazardous environment, hard work, and so much more.
Now, you all know I’m by no means a feminist.  I need that to be clear right off the bat.  I will say, though, that being a woman in a factory is much different than being a man.  Manual labor has always been considered “man’s work” and it’s easy to see why.  But you know what?  What all the men were at war in the 1940’s (and thank God they went, because I’m not so sure I’d be good in combat), the women stepped up to the plate and did work–factory work.
Rosie the Riveter is monumental.  From her beauty to her brawn to her brains.  And we were lucky to have thousands upon thousands of Rosies step up to the plate and keep our country going.
I’m lucky to have experienced factory work firsthand.  I know what it is to work hard and to ache.  And I know what it takes for the people who were around me to work that hard for the majority of their lives.  No one can say that I had it easy my entire career.
I’ve always felt tough.  I still feel tough, but there’s something about twisting steel and wire in your hands that makes you realize that you can handle whatever life throws at you.
 
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Posted by on August 12, 2011 in Fremont

 

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Working On the Line – What I Learned

I learned a lot over those six summers.  Da da da DA – another list for your easy-reading pleasure.

What I Learned On the Line:

That starting work at 6:45 am sucked, but getting out at 3 pm rocked.

That going to rock concerts on work nights was stupid and awesome.

That when you are around potty mouths, you become a potty mouth.

That I could do manual labor with the best of ’em.

That learning a new job wreaks havoc on your muscles.

That everyone’s soul has a little youth left in it.

That no matter how ergonomic a chair claims to be, it’s still uncomfortable.

That the quiet ones have the most to say.

That everyone was a little wild in their younger age.

That people are willing to admit things only months after doing something wrong.

That it takes a strong marriage to make it in a factory.

That summer help can sometimes turn into permanent help.

That working in a factory is kind of fun.

That you do end up making friends–real friends.

That while it was incentive to stay in college, part of me will always miss it a little.

That it was comforting to come back to the same people summer after summer.

That as a woman, just saying hello to a man with no other intention can cause a world of trouble.

That as a man, vice versa.

That if you dress up for work, people will think you’re snooty.

That no one cares if you wear the same two pairs of pants over and over again.

That you’re bound to get hurt on the machines.

That people jonesin’ for a cig on their breaks can walk faster than Olympic sprinters can run.

That potlucks are Red Letter Days.

That we all gossip.

That few apologize.

And that we were all meant to be there at some point.

 

 
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Posted by on August 12, 2011 in Daily Happenings

 

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Working On the Line – Why Whirlpool Was Like High School

There was a bell early in the morning that told you when to start working.

There was a bell between each rotation (period).

The lunch period was 18 minutes–and not long enough.

You couldn’t smoke.

There were “cliques” among lines.

People knew your parents, because most likely your parents or someone in your family worked there.

Affairs were had there.

Flirting and anger ensued.

You had your favorite “rotations” or classes.

You fought to work next to people who you could tolerate (kind of like sitting by your besty in class).

People talked about each other.

You goofed off and sneaked food when you weren’t supposed to have it.

You went to the bathroom just for a break…

But you had to ask to go to the bathroom because you couldn’t just walk off the line.

Your bosses are like teachers, so you tried to look busy.

People “graduated” by retiring, or moving to a different line.

Draaaaaaaaaaama.

You had the top of the class that could do the work.

You had stoners.

You had jocks.

You had ’em all.

And most of all, you couldn’t wait for the end of the day.

 
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Posted by on August 10, 2011 in Fremont

 

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