A Day in the Life of a Work-at-home Mom.
I work from home two days a week. When I was halfway through my pregnancy, I left my cushy corporate job to start my own company. People used to say, “Oh, how nice. You’ll get to be home with your kids while you work. That’s ideal.” I used to nod dreamily, thinking of how the baby would play with blocks quietly next to my desk as I did client work. Then, the baby was born and reality set in. Now my baby and her baby brother are 5 and 3 years old. Working from home takes on a whole new dimension! Here is a chronicle of a typical day:
5:00 a.m. Wake up. Realize “graduation day” has arrived. Go upstairs to write thank you notes to Jessie-Kate’s pre-school teachers. While it is quiet, I also write my company's email newsletter intro and outline the articles on paper.
5:35 a.m. Finish notes, and turn on laptop to start laying it all out. Stupid Microsoft Windows startup noise wakes up my light-sleeping 3-year-old, Nicholas. I’ll have to work on the draft later. Fix him some chocolate milk, then put on “Tom & Jerry” on DVR to keep him quiet while Jessie and Rich sleep a bit longer. Read ‘Working Mother’ magazine while we cuddle on the couch.
6:20 a.m. Jessie wakes up and joins CuddleFest. Magazine down, TV off, and a nice chat about the upcoming day. Try to calm her performance anxiety about the graduation ceremony. Not sure it sunk in. She refuses to go. This should be interesting.
6:45 a.m. Rich wakes up, and I get breakfast ready and shower, then check email quickly on the Blackberry. Only 55 emails, mostly unanswered due to yesterday’s marathon day of meetings. Will get to those later this morning.
8:00 a.m. Start e-newsletter draft while the kids play with Play Doh. Answer one email before Jessie yells up the stairs that she wants to “play on the computer”. Since she was 3, she could turn it on herself, and get to her favorite websites, so I approve her request and continue the newsletter.
8:15 a.m. Nick decides he wants to play with puzzles. I pull out the plastic bin from his room, and sort out no fewer than 250 pieces to 20 puzzles that the babysitter threw loosely into the bin. As I answer the question, “Where does this piece go?” for the 156th time, I realize that my day is an article in the making. I jot down some notes and look up as Nick shuts the slider window on his finger. I dry his tears as I carry him into the bathroom, and make a mental note that we need more Spiderman Band-Aids.
9:00 a.m. Put on Nick’s shoes, change his diaper – already the 3rd time today - then send him outside with a brand-new bottle of bubbles and instructions to try not to spill them this time.
9:05 a.m. Check on Jessie – she’s still happily playing, but yells to Nick not to go into “her fairy garden” (where the playground is, and where he will undoubtedly go in a few minutes). Head back upstairs to the laptop to add the article about our new podcast on iTunes.
9:12 a.m. Hear screen door slam and fridge open. Nick yells, ‘Where are the candy bars?” I answer, “No candy bars in the morning!” and keep typing. He pulls down a box of music instruments from a low shelf, and starts beating the little drum with beads on strings that Rich brought home from a business trip. (Think “Great idea, Rich. On my next business trip, I’m buying him a pink, frilly tutu to annoy you as much as this has annoyed me!”) The noise interrupts Jessie, who starts to scream that she can’t hear the website she is playing on. I go downstairs, grab the box of instruments, and head outside with instructions to have a “poolside parade”. I step barefoot into a pool of spilled bubbles.
9:20am. Back at the laptop, switch from paper notes to new Microsoft Word doc to capture these wonderful moments. Writing them down and laughing relieves some of the stress. Thank the Universe for allowing me to have a writing career. Back to email newsletter layout.
9:30 a.m. Jessie screams again. Nick is now banging cymbals on the patio. The neighbors must love us! I call downstairs to have her shut the door, but she can’t hear me. Cymbals still crash. Daughter still screams. Go downstairs. Remove cymbals and little drum with strings, replace with Little Tykes piano. Shut door to outside. Go upstairs. Shut door to downstairs. This time, I am going to concentrate on this darn newsletter issue, if it kills me.
9:53 a.m. Nicholas opens the door, requesting pudding. “I don’t have pudding, but you can have applesauce.” He hesitates. I offer,“…the blue kind!” He accepts. While he eats, I save a very rough draft of newsletter and send to the team for preliminary review. Nick finishes and says, “Now I want the ‘lellow’ kind.” I grab a plain applesauce out of the fridge, and check email quickly. Oh, great. Only 18 new emails since this morning. Sigh. Shut down Outlook, and think about declaring email bankruptcy.
10:10 a.m. Declare computer-time over, and send the kids outside to play. Jessie declares, ‘The only way I’m playing outside is if I get to do my lemonade stand, or if I can play with my friends”. I reply, “They’re still in school today. Why don’t you play in your fairy garden?” Nope. “Well, you could help me set up the patio set for our company tonight.” She replies, “OK, but when I’m done, I want to come in and watch a movie and have some chips.” Deal. I go set up the ironing board to iron her graduation gown that I’ve had since last week, and still sits wrinkled on the dryer. I feel a bit jealous that Jessie’s friends’ mom is home alone while her kids finish up this last week of elementary school. Then I realize this is only the first day Jess has not had morning preschool. I figure out that there are 77 days left to summer before she starts kindergarten. The countdown begins.
10:22 a.m. Twelve minutes later, Jessie is waving the Aristocats video in my face. “Time for chips!” I head upstairs to grab a bowlful, and realize my strawberry yogurt from breakfast is now warm. I eat it anyway, then deliver the chips, start the movie, and head back to the laptop for more writing. On the way, I check the back of the video cover. 79 minutes. Yeah, right.
10:53. Finish new article on the morning’s activities to date, then start to respond to email. I stop only once to fulfill Nick’s request for Shrek popsicles. That should buy me another 10 minutes. Continue on email…
11:17. Email from partner telling me he loves the article draft and to keep going with the writing. The kids are getting restless (but…there’s still half an hour left to the movie!) Now I’m really hungry, and decide to wrap up email soon and go make lunch.
11:25. Kids both come upstairs to beg for lemonade stand. Their patience is over. Time to shut off the laptop!
12:00 Wow, where did that morning go?! The blur begins: I fix and serve lunch, then proceed to yell at the kids to remind them to eat. I think, Why did I have kids? Did I say that out loud? Try to get kids into car, but DHL delivery guy arrives with pool safety cover parts, call Rich to let him know, go downstairs to download a file needed to complete an award submission for the local business newspaper, chat with partner about Quickbooks online and planning our move to a new office location next week, and discuss a potential partnership deal with a new client. Head over to McDonald’s to get the kids Shrek milkshakes, and to the bike store to pick up a Father’s Day gift for Rich from the kids.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur of ironing, phone calls, movies, snacks, nap, lemonade stand customers, a visit from mother-in-law (who was informed of said lemonade stand on one of said phone calls) and occasional message checks on the Blackberry.
4:05 p.m. Realize the award submission had to be in by 4pm. I haven’t pulled my resume off the backup drive or updated it. Damn! How could I have forgotten that? I send the kids outside to play, then put a pizza in the oven, and move the ironing board to the room overlooking the backyard.
4:25 p.m. Check email again. 30 more. Ugh. At least this time, about a third of them are spam. I’m never so happy to get spam, except on my days off! Some "day off” this was!
4:30 Call kids in for pizza. This time they’re hungry. Scoff down a slice then throw the books and outfit I got for Jessie in a gift bag. Hide the father’s day gift I got for Rich. Tidy the house a bit. Notice with disgust the huge stack of ironing still remaining. The iron has shut itself off again. I decide to take the pile to the dry cleaners.
4:45 p.m. As I’m making the appetizers for tonight’s festivities, I let the kids feed some celery to the worms in our worm composting farm. Rich comes home to a sink full of dishes, two kids with their hands in the worms, and a counter that is pretty much a mess. Across the room is a pile of laundy and the remnants of a lemonade stand. I can see him cringe.
5:05 p.m. As I’m cleaning up the kitchen, I step on something slimy. Please God, don’t let that be a worm. I pick up my foot, relieved to see that it’s just dirt. Whew. Now it is time to get everyone ready for the graduation. Brushing Jessie’s hair, we chat about tonight. She still sticks to her story about not wearing the cap and gown. I hope for the best, but expect the worst. I throw some makeup on, and change the outfit. For a fleeting second, I care that my hot pink toenail polish doesn’t match my red striped sandals. I usher the kids into the car, pack the folding chairs, the appetizer, the cards, the camera, the present, the gown, and the hubby. We hit the road.
6:00pm. Well, I can give Jessie credit for setting expectations correctly. True to her word, she sullenly stood in front of the crowd while her friends sang song after song. She ended up in tears in my lap and missed the whole cap and gown ceremony after intermission. Nonetheless, I tell her how proud I am that she completed pre-school, and read to her from the new book she got. I snuggle with Nick for a little while, sing some songs, and call it a day.
8:15. The kids are finally asleep. Grab two beers, hand one to Rich, and we watch the comedy channel for a few minutes to unwind. We discuss the evening’s graduation debaucle. He realizes he’s hungry, and I go upstairs to throw some taquitos in the oven and rice in the microwave. While it’s cooking, I turn the laptop on, connect the backup drive and grab my old resume. I update it quickly, and send it off with apologies to the awards contact. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. (Post-script – I won the award!!)
9:20 p.m. As I sit here eating my food, listening to the sound of crickets outside, I’m grateful for a few un-interrupted moments of peace. Man, if I weren’t so darned tired, this would be really productive time! I review the day’s plans, lamenting that I forgot to pick up that prescription again, and that I didn’t even start the prep work I needed to finish for the meetings I have tomorrow. Maybe I’ll wake up early. Maybe I’ll skip the morning educational webinar I had scheduled to get back some extra time in the day. Maybe I can prep while I listen in. I’m too tired to commit to anything right now. All I know is that tomorrow morning, CuddleFest will happen around 6:30 a.m., and I wouldn’t miss it for the world!