Uncategorized
I was a working parent, and struggling with one of the most difficult years of my life. As much as I dreamed of winning the lottery and being able to spend time with my beautiful new baby boy, only 5 months old when I returned to my day job, I did not believe that I had a choice. I searched online often for the perfect opportunity that would make me stand up and go, “this is it! This is what I’ve been looking for! This is the perfect way to make money from home. Now I can quit!” But I never found it. It felt almost paradoxical that I was getting a decent middle income salary but I really only worked 10% of the time I was actually at my office- the other 90% just did my best to make myself look busy so that I wouldn’t be “found out.”
I needed the stable paycheck to pay for daycare. I grew to rely on that income, and not because I needed extra indulgences. Once we became parents, we cut out a lot of extras – going out to eat, we commuted in one car to save on gas, we gave up morning starbucks when the office coffee was just fine and free, and we stayed above water, but barely. So, believe me, it’s not as if I didn’t want to give up a posh lifestyle. With the cost of daycare, we were paycheck to paycheck and our incomes were the only stability we knew.
I was pretty convinced, even with all that internet searching that there was no alternative to this life. Although I found ads for millions of companies promising to give me EXACTLY what I needed, ironically, it was the very reason I didn’t feel that I could trust any of them. I wasn’t trying to be difficult and talk myself out of a good opportunity just because I was afraid. As a reasonably intelligent person, I know nothing was a guarantee, but there were just too many gray areas…the fine print that one doesn’t discover until AFTER you’ve already made the leap and are knee deep in your new “woops” career that will go nowhere and will eventually be shrugged off as, “well, I wanted to try.”
As a new parent, I couldn’t take that risk. Not when I had to think of my family. I’d made mistakes falling for the wrong get rich quick schemes before, and although it stung a bit, I would eventually get over it.
But this was different. I couldn’t afford a mistake this time. Not when I had a son, a mortgage, and job that gave me group health insurance.
It wasn’t until I was suddenly laid off and was forced into finding a new alternative that I saw things differently. With the severance I received, a bit of unemployment, and the daycare expense now non existent, I now had time to stay home with my son, at least for a little while – until I discovered what my next move would be. I had time to breath, even if only for a moment, and I wanted to take advantage of every second that I was able to stay with my son until the day I had to go back to a new job. I knew that day would come fast, but for the time being, I was just going to hug my son and breathe…just for a moment.
6 months later, I had a new viewpoint. After seeing my son flourish, my husband and I both feeling less stressed, time to actually spend weekends together rather than a frantic rush to finish laundry and grocery shop for the week, I called a family meeting and made a very important announcement.
“I am not going back to work.”
I didn’t care if I had to live in a cardboard box. I would never work for anyone else again, and leave my son. When I told my husband this, he stood there quietly staring at me, as if he was waiting for the punch line at the end of the joke.
Finally, he said, “Um, okay. That’s a nice thought, but…you can’t just DECIDE not to work again…”
Yes, I could. Every fiber in my being told me that I belonged at home with my son, and that if there was any way to make it work, I wanted to find it.
As a recent mother, I became intensely aware of the “maternal instinct” which fascinated me to no end. I had watched myself transform into everything a mother is supposed to be- even though a year later I was sure that there were things I wouldn’t be able to adapt to. I also learned in all my prenatal classes, how important our instincts really are when caring for a child, and how listening to them will almost always guarantee your best parental performance.
It wasn’t until this moment that I realized that extreme pain and turmoil I was in when I first dropped my son off at daycare to return to work after my maternity leave. This pain was unlike anything I’d ever known- and yet, I did my best to ignore it just to get through my work day. NOW, I was seeing in clearly- my instinct was shouting and pleading with me – “NO! Don’t leave your son. You aren’t ready and neither is he!” As much as I tried to avoid it, it followed me every where for an entire year. Once I went back to work, I couldn’t stand any “down time”. Infact, it made me crazy…so crazy that I’d walk in and out of every office asking if anyone needed any help with anything. I was afraid that if I stopped for a spilt second to think, my mind would take me to the one roomed home daycare where my child was growing up without me. So I kept myself as busy as I could to avoid that reality.
Yes, being at home with my son and living off of an unemployment check may have seemed irresponsible, but I was certainly earning that paycheck. And the more I thought about the kind of work that was involved in being a stay-at-home parent, the more it angered me that I wasn’t going to be able to keep that income flowing in. Didn’t I deserve it as much as anyone? Especially when I’d spent the last 5 years at my day job doing approximately 75% personal stuff, anyway?
NO! I wasn’t leaving my son again. I didn’t care what it took, I’d find a way to stay home. I’d even be willing to sell our house, our 2nd car, shop at thrift stores and garage sales. Nothing else mattered. I would not leave my son again. I knew, beyond any doubt that I would find the answer I so desperately tried to find on all my internet searches 6 months before. Because this time I HAD TO.
Literally keeping me up at night, I couldn’t shake the idea that there had to be others who were just like me, not knowing that it was possible to make a change and have a better life. It made me horribly sad to think that had I not been laid off, I’d still be working, surfing the internet and praying that the miracle answer would come save me. Ironically, my lay off was the answer to my prayers- even if only temporary. It brought me home to my son and showed me that I clearly didn’t belong anywhere but here. I began jotting down some ideas.
Although it’s easy to blame others, for the situation I was in- Bosses who should have promoted me, or been more flexible, allowing me to telecommute, better and more affordable daycares, politicians who didn’t spend our tax money in areas that would have helped better our situations, our government for not making paid maternity leave longer, my parents and inlaws for not being able to retire, move in from out of state and become permanent babysitters… the fact was, I didn’t know who to blame.
We live in a democracy, and what that means to me is that no one is allowed to tell me what career to have, or what role to have in my life. Although they may not be easy to find, there is always an opportunity to work, to make money, to seek a better education. We all know we can do anything we want if we put our mind to it, so then why aren’t we doing it? Why are so many of us struggling? What are we missing? These are the questions that kept me up at night.
I also couldn’t shake the feeling that others out there, just like me, even less fortunate than I- who weren’t lucky enough to be laid off, and might never have the chance to experience what I had- and be given the answer that I had. I wanted others to know that they did have a choice and despite their fears in leaving their stable cor
porate jobs, they had no idea that it was seriously necessary. Thinking that I might never have been given the gift of knowing what it was like to stay at home would bring me to tears.
I had to do something. Now that I was seeing things so much more clear than the year before, I knew I had to find a legitimate way to bring in a supplemental income, at least as much as unemployment would pay. I had to use my passion to help others.
But, what could I do? Somehow get everyone fired from their day jobs so that they could collect unemployment, too? No- obviously not the answer.
I want to not only help other parents have the opportunity to stay home with their children, but to help them realize that they are not wrong in wanting to do so. I want for other parents to be able to stop denying themselves the truth in what they deserved. I want them to know that they do belong at home with their children and their families deserve to flourish.
We have listened to politicians from every group talk about family values as if it was the one thing that was ripping our country apart, and yet there doesn’t seem to be any concern for the fact that the average educated family with two parents and at least one child need 2 incomes to survive. If family values are really what our country needs to get itself into a healthier place, then why isn’t there more focus on keeping children at home with their parents rather than at a daycare?
In my frantic search for some answers, I found that there were many people who felt the way that I did, and some very smart groups had already formed movements to get themselves heard. I encourage you to check out some of these groups: www.momsrising.org and www.moveon.org
That is a good place to start.
Welcome to my brain. It keeps going and going and going- like the energizer bunny. I am anxious to see if OurMilkMoney helps the situation the way I believe it will. But if it doesn’t… you can bet I will keep on tweaking until it does make some sort of impact. I won’t give up trying. None of us should. Our families are counting on us to save the world.
By Ally
Chris Loprete, daddysden, Dads, Family
“It’s okay, buddy. It’ll be alright, pal. Don’t cry.” I say half heartedly. I’m only saying it because it seems like that’s what I’m supposed to say. I don’t really know what I’m doing. In fact I don’t even know this kid. I feel bad saying that because I think I’m supposed to be laughing and cheering as I run down the hallway with tears in my eyes handing out cigars. That’s what every new
father does in TV shows and the movies. I’m trying to fake it, but I’m having trouble. It’s 10:00 AM on a stormy morning in April of 2006. I’m in the nursery of my local hospital looking down at my son who was born exactly one hour ago. He’s naked, bloated, still a little messy from the trip, and screaming his lungs out. He’s been bawling since the second I met him. I’m standing over his crib (or whatever they call those hospital issued nondescript wooden rectangles with mattresses.) and thinking he must be freezing. Then I touch his exposed belly and it’s actually quite warm due to the heating lamp above him. He resembles a Rotisserie chicken on display at the front of a grocery store deli. I look up at the big window and there are my in-laws in the waiting room looking in and beaming from ear to ear as they alternately snap pictures and talk on their cell phones heralding the good news of their newly arrived grandson.. Then they look up at me and I figure I should probably go into my routine again. “Daddy’s here, buddy. It’ll be okay. Just a little longer.” I’ve been an actor for as long as I can remember and this is without a doubt my worst performance ever. My wife is in the recovery room after her c-section procedure. She’s probably emotional, lonely and in pain. I’d much rather be with her. She needs me. I’ve known her 8 years. I’ve known this kid an hour. He has no idea who I am. I try to touch his hand but he pulls away. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. I
can’t even tell who he looks like. I’m just not feeling it yet.
I’ve been up since 4 AM after getting about 3 hours of restless sleep. I drove down to the hospital in a deluge that would make Noah nervous. I’ve been trying to remain calm while at the same time keeping my wife comfortable and relaxed. Our birth plan has pretty much been crumpled up, and tossed into the recycling bin. What was supposed to be a calm, new age-y hynpo–birth without any drugs has turned into an early morning scheduled c-section with quite a few different drugs. All of this after a very taxing pregnancy. Obviously I wasn’t the one carrying the load (literally) so I shouldn’t complain, but I witnessed first hand what my wife was going through and you can’t help but experience some of the hardships too. Especially when the hormones rear their ugly head. I’ll never forget the day I came home from a particularly grueling day of work only to be screamed at for not wanting to name the baby at exactly that moment….7 months before he arrived. Apparently that proved I didn’t even WANT a baby. Pile on the 6 months of fertility treatments, the anxiety of not knowing if we were even going to be able to conceive children and if we did, how we would pay for them once they arrived and you can see what a harrowing year and a half it’s been. And the cause of ALL of that is lying in front of me howling away and not caring. He doesn’t seem to be sorry at all. If anything he should be comforting me. I know this all sounds heartless, but mothers have that maternal instinct. Fathers don’t. My wife has known this child much longer than I have. She’s felt him move. She knows his eating habits, when he’s sleeping and when he’s awake. She has been his personal Santa Claus. I have to learn how to be a father. And apparently I have to learn it right away because my wife is going to be out of commission for awhile as she recovers physically and mentally from a very invasive surgical procedure.
The next few days don’t get much better. I spend the entire week in the hospital room trying to sleep on a small cot that a prison would reject. The baby is awake every two hours of the night and I am still trying to find my way around a diaper. My wife has fallen into a serious post partum depression through the pain killing haze. Oh. And I’m suffering back spasms that would keep a professional athlete out of a championship game. And it’s all this 9 pound 21 inch “bundle of joy”s fault. When does the “you don’t just love your children, you fall IN love with them” thing start? Right now he’s just somebody I have to keep alive. Kind of like those bags of flour they give you for a week in high school Sociology class. Except I have my bag of flour for the rest of my life.
And then it happens. It’s the fourth day of his life. The doctor is about to perform a circumcision. My wife is still bed ridden so I am present at the “ceremony”. There’s a little bit of ritualism as my father in law recites a Hebrew prayer via cell phone. Since my wife and I are an interfaith couple, she being Jewish, I being Catholic and neither of us very good at being either one, we have decided to compromise on the Bris. No big party, but a nice prayer and coincidentally our doctor moonlights as a Moyle. So there we are in a small sterile room in the maternity ward, my son fast asleep and the doctor preparing to begin the procedure. The act itself is not something any grown man should have to witness so I stand back against the wall. I suddenly hear a wail from my son the likes of which I’ve never heard in the span of his short life. I’ve heard him cry pretty much nonstop for a week but this is different. This is a scream of pain. He’s in agony and he’s helpless against it. My boy. My poor, sweet little boy. I would do anything to take that pain away from him. In fact it was at that moment when I knew I would do everything within my power to keep him out of danger for as long as I’m alive. HEY! I think I’m in love. And then a week, nay, months of pent up emotions completely gives way and the levee breaks. I burst into tears and start shouting across the room, “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s here. It’ll be alright.” This time I mean it.
The week ended in love but started with indifference. 2 years and 4 months later I wish I knew then what I know now. I wish I could hop in my Way Back Machine and stand beside myself in the nursery that first day and whisper in my own ear, “Hang in there. You’re looking at a stranger now, but this little guy will soon be your best friend. He’s going to make you laugh harder than you have in years. When you have a bad day at work, he’ll run into your arms as soon as you get in the door and instantly make it better. He’ll look at you with awe and wonder. He’ll also laugh at everything you do and say and you can’t beat that. So take heart. This is the toughest week of both of your lives. It only gets better from here.” Unfortunately the 2006 me would probably turn and say, “I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN DAYS! YOU’RE OBVIOSULY A HALLUCINATION! BUZZ OFF, 2008 ME!” But still. At least I tried.
Chris Loprete, daddysden, Dads
Wait, wait wait. Let me explain. Yes, I am guilty as charged. I saw the chickiest of chick flicks by myself….on purpose. But before you cancel my “guy” club membership and make me hand over my remote control, allow me to explain. First of all this is still a daddy’s blog so I’m writing primarily to the guys not the girls. I’m sure the girls think its sweet and have no problem with this confession at all. Okay fine. Thank you ladies, but with all due respect don’t help me. You’re not my target audience. Secondly this is not my clever way of coming out of the closet and revealing my true self to my family in McGreevey-esque fashion. While certainly far from an alpha male, I still consider myself a guy’s guy…but not a guy’s guy if you know what I mean. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
I admit that I was a fan of the Sex and the City HBO series. Call it a (very) guilty pleasure. My wife became a fan within the first couple of seasons and kept trying to get me to watch with her, but I refused wholly on principle. However by the third season I finally acquiesced. And what started as reluctance became a genuine enjoyment of the show. Decent acting, good story lines and character development, and some downright funny dialogue. And while I didn’t immediately bring up Carrie and Aidan’s breakup at the water cooler the next day, I was definitely drawn into the arcs of the characters. In fact I would go so far to say that it strengthened my relationship with my wife. No, no, really. NO, I AM NOT MAKING EXCUSES! My wife and I would watch and when a certain conflict or drama would erupt in one of the girls’ and their many men’s lives, I would turn to my wife and say, “Here’s why she’s wrong” or “Okay. Yes. That guy’s a jerk”, or “uhhh….I’m kinda on his side. Is that okay?” The show would kick off some pretty decent marital dialogue between us and sometimes I was even right! If given a chance, the show is a good study of relationships not only from the woman’s perspective but from the man’s as well. For the record I still like The Sopranos better.
So when the trailers for the long awaited Sex and the City movie started to appear I thought, “It’s not a movie I’m dying to see but my wife is constantly chastising me for not taking her to see ‘her’ kind of movies (i.e. chick flicks) so here is the perfect opportunity.” Then my wife saw it without me. Was I devastated? No. In fact I was almost relieved. Now I would be spared the inevitable ribbing from the boys at work that I would have had to take like a man. A Sex and the City-loving man. But I was a little disappointed. I just assumed that my wife would want to see it with only me. I mean it was our “thing”. The plan was to take her to the movie, share eye rolls with the other guys who were dragged there by their girlfriends or wives, and then secretly enjoy myself. But she saw it with some friends and came home bursting to discuss it with me. Just like old times. I told her she would have to wait a few months until I Netflixed it because there was NO WAY I was going to see it in the theatres now. Sorry, hon. You should have thought of that before you went to see it with a bunch of bimbos you just met.
Cut to last week. I was in Phoenix, my wife’s hometown. Phoenix in June means you better have some inside activities planned. I was bored. My son was napping, my wife was working and I had the choice of either going to a movie or hanging out with my mother in law. I ran for the car without checking showtimes or directions to the nearest Cineplex. (Just kidding, Mom. Love you) When I got to the theatre, my choices were slim. I had already seen the current blockbusters. My only choices were Sex and the City, Kung Fu Panda and Speed Racer. The theatre stubbornly refused to pay me to see Speed Racer. Since Kung Fu Panda was a Dreamworks animated film, seeing that movie would have put my status as a Disney company boy in serious jeopardy especially since WALL-E was about to open (playing NOW at a theatre near you!) That left me no choice. I sighed, looked around me like some kind of KGB spy and whispered “one for Sex and the City” to the unbelievably old woman at the ticket counter (this detail adds nothing to the story but I was truly amazed at how old this woman was). I got my ticket, left my male genitalia at the door and walked inside. Luckily the previews had started so the lights were down and I could find my seat incognito. I glanced around at my fellow viewers. The theatre was pretty empty being a Thursday matinee. A few old ladies and some fortysomething mothers. I was the only guy. I didn’t even see any gay guys. Then again I was in Phoenix so that’s no big shock. About halfway through the movie a fat old guy walked in and sat down. I was thrilled. He stayed for about three minutes, realized his mistake and walked out grunting. A single tear blazed a trail down my face.
The movie itself? It was fine. That’s all I can say. I didn’t hate it. I’ll give it a B. It was definitely targeted for women. I could have done without all of the fashion montages over the “girl power” dance music and I wanted to claw my eyes out during the slow motion naked guy shower scene, but the acting and the plot was pretty good. While it wasn’t as funny as I would have liked there were some good puns (“Mexi-coma”, “Poughkeepsie-d in her pants”). However I found that I can only take that show in half hour spurts. This was over two hours. Too much for any guy, I don’t care how in touch with your feminine side you are. But my biggest problem had nothing to do with the movie. I missed my Sex and the City buddy. I found myself relating to and agreeing with the guys in the movie once again. This time however I had no one to turn to and whisper, “He’s right y’know” In fact I related to one of the story lines a little too well and when it was resolved and the happy couple walked into the sunset, the only hand I could hold was my own. So the Sex and the City movie definitely required a team effort. No one should have to go through it alone. Just like running a stay at home business and raising a family at the same time. It’s definitely a team effort. But that’s a topic for a future blog. And looking back at this whole experience I couldn’t help but wonder: would it really have been THAT bad to see Kung Fu Panda?
By the way when I knew the movie was about to end I slinked out of the theatre, bought a 6 pack of Corona and raced home to watch game 4 of the NBA Finals just to flush the “chick” out of my system.
Family, Uncategorized
I am grateful to have a roof over my head.
I am grateful that we have 2 cars, and even if they are older than the city we live in, we no longer have payments, and we somehow they always get us from point A to point B.
I am grateful for who I am, and who I’ve become over the years, and the road I took to get here, no matter how treacherous it may have seemed at the time.
I am grateful for my 2 year old son, who took 2 years to be conceived.
I am grateful for those 2 years of trying to conceive, because if it was any easier, I might not appreciate every moment I have with him the way I do now.
I am grateful that I am able to be my own boss, and to never have to make someone else’s priorities more important than my own ever again.
I am grateful that I am able to share my experiences to benefit others, and I am grateful for those who continue to share their experiences with me.
I am grateful for the friendships I’ve made through the years. Although some friends have come and gone, I’ve learned amazing things from each unique soul that I am happy to never forget.
I am grateful that my husband supports my need to stay at home with our son, even though it meant giving up my once very large corporate salary.
I am grateful to see how my son has flourished since I came home to take care of him.
I am grateful for the internet, for it has allowed me to connect with so many others just like me who want great things for their children.
I am grateful to have met so many wonderful parents across the country who believe in my mission, have joined me in this ambition, and are willing to give what they can to make a difference.
I am grateful that I am imperfect, because learning is half the fun, and each day I am able to grow wiser and more knowledgeable.
I am grateful for my health and the health of my friends and family. Even when we are sick, we find ways to heal, and each illness makes us stronger.
But most of all, I am grateful for the life I have yet to live, for each day brings new lessons, new reasons to laugh and cry, and new insights to the mystery of my purpose on earth.
Family, Uncategorized
The storm did stop, but it rained on and off for a few weeks after that- the kind of drizzle that makes you feel like you can’t get out and accomplish anything, and the moment you try, it’s such a big dramatic event, you decide not to attempt it again until there is the slightest bit of sun poking through the sky. These dark and dreary days were the days I realized I was turning into a hermit in my house. There was only so much conversation I could have with my 15 month old, the house was cleaner than a hospital and my laundry had been folded and sorted by color 15 times since breakfast, and it was only noon. I was bored. I didn’t miss work, and the stress of leaving my son in that awful daycare, or the boss who wouldn’t let me leave 30 minutes early to go pick him up. But I did miss my friends. I missed the excitement of the day to day, and the gossip, which surrounded me on a daily basis working at a network television studio.
I needed friends. Although I had lived in my house for 4 years, I’d been commuting into the city for work, and my social life. I didn’t know a single person in my community.
I decided to join a play group. As selfish as this may sound, this group was more for me than for my son, and with every outing we made, you could probably tell how desperate I was.
You would have thought I was a teenager starting in a new highchool mid semester. Every day I woke up excited of all the possibilities.
I spent time researching our local paper and internet for activities and made a list of all the things we would attend together. Every morning I got us both dressed in our cutest baby and mommy outfits, paying extra attention to details such as dressing down enough to be the perfect stay at home mom, while applying my make-up flawlessly and practicing my “friendly smile” in the rearview mirror while in the car in route.
Although the rain and stopped, the clouds were still following me around as I desperately tried to attach myself to a group that I could connect with. I was still used to my friends and colleagues at work, the artsy entertainment folk, most of whom didn’t have kids, or if they did, left the raising of them to a nanny or a relative. Perhaps I seemed too eager to make friends. I’d sit in the mommy and me groups participating, singing, laughing, commenting on the other children, and rarely got much response from the other moms. I imagined them going home together, getting on their cell phones and laughing about the “new mom” who was obviously trying to hard. Perhaps I’d seen too many movies and TV shows about Desperate Homemakers, but since I wasn’t yet at ease in this new culture, those fictional stories were all I had to draw from.
I began to wonder if I’d been living in a vacuum for 4 years, and since I’d been commuting, I hadn’t noticed the zombies that were living next door. I couldn’t imagine myself ever being this cold to another human being. No matter what group I belonged to, I’d always made the newcomer feel welcome, and most of the people I’d known up until this point all would have done the same. What was wrong with these people? Did the koolade in this town turn stay-at-home moms into Babylonians? Would I eventually become one of them? I imagine a modern day version of Stepford Wives, except that our only form or communicating with one another was singing, “Come on everybody it’s parachute time” to the tune of “the wheels on the bus go round and round.”
Everyday while getting my infant son and I ready for the day, I’d remind him, “today, we are going to go out and make some friends today!” I was determined. Finally after 2 very long months of wondering if I’d ever fit in to any of the mom groups, I broke down and asked one of the teachers at a Mommy and Me class we’d been attending. Actually, it was just after she approached me to thank me for always being so smiley, upbeat, and participating in all the songs and activities, despite the obvious fact that I was being so rudely ignored. I hugged the teacher her with such relief and thanked her for noticing what a struggle it had been for me to fit in! “Please,” I whispered, “Tell me where all the ‘cool’ moms are!” She put her arm around me and said, “you didn’t hear this from me. Show up to the music class 9:30am on Friday.” It was as if I was getting a secret tip in Vegas to take part in an underground operation. I was so excited I could hardly wait.
Friday arrived, and I discovered exactly what I’d been looking for. A group of women just like me- just my age, first time moms, incredibly happy to be right where they were in their lives, and thrilled that I wanted to “play” with them. That day, the sun burned through the clouds for good. And it didn’t rain for the rest of the summer. Now, when it does rain, I have a nice cozy group of mommy friends to spend time with, and our kids all get along great too. This rainbow was definitely worth the storm that created it.
Recent Comments