Tinker, Tailor... Working Mom

Every so often I have someone asking me why I choose to work. If you judge hastily, it sounds like a question bursting of entitlement, but it really is not. There’s a piece of entitlement in it but it is more of a cultural question, it’s a question of changing times and sometimes even a level of envy the secret wish that they were too. Yes, there is a piece of entitlement there also, the piece referring that I would not have to work, that working is a choice instead of a must.

Yes, I am lucky that way. Blessed by my circumstances, blessed by where I was born, blessed by my socioeconomic class, blessed by having a husband that provides. Yes, I am entitled in many ways. I am white, I am educated, and I have more that I truly need. There’s the absence of poverty, absence of sole-providership, absence of constant struggle. But as I don’t have to, why do I then, why do I choose to work?

I do not look down to women whom don’t work, why would I. For goodness sake, I was a stay at home mom for years. And I did not raise money for the local women’s shelter or sick children. I did not spend hours volunteering for the local foodbank, my church or my children’s schools. I concentrated on trying to survive with two babies and an autistic toddler, then two toddlers and a preschooler and so on. I didn’t have time to help anyone else but myself. It took all of my energy not to drown. I don’t have a husband travelling around the continent or the world, I don’t have to juggle our lives around the other parent being away more than present. So, don’t get me wrong, not trying to get on a high horse, preaching anyone about anything. This is solely my story and my choice.

My mother was a working parent. She was a working parent not only because she wanted to - trust me she wanted – but because she had to. My parents divorced when I was six years old, and all my mom got after the legal battle was debt. My stepdad could not hold his job for longer than a month, he was an alcoholic, so my mom was left with providing for the family. I remember wearing dresses sown by my mom to school as it was cheaper than buying clothes. Those were pretty dresses though. I remember watching my brother while mom was at work. I remember buying groceries and getting asked by the store clerk when my mom was going to pick up the tab that was getting long. I remember making dinner for us kids. But aside from the must, my mom also loved her job, she created her own brand, a company holding her name, and a quite successful business.

For me it’s about growing up in a society where women worked more often than not. It has something to do with sayings like: “running/hitting/throwing like a girl…” It’s about shoving, mostly myself that I am not less. It’s showing my children the model of a working mother, the model that girls can work too. It’s an important model for children growing in my little bubble inside of a bubble, the one where moms don’t have jobs, dads do. Over and over again, I have heard it at school, out in the neighborhood, at dance practice, the words filled with a level of amazement combined with some doubt coming out of a child’s mouth: “But moms don’t work… moms are supposed to be moms. Do you work for real?” – Yes, sweetie, I do. And so, does the clerk at your grocery store, your pediatrician, teacher, dentist and dance teacher… and very likely, they are mothers too.

Moms can work too. I think it is extremely important for our children to understand that working is an option, even if you don’t have to work. The world is shifting though and a family with two working parents is definitely getting more common that it used to. I think it’s awesome.

This weekend we are going on a 3-night vacation. A vacation I paid for. That feels pretty good.