I’ve been teetering on the edge of losing my ever loving mind over the past few weeks. Between working 70 hours a week in the office, another 20 – 30 at night on my own business, I’ve worn myself down to merely a zombie going through the motions. Mike was off work for the past 6.5 weeks and I’ve been doing what I can to pump out some quick work to bring in a little extra cash while I’ve been swamped at my salary paying regular job. Without him, I’m certain this house would have imploded.

I try valiantly to find balance, but I find that I become consumed by one or the other depending on how much attention they require. The kids get sick, I stay home, things come up that need my attention then I spend too much time away from the office or unavailable, the boss notices and then there’s reprimand. Should I have to put in additional hours – which include weekends – then family and marriage suffer. Finding that balance is a feat in itself and I am finding I am not so strong at managing my home and work-life balance.

Actually, I am failing that balance.

I know it’s short term and will eventually, (hopefully) work itself out. It has to. I love what I do. I love working. I love being a part of something and contributing to amazing and wonderful transformations on a daily basis. Driving into Downtown Toronto and seeing the skyscrapers and condo buildings makes me proud because even though they have become eye sores and block out any natural light in the downtown core, I have been a part of their construction. Though my work is neatly hidden beneath soil, steel and glass, It’s an amazing feeling to know that I have contributed to that.

But that feeling, as amazing as it is, is really nothing compared to that of being there for your children. Teaching them, learning with them, being there during their Firsts. Nothing in the world can neither compare nor replace that, and I don’t I want it to.

I want both.

I want to find that perfect equilibrium.

But then again, don’t we all?

I am not about to quit my job, though I do appreciate the links and feedback on my last few posts, I am just working through being overworked and underpaid, fatigued and riddled with Mommy Guilt. It’s regular day-to-day around here. I need to rant and vent, but I am so grateful to have you. To hear my woes and encourage me to keep on keeping on.

Just a few more hours of sleep. That’s all I need.

Oh, and a life coach, personal organizer, nanny and a winning lottery ticket.

I wasn’t kidding. I want it all.

Work is crazy nuts right now. It’s great since only a few months ago we were on a work share program and now we’re hiring new people because work’s picked up so fast. I am a Project Coordinator for a small (under 20 people) company. I’ve been with the company since its inception, May, 2003, and though I have been with the company longer than anyone else, I feel as though I am the least important member of the team. Two maternity leaves have seemingly pushed me to the outer rings where some days I find myself feeling as though I am quickly moving closer to dismissal.

Upon my return from my latest maternity leave there were a number of new staff members and a completely re-invented policy and procedure program. I struggled with balancing my home and work life while learning about my company as though I were a new employee. It was a little demoralizing and hard at best.

For the first two months back to work, I struggled. I struggled so hard with having both my children in daycare and pretty much working solely to pay for that daycare. After eight and a half years of dedicated work, I went back with my first two weeks broken up into part time shifts because daycare had messed up placement for Carter to return to a full time slot. I then missed numerous days to stay home and care for them as illness was rampant through the centre.

After all those years of dedication, I was called into my boss’ office and put on notice that I better shape up or I was out. It all came down to roughly three and a half weeks of REALLY shitty quality of work – or complete lack of work, never mind all those previous years of traveling and overtime.  I felt as though I was given the short end of the stick because I wasn’t on my game as soon as I stepped foot in the office after a year’s leave. And as truly terrifying and sad it would be to find myself out of work, I was (am) shockingly comfortable with the thought. I absolutely love the industry that I’m in and the experiences I have, I just miss my babies so much. Being downsized or laid-off, seems like it would be a godsend some days.

Since The Talk, things have improved drastically and I feel, after almost a year back to work, I am somewhat back in the loop. But still, for some reason I find myself feeling more and more susceptible. I keep feeling like any wrong move I make will be reason enough to hand me notice and get me out the door. I just don’t have the confidence in my job that I once had.

Paranoid. There’s really no other way to explain what I’ve been feeling. I am completely and utterly paranoid.

Never in all my life can I recount a moment that I’ve felt this way. I’ve dealt with extreme self consciousness – like walking down the “Senior Hall” in high school trying to avoid eye contact and falling on my face as I passed through what felt like a million pairs of eyes watching and judging.

But paranoia? Doesn’t even compare. It’s debilitating and soul crushing. Questioning every move I make on a daily, hour, minutely basis is tiring. So tiring.

I went to bed an hour ago, the days events playing in my mind. The fifteen minutes I wish I could rewind and do-over. The wave of nausea flows over me again and I bolt from bed. I fumble for my glasses as I head to my laptop. My heart races.

Here I sit.

There’s nothing that can be undone.

For years I was able to protect myself from this day. For years I was able to think ahead and proceed with caution; but not today. Today I was fumbling with many emails and as I wrote it, it was just another one. But it really wasn’t. I sent it anyway, and before I realized the damaged that had been done, it was too late.

I had emailed two co-workers the keys to my online life. I had placed, in their hands, all the power to find me EVERYWHERE I am online.

My email signature.

That signature carries the pseudonym which unlocks all of Google cache. It unlocks all the social media and written works I have tried valiantly to keep from being synonymous with my real name. It’s not you, dear readers, that have kept me from using my full name on this site, but it is my colleagues, my peers, and Dr. Google. The people I really don’t want knowing some things about my life. The people whom I face on a daily basis and am not comfortable with knowing about my martial woes or the time I was shot in the chest with shit.

So I did what I thought was best at the time. I email them, again – this time NO SIGNATURE.

I emailed them and mentioned that I realized now there was a signature attached to the last email and that I had been very careful for many years to keep my two worlds from colliding and I fucked up (yes, I said fuck). I told them how important it was to me to keep this quiet and thanked them for understanding.

Then I blocked the entire office IP from my site and locked my twitter.

There was no response regarding any of this incident from either of them. I don’t know if they’ve read between the lines to see that I will SERIOUSLY CUT A BITCH if this gets out any further.

I am a mess about this. It’s hard for me to explain exactly why I am so torn. I am not ashamed about this life I lead online. I am not embarrassed by it, per say. I mean, some engineers and contractors I work with may find it a little childish and hokey. That I can, over time begin to deal with, but my trouble is, as one of the very few females in my industry it’s hard enough to be taken seriously. I feel having my life out there, and them knowing that it’s out there, leaves me in a more precarious position; I feel it will be used against me. I could be wrong, but I dread the idea of showing up at work and having people look at me like they know something but don’t say anything.

That’s what’s going to happen to me now. Every. damn. day. until I am able to just let it go and accept that if they’re relentless enough to keep trying, and unless I keep blocking IP after IP, there will be at least two people who will know a lot more about me than I’d truly like.

Only one time before this has it even come close. I emailed from home using my normal mail account (temptingmama) which I had installed a gmail manager type add-on to. That gave me the power to respond to different email addresses from one account. Little did I know it placed a small blurb saying the email was sent from the temptingmama account ON BEHALF of the other account. Tell me: THE FUCK!?

Stupidest thing ever.

ANY-WAY.

temptingmama is STILL a running joke around the office to this day thanks to one person in our office who received that email.

Did I mention the recipient of that email WAS ONE OF THE PEOPLE I SENT THIS LATEST COLOSSAL FUCK UP TO? Yeah.

Fuck me.

Can I just say, I AM TERRIFIED TO GO TO WORK TOMORROW.

I AM SCREAMING, YES. DEAL WITH IT. THIS IS A DIFFICULT TIME FOR ME.

*breathe*

*breathe*

*WOOOOOOSHAAAAAAWWW*

Dreading work tomorrow, people. Dread.

Fuck me. 11 o’clock already.

***

Dear, Stupid Technology.

You’re a douche.

Love, Me

***

Gah!

Please make me feel better. Tell me about the time you were outed. Puh-lease?

And, I’ll have to read them when I get home since I’ve completely blocked the entire west end of Toronto from accessing my site.

Fuck.

Editor’s Note:

I think one of the points I tried to make with my post was that I AM doing both. Right now. I am a WAHM as well as a WOHM. I pretty much lead a double life and in my personal opinion, staying home is EASY compared to the work world and that they’re NOT the same. I do not negate at all that they are both hard. I KNOW THEY’RE HARD. But they’re NOT the same.

The ‘real’ part came from Daphne’s comment about how we don’t have ‘real’ jobs. But to be honest – if it pays the bills: it’s a job. We all know that. I wasn’t clear about my use of the word ‘real’ and I’m sorry for that.

:::

So I typically stay away from the Momversation videos because I get so riled up about things they talk about. I know that’s their goal, but I just get so frustrated and angry about them I have to stop watching; but the other day Miss Zoot made a pointed entry about a recent Momversation episode that got my Working Mom panties all bunched up. Kim’s post had me cheering, nodding, and agreeing with every point she made. Go read it – I’ll wait.

See?

Have you watched the Momversation about being a “working mom”? Go.

Working moms. I scoff at the Internet’s idea of a working mom. Sorry Internets, but I do.

I have been a working mom for the better part of three years; and by working I mean dragging my ass out of bed at 4:45am to get showered and dressed, waking my child(ren), getting breakfast going, dropping off at daycare and sitting in traffic ALL to get to the office by 7:30am.

I work through an eight and a half hour day of telephone calls, emails, meetings, reports, proposals, arguments, disagreements while someone with a higher authority, a boss, dictates my time.

After those eight and a half hours, I get in my car to sit in traffic, pick up my kids at daycare, get dinner going, oversee bath time, read stories and put my children to bed.

I see my children for a total of – at the MOST – three hours a day – and most of that time is spent doing chores like the cooking and bathing. I very rarely have the luxury of sitting down and actually interacting with them.

Let’s talk about being a REAL working mom shall we? Not this fluff about working from home because I’ve been there too. I’ve too worked from home, designing, freelance writing, and trying to manage my house at the same time. I was doing what I could to keep us afloat while home with my children.

There is no comparison. None. I don’t care how high up on the blogging ladder you are: working from home is not even in the same realm as being a Working Mother.

Sure, it’s stressful trying to have that conference call when your child is begging for you to change the channel or get them a drink. It’s stressful for the others on the call too. Trust me. I know. I know it’s tough to pump out that overdue article when your child has a fever and just wants to be held. I. Know.

But!

I would take that “stress” over the possibility of losing my job because the kids have been sick and after first three weeks back to work I have already taken about a week of that in sick days. I’d take that loud and boisterous child in a middle of a conference call over being hauled into the boss’ office to be told that ‘I am not carrying my weight around here’ and reminded that times are tough at the moment and it’s important to learn to BALANCE MY HOME AND WORK LIFE.

Balancing work life and home life while working from home? It’s a fuckin’ joke.

There. I said it.

Daphne even acknowledged the fact that the Momversation was “not talking about ‘real’ work.” Maggie said that she’s “not cut out for that” (meaning the working, daycare, rushed lifestyle). Momversation wasn’t talking about the real stresses of being a WORKING MOM, but why the fuck not? Please don’t elude to the idea of discussing the stresses of being a working mom while only talking those whom are at home, locked away in a room while the kids fend for themselves while mommy makes her video.

I applaud you ladies for showering and putting on make-up to stage your videos for Momversation, I know how hard that can be too – to just have a moment to yourself to shower; but please, don’t for a minute think I feel bad for you.

I know it’s tough to find someone to take care of your child while you escape to Starbucks with your MacBook to get that article done or complete the finishing touches on a design for a client. I KNOW.

But, do you “Working Moms” know how hard it is to fight with your spouse about whose turn it is to stay home from work to mind a sick child? Do you know how hard it is to get a call from the daycare centre in the middle of your first day back in the office and have to tell the boss that you’re leaving? Or how about when you have to leave your premature baby in the hospital to go back to work then rush back to the hospital to spend as much time with them as you possibly can? Not to mention dropping off your 11 month old at the daycare centre knowing that the teachers there will likely witness your child’s first steps before you do.

I know I may alienate some of my work-at home-mom friends by writing this, but those that are truly my friends will understand where I am coming from. I know it’s not easy being a mom. I know it’s not easy working from home. I know it’s not easy having a job that takes us from our family, but please, let’s not pretend that they’re the same thing.

It always happens that when things are on an upswing we get knocked back a few pegs. Just as we’ve begun to recover from the last six week layoff, it’s happened again. We were kind of expecting it but trying to stay positive.

Positivity apparently doesn’t drum up work.

That’s what happens when a small company puts all it’s eggs in one basket; waiting for that big job to start with no work bid on in the meantime leaves a gaping hole where our family has fallen through. Again.

Welcome to the world of construction. Where layoffs can be a regular occurrence and project start-ups can be fickle. Delays, funding, permits: it can all push back the anticipated start date leaving companies in a bind. Leaving companies like the one Mike is was employed by having to dismiss their staff in order to avoid going under. There’s a possibility he could be back to work, but the fact that his boss is offering an ROE (Record of Employment) doesn’t bode well for being called back to work (though, Mike can’t file for unemployment insurance without one, so that could be the reason for it).

It’s all just so frustrating and stressful.

Our daycare expenses of $1840 per month (for two children) leave us frightened to even think about the strain on our bank account. Wondering how we will ever be able to keep up with monthly payments without even a buffer since we’ve just begun to recover from the last job loss.

Not to mention completely depressing that the house hunt is now put on hold indefinitely.

As much as I love our house, I am yearning for something different. Our small young family has begun to outgrow the walls of this current house. The toys, the pets: we’re tripping over ourselves regularly. Though, it would be hard to leave this home: the one both our children came home from the hospital to. The countless sleepless nights spent comforting our babies back to a peaceful slumber while watching late night infomercials in the family room; the halls I can navigate in the dead of night.

Even though our home has become a piece of me, I’m ready to move to a new house where we can begin the next stage of memories. A home where Carter will start kindergarten, Hudson will learn to walk up the steps, where I will have space I can call my own as well as a laundry room to hold my new turquoise Electroluxe washer and dryer (my laundry room that will resemble the Visual Tour – It’s laundry PORN people. Makes me CRAZY with lust for washing and drying. I need these machines and this laundry room. So. Bad.)

The next stage has been held just beyond arm’s length for the time being.

I will have to enjoy my porn from a distance for now.

But I tell you, it better not be a long while. I don’t know how long I can handle not being able to touch it.

My life is really nothing more that a circus freak sideshow. Well, minus the freak (even though sometimes I think I look like the bearded lady).

I am the ring master, the lion tamer, the juggling monkey, carnie and exhibitionist all in one.

I’m also the banker, the employee, the self-employed business lady, the accountant, the chauffeur, the butler, the nanny, the cook, the maid, the garbage collector and the dominatrix (Ha! Good one.). But it doesn’t stop there(I just thought you may have got the point by now).

Sometimes I think I have it rough. Sometimes I bitch and moan that it’s just not fuckin’ fair. Why do I have to deal with pick and drop off at daycare day in and day out? Why do I have to be the one to remember to de-thaw dinner or else there will be none? How come the bank account balance just can’t take care of itself? Why do I always have to play the Bad Cop?

It could be worse.

It could always be worse.

There could be no bank account to care for or food in the freezer.

There could be no husband to greet when he come home from work.

There could be no monkeys to corral children to kiss goodbye in the morning or to see grinning from ear to ear after a hard days work.

When it’s all put into perspective of It Could Be Worse I feel insurmountable guilt for even complaining, but then I think about the Hierarchy of Suffering and I’m all Dude, it is fuckin’ hard and because it’s not THAT hard doesn’t make it any less hard.

Like this morning for instance, when I was awoken by my husband as he was leaving for work – because I slept through my alarm ON MY SECOND DAY BACK TO WORK – I was pissed that I had to get up and even more so after hearing him call down the hallway that I should be grateful for even having a job.

(But! If I didn’t have a job I would have been sleeping until eight six o’clock instead which would be totally awesome.)

(But! If I didn’t have my job we’d likely have to downgrade our home and sell a car; not to mention, hope and pray that Mike didn’t lose his job.)

(All relative, right?)

Or how about when we were *just* heading out the door ON! TIME! and Hudson proceeded to shit his pants – which turned out to be diarrhea – making us late to leave and me late to work ON MY SECOND DAY BACK. Not so awesome. Even peeling a crying Hudson off as he tried to cling to me rather than go see his teacher, a little heartbreaking.

I really have no idea where I was going with this except for I feel bad for complaining about my minuscule issues when there is far worse things that I could have happen to me. But these minuscule things are TRAGIC to me at the moment.

I hate that my heart is across the city with my children in their daycare and that I feel HELPLESS while my sick congested baby is pawned off on other people to care for and I sit here at a desk pining for them.

P.S. I have vodka at my desk and I’m seriously considering opening it.

P.P.S. It’s my birthday Saturday and I’m getting a massage.

P.P.S.S. You look hot today. Do something new with your hair?

* Hierarchy of Suffering is a far superior title but was already taken. Obviously.

Yesterday was my first day back to work. Back to life as a working mom, and by the look of my twitter stream at 5:42am? You could tell I was very excited about it.

Did I mention by this point I’d already showered and made my coffee?

Yay.

I can tell you this: I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy to have twitter because as I documented each step of my morning it gave me some comfort knowing that you all knew I was suffering through straightening my hair, applying my make-up and trying to carefully avoid waking my kids.

And as soon as Micheal McDonald came on the radio I knew I was in for a great day. The universe was certainly mocking my ambition to be an organized! and efficient! working mother of two young children all while appearing as though I have my shit together. Clearly.

Takin It To The Streets – Michael McDonald

Eventually ready, I then had to  fight two small children to wake up. Had it not been the ass crack of dawn I may have taken more pleasure in the fact that I was forcing my children from their peaceful slumber into the chilly darkened beginning of the day. I think Carter may have actually cursed me as his eyes rolled around inside his head as he tried to grasp the idea of being energetically woken up by his mother who is NOT a morning person.

I thought I would have surely taken more pleasure in being the one to turn on the light and announce it’s time to GET! UP!.

Only a mere fifteen minutes behind schedule we were out the door and at the daycare centre where not one tear was shed at drop off – by either kid or myself.

Awesome.

That’s to be read bottom up, so you know.

I arrived on time, barely. Made it through my first morning alright; a little disoriented but  I think that’s to be expected after a year of wiping ass and not much else.

But once the afternoon hit, things changed. I think it was 12:00pm on the dot when the call from daycare came that Hudson had spiked a fever of 102F and by ministry policy had to be taken home and remain there for 24 hours AFTER the fever breaks. So, not only has my boss graciously given me Tuesdays and Thursdays off for the first two weeks of my return due to daycare placement issues for Carter, but now has an employee which has left due to an ill child on her First. Day. Back. NIICE.

Hudson was rather listless when I got to the centre. He was exhausted, congested and feverish – which TOTALLY killed me with Mommy Guilt; but after a brief doctors visit we were certain it was just a regular virus and he’d be back to normal after a little rest.

I really hope this isn’t indicative of what’s to come because I can be certain that if it came down to it, in this economy, I could potentially be one of the first to pack my boxes and head for my spot in the unemployment line with my sick child on my hip.

And though that would be completely alright with me. It’s totally NOT awesome.