Is staying at home the same as having a J.O.B?

“Do you work?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, how about you?”

“Oh I’m a teacher… what do you do?”

“I’m a mum – I have two children.”

“Oh no, I mean what do you do for a JOB.”

“Yeh, exactly. I’m a mum.”

Contraversial I know, but this is exactly how the conversation I’ve never had (except in my head) goes about the disconnect that exists between being a stay-at-home-mum, and having a “proper job”.

There lies a question.

A matter for debate.

Or perhaps just another red herring designed to pit parents against one another: is staying at home with the children the same as having a job?

Well now you’ve asked (it’s ok, I know you haven’t…) there are many similarities:

  • from the minute you wake up, you’re on someone else’s clock
  • breaks where you get to sit and stare into space are few and far between
  • time to do the things you want to like read, write, yoga and re-watch all eight series of West Wing on a loop (for example) are limited to a couple of short hours each day
  • there are parts of the job that you enjoy, there are other parts that you HATE
  • there are parts of the day that leave you buzzing and mentally fist-bumping yourself
  • there are parts of the day when you feel like you’re not good enough and you’re sure you’re going to be found out
  • your boss(es) are demanding and at times unreasonable
  • there is never enough time
  • you never get to the end of your to-dos
  • you’re tired at the end of the day

But there are also a number of differences. Some, I’ll admit, are good ones:

  • the fear of sleep deprivation is no longer as strong. The stakes at work are much higher whereas no one gets sacked for putting the car-keys in the fridge
  • small children throwing tantrums are infinitely preferable to the teenagers who threw swear words and the occasional pencil/ ball of spittle-stuck-paper/ chair
  • boredom and frustration sometimes rear their heads but there isn’t the eye-popping, migraine-inducing level of S.T.R.E.S.S that being a teacher entailed

While others are B.A.D:

  • conversation consists of endlessly repeating what the two-year-old said so that he stops, interspersed with lectures on the skin colour of Polar Bears (black, fwiw) from the four-year-old, and asking her if she is hungry/ needs a wee
  • you get followed to the toilet
  • there is no tangible progression, no acknowledgment
  • there is no salary

The question it often feels like is really being asked is, is staying at home easier than going to work?

Its a sticky, tricky one, full of potential flash points and petty resentment, something I’m aware of as I admit that despite all my hand-wringing I find staying at home with my children easier than what I did before.

But then I had a job that sometimes felt like war, 14 hour days and working weekends were not uncommon, and I have enough friends telling me going to work is a dollyhob compared to being at home to be confident this is not the case for everyone.

About as commital as a pre-Amal George Clooney I know, BUT one thing I will insist is that staying at home with the children IS like having a job.

The point is that there is a distinction to be made between keeping children alive, and parenting. Which, incidentally, is why Jeremy Kyle’s sofas are never going to be bereft of guests.

The day-to-day triumvirate of providing sustenance, hygiene and entertainment is not parenting. That is looking after children.

Parenting is about the example you set, the choices you make, the values you instill, the heartache that accompanies all of those, and the hope that the overall outcome of your literal blood, sweat and (lots of) tears will be a Good Human.

It is generally accepted that when mums and dads, through choice or necessity, entrust their children to someone else to look after, they are not abandoning their position as a parent.

And from the other side of the (invisible) coin, if someone else – whether it be a childminder, nursery, nanny or the next-door neighbour’s teenager – gets paid for doing what you do for free, then I don’t see why it can’t be classed as a job?

One that is really hard work.

Just like the job your other half does when he/she leaves the house.

It’s all hard work.

So instead of wasting time arguing over who has the biggest shit-show for a life, why don’t we all just agree that challenge and compromise exist whichever way we turn?

Rather than sticking up the vees behind one another’s back, lets heartily pat each other  instead, because the bottom line is that we’re all doing the best J.O.B that we can.

Why parents are the real losers on V-Day

I’m writing this imagining that we’ll be marking V-Day by sitting on the settee, not touching, while I dick around on my phone and he pretends he’s not asleep.

We might splash out on a takeaway, although if I get motivated the M&S Meal Deal seems the correct amount of lack-of-effort-but-let’s-pretend-we’ve-tried.

To be honest, we probably wouldn’t be celebrating “properly” even if we didn’t have two children running us ragged because (while I’m aware that this is a bit wanky) we don’t like being told what to do by card and flower companies trying to make a bit of extra cash in between the actual “things” of Christmas and Mother’s Day.

If you’re busy planning your celebrations however, and are now annoyed at me for belittling your heartfelt romantic gestures, please don’t be – it’s perfectly possible that I’m twisted because no one ever bought me chocolates, a card, breakfast in bed or flowers on the 14th Feb. (At this point the Mr is going to pipe up with “I have!” in an incredulous tone because last year he bought me some Maltesers).

Given my lack of experience in this field of roses, I’m also uncertain about the etiquette of Valentine’s – is the onus on the man treating the woman, or is the idea that the man and woman are nice to each other?

And if it’s a man and man, or woman and woman, who buys the present/flowers/ card then?

And what if you are (whisper it…) S.I.N.G.L.E on Valentine’s Day? Well, there I do have an answer because every year there seems to be a concerted effort by “the media” to make people who are single on Valentine’s Day “feel better” about it.

Last year a video called Why being single is the best gift you can give yourself did the rounds and, intrigued, I watched.

The assumption of the video, and the numerous articles I read while in freefall down this particular internet rabbit hole, seemed to be that being single is shit and anyone who is single on this particular day feels even more shit than usual, therefore they need advice to make them feel less shit.

Now, I appreciate that I’m not the target audience for these intensely patronising pieces so you’re welcome to shout “what do you know?” at your computer screen, but some of the “advice” was errrr, a bit shit?

One of the articles I read encouraged single people to go out and buy themselves a Valentine’s Day present. Call me a coupled-up clueless fool, but the last time I checked, going and spending your own money on something for yourself, was called “shopping”. No?

Anyway, that’s not really my point. What I’ve actually popped up all half-empty to say is that contrary to popular opinion, single people are not to be pitied on Valetine’s Day, parents of small children are the ones who suffer most.

And no one is making us feel better.

There is a chance that having met a person with whom we have procreated, the people who write these borderline-offensive How to cope on Valentine’s Day features think we have got it sorted. But it seems to me that all of the traditional methods of celebrating this occasion are no-go (or at least hard-to-go) areas for parents.

Romantic meals? Ha.

Special expensive chocolates? Will only be eaten standing up behind a cupboard door lest they be sniffed out, demanded, chewed up and spat out once reality dawns that Belgian Truffles don’t taste like chocolate buttons. You’ll probably be expected to willingly accept the slimy mess, complete with strings of attached saliva into your outstretched palm, and will then have to find somewhere to wipe it without smearing it over handles or drawers. Or you could just eat it.

Flowers are fine as long as you don’t have a small child who likes to eat them.

Candlelight? Four words – Disney Princess polyester dresses.

Basically, all the “romantic” stuff doesn’t just make the single people sad, it’s also a thorny rose in the heart of the average parent.

And all of this, of course, assumes that you’re still in a relationship with the person you had sex with and made another person. Eff me – imagine what V-Day is like for people who are single AND have small children?

Anyway, in a pleasurable backlash against the sappy soppy sloppy flowers and card brigade of which I am definitely not one although perhaps maybe possibly one day someone will buy me a card and some flowers and give me a kiss and some breakfast in bed and take the children away for a few weeks…sorry… there are people out there who take pleasure in marking Valentine’s day in rather less typical ways.

A trip to Ikea? A £5 Superdrug voucher? A cross stitch proclaiming “Come the fuck in, or fuck the fuck off”? Or perhaps some cookies with the words penis, cunt and cock emblazoned across them? No?

Well, perhaps you would like to celebrate by being sick on the kitchen floor at 3am after one too many on a girls’ night out, and gift your husband the pleasure of mopping it up?

Whatever way you look at it though, V-Day for parents is not even close to victorious. Especially when you realise that this year it lands on a Tuesday during HALF. TERM.

Roses are dead

Romance is too

When you have small children

Surviving is sometimes all you can do.