Returning to Work After Being a Stay-At-Home Mom: Tips & Survival Guide!

If you’re a mom who must return to work or is dying to get back on the “employed” line, it can be an adjustment after being home with your kids. Here are some great tips in this article to help prep you for the job interview, search, and first days back!

You Can Do It!

Your Internet Sister,

Laura

Thanks to the Age of the Pinterest and DIY Mom, we average wives are in danger..

I check out numerous pages, blogs, and social media sites to see mommies and wives who cook everything from scratch. Every toy is hand-built. Nothing is made in China.

While I strive to avoid unhealthy food and junk ( I’m insane about avoiding processed stuff and juice –only for a treat), I am not a DIY mommy truly. I try to DIY and love/insist on keeping the television off and expanding on pretend play, but I am not a Pinterest Mommy. I am not  DIY mommy.

Some of the most mouth-watering foods and recipes are posted by the best mom cooks and chefs.

I’m starting to feel envious.

I would love one of these moms to be my wife.

All I need is for you to cook and never complain. Be sure to clean up after your cooking projects. Don’t leave any dirty dishes in the sink. When you’re done doing the cooking, might you make a bunch of toys and play objects for my kid to play with? Because you’re my Pinterest Wife, and that’s what wives do.

I will sit here and do what I do best. Educate, Enact a billion character voices. Teach my kid how to sing. Read to her. Teach her how to count in French and what the words cavort, cajole, and charm mean.

The Pinterest Wives of the World are making the regular wives and moms look bad. It’s like the PTA mother of the year on steroids:

The PTA mom brought cupcakes, stayed home, and never yelled.

The Pinterest DIY mom caters full events, makes all toys, keeps a clean house, never yells, never picks her nose when anyone is looking or flirts with younger men, and always darns her husband’s socks.

The Pinterest DIY mom can afford to stay home and buy everything organic, including organic band-aids. Hell, the DIY mom makes her own damn band-aids. Her husband goes to work daily with a homemade meal, and for every holiday event at work, he brings a full-spread, courtesy of DIY mom.

When I make dinner every night, I clap for myself.

When I have taught my daughter how to draw Charlie Brown, I cheer.

These moms and wives are making the regular folks like me, an endangered species. Pretty soon, no one is going to want to befriend us on the playground, and our husbands will leave us for more crafty types who make their own clothes, paint their nails with homemade nailpolish, and even furnish and decorate the house like a professional.

The average woman will be home in fear that she will be ridiculed for her store-bought polish, average home, and half-assed crock pot dishes.

Instead of being alone on the swings and divorced because I can’t make homemade pie crust, I’ve decided to enlist one of you DIY moms for my very own.

I promise to water you, but I will never feed you.

You can make your own damn food.

Signed,

A mom who likes to make brownies from the package, and flirt with the young guys at the pizza place, in no particular order.

No, I did nothing all day. I’m just a mother

It’s the year 2013, yet somehow, women’s lib forgot to notify the rest of the world that being a mother is a job.

Do I  work outside of the home? Why yes indeedy, I do. Do I make a paycheck week to week? Yes. Is it a large paycheck? No. For now. No Jewish girl wants to live on a small paycheck forever, I assure you that. I enjoy what I do, and like working, but what about my most important job. 

The one job that I cannot list on my resume.

I mean my boss, my 32 inch daughter, never hands me over a paycheck, so maybe it isn’t really–gasp–work.

Instead, I get paid in the following denominations:

temper tantrums

declarations of “No, Mommy. I sit by self. You sit there Mommy.”

Letters, shapes, colors, and number recognition.

The triumphant sound of her counting in French.

Saying her letter sounds while playing with magnetic letters.

Tears.

Hugs

Countless re-runs of “You’re a good sport Charlie Brown.”

demands

tossed food

dirty diapers

and…dirty potties.

It won’t pay the mortgage, but how much does a healthy, well-adjusted child equal?

I wish men, and strangers would value child-rearing the way I do. I wish I didn’t have to hear how “easy” it is all day long.

Of course, it’s fun sometimes, and even easy. However, no one seems to remember the sleepless nights. My sore boobs. The shouts for toys in the middle of the store. The trips to the pediatrician. The tears. The temper tantrums because apparently asking your child to wear a sweater is akin to murdering Snoopy.

I don’t have a big paycheck. I only work part-time. I write, I teach, and generally, make people laugh.

What a friggin shock it is to be in my thirties and discover that even in the millennium, people do not value what they feel is woman’s work. Do you think it is fun to do laundry or food shopping while chasing after a pint-sized Castro? It certainly doesn’t give me an orgasm, but I would just love for the people telling me how easy it is, to do what I do, as well as I do.

If my child goes to bed happy tonight, I have done my job.

If my child goes to bed cranky tonight, guess what? I still have done my job. I probably didn’t give in to one of her crazy notions. I stood my ground and taught her that sometimes, you don’t get what you want, but you will survive.

For all you people thinking that your day job is somehow more work or more important than raising my child–or any child for that matter, I ask you this?

Can you be happy all day long, and emotionally balanced, even if you are having the shittiest day and the world is about to end?

Can you teach a child to read, write, sing, play, and laugh?

Can you nurse a baby while taking a shit, and trying to brush your teeth?

Can you do the laundry while potty training a child, and putting on your makeup for your night job?

if the answer is yes, then you are potentially qualified to do my job.

If the answer is no, then I offer you this:

Your job is way easier than mine pal. I will gladly trade you my vagina for your penis and get to be you.

Or maybe I wouldn’t because then I wouldn’t get to do nothing all day, while masturbating and eating bon-bons, and have so much fun raising the best, sweetest, and bossiest two year-old ever.