So... what do you do?

           The other day I received a letter from Wesleyan University, my undergraduate alma mater, with information about an upcoming reunion. Enclosed was a form with pre-printed information that would, I assume, be included in some kind of alumni directory. "Please make any necessary changes and return," it said. It looked good at first: name, address, email... nothing had changed. But then I got to the "occupation" section, with "teacher" listed as my profession and Henderson County Public Schools as my employer. I hesitated before crossing off "Teacher." I mean, can't I still be a teacher, even though I don't have a job? But leaving it there felt disingenuous, like I'd made this decision to take care of my kids full time but wouldn't own up to it. Harder still was knowing what to put after I'd crossed it off. Stay-at-home-mom? Housewife? Homemaker? Daycare provider? Ugh. All of the possible labels felt wrong. I pictured someone at Wesleyan updating the directory and thinking, "She went to Wesleyan to be a 'homemaker?' You've got to be kidding me!" I imagined old classmates pitying my lack of ambition. Hell, sometimes I can't help but question it myself. I graduated summa cum laude with University Honors and now I'm pulling an over-loaded wagon around mindlessly, making dinosaurs pretend to snack on Clayton's toes, singing endless renditions of "The Wheels on the Bus." This is why, I think to myself, so many moms want to work. "I have more to give my child when I have the mental stimulation of work," they say diplomatically. In other words, "Being around my kid(s) all the time I'd die of boredom."
            Nonetheless, as Don gears up for the school year, I find that I am at peace with my decision not to go back to work. Privately, that is. It feels right for myself, my kids, my family. Publicly is another issue. Why does it matter to me what some worker at Wesleyan a thousand miles from here thinks of me? And why do I automatically assume they'd look at me with scorn? I remember when I went to my high school to tell my co-workers I wouldn't be coming back. I had steeled myself for their disappointment, a reaction of surprised or even pitying disbelief that I'd give up a job I so obviously loved. Instead I was touched by the affirmation I received: You'll never regret it; It was the best decision I ever made; It's the hardest job you'll ever do, but it will always be worth it. Many of the working moms I know looked wistful when I told them I'd resigned. More than one told me, "I wish I could do that."
          So why, I wonder, do I fear that, despite so many people's support of my decision and apparent admiration of the "job" I have taken on, I am secretly being looked down on? Why do I always hear the unspoken "just" in front of "stay at home mom?" Is it just my own insecurities that make me feel this way, or am I attuned to some subtle-- or maybe not so subtle-- societal message that being "just" a mom isn't really enough?
         Sometimes I feel like I'm being strangled by history. After all, wasn't it exactly what I'm doing now-- wife at home, taking care of house and kids-- that inspired The Feminine Mystique? All my life I have reaped the benefits of the feminist movement that proclaimed that women could do more, much more, than this. (All my life, too, I have reaped the benefits of having a brilliant mom who put her kids and family ahead of her career.) I remember how in high school a girl who rode my bus confessed one day that all she wanted to do in life was "have kids and keep house." I was amazed, disdainful, pitying... How could she have so little ambition when we finally had the freedom to do whatever it was we wanted?
         And, of course, that's what it comes down to, really. Nobody expects me to do this; I certainly don't have to. But I had the opportunity to ask myself, "What do you want?" and the freedom to choose. I love writing it like that, making it seem so simple, when at times the complexity of the issue overwhelms me. There are questions about housework (Now that I'm home, is it my job to unload the dishwasher?), money (Is it as much mine now as before?), career (How will this hiatus affect mine?), relationships (How do Don and I stay connected when our daily lives are now so different?) society (How do we value the job mothers do and still inspire women to climb to the top?), and craftsmanship (How do I do this job well?). Still, despite all the questions and complexity, there is a simplicity there that I'd do well to cling to. Clayton knows. Tonight at bedtime I talked to him about Townes coming to our house everyday--he's overjoyed at the prospect--when his mom goes to work. "His momma goes to work. His daddy goes to work. My daddy goes to work," he says. "You don't go to work." No, I take care of my kids, I say. "You take care of me, Sylvia, Dee Dee, and Townes!" He lists off the names slowly, thoughtfully, enthusiastically. He has no inkling of the little tendrils of shame I have to shake off every time I tell someone I'm no longer working. With him, there is absolutely no judgement; there is just joy. And that is the lesson for me tonight!