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ReInvention Time

My Midlife Crisis To-Do List

I wasn’t unhappy about turning 40. As anyone who has had cancer knows, the adage that birthdays “beat the alternative” rings true. The combination of turning 40 and my youngest child going off to preschool (thus giving me several hours each day without child-rearing responsibilities), however, has caused me to reflect upon where I am in life and where I still want to go. Some folks emerge into their 40s with expensive cars, affairs, and a dive bomb into a new career. I find myself hitting the midlife arena armed with quite a bit less drama. I happen to like my mini-van, as well as my husband, and I couldn’t shake my kids off my tail if I tried.

So how does a hyper-practical stay-at-home mom of 4 who still has grandiose delusions of doing something daring with her life (but not sure yet what) go through a midlife crisis? I make a list, of course. Consider these my to-dos for 40:

  1. Say Yes. Most parents will say that they have the opposite problem – that they say yes too often and as a result they are stressed out and overwhelmed. I don’t have that problem. I say no. A lot. In the not-so-great movie Yes Man, Jim Carrey is encouraged to say yes to every question that comes his way. Hilarity ensues, as does, eventually, self-fulfillment. Since my life isn’t a Hollywood movie (ain’t nobody gonna wanna see that one), I don’t think it is necessary to go off the deep end to still see some positive results from opening myself up to new opportunities.
  2. Find a passion (or two). It’s a cliche, I know, but I spent my 30s waist-deep in the trenches of being a full-time caretaker for my family. If I had interests before I had kids, I don’t even remember them anymore. Time to figure out what gets me grooving.
  3. Get nerdy. I got my first email account my sophomore year in college. I had to submit a request to the Computer Sciences department and pay a user fee of $15. I was on the cutting edge. Now, my kids talk about MineCraft for what seems like hours on end as my eyes glaze over and my brain turns to Jello. My three year old already navigates the iPad as though she had access to the Apple Genius Bar in the womb. At the current rate of technological advances, I’ll need my children to show me how to turn on my own shower by the time I’m 50. I’ve never been a technology junkie, but I’m not going to become a relic. If my kids are going to look down on me one day, it’s going to be because I am too old to remember their names as they are changing my diaper and not just because I need their help logging on to my Pinterest account.
  4. Travel. I don’t know anyone who wouldn’t add this to their list of “what I’d like to do more of.” I’ve only been out of the country twice in the last 40 years and I count states that I have flown into to try and make that travel list look more impressive. I have no budget for travel this year, and the thought of dragging 4 kids along with me is mind-numbing, but I’m determined. I will see new places, dammit!
  5. Write. I was a Creative Writing major in college who went on to work first in business middle management, then in child rearing. Over time, my creative juices continued to ebb until all I was left with were some computer disks that predate the new millennia that contain writing samples that I can’t even figure out how to access. I’ve missed using that part of myself, but I have found that the act of writing is a lot like exercising. When it’s a regular habit, it can, at times, seem effortless. You might even find a healthy dose of exhilaration in it. Take a long hiatus (lets say 15 years, more or less), however, and the restart can be a bitterly painful experience.

So that’s my list. Five items, one year. Ambitious? Sure, but last I checked, there aren’t any do-overs.

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The Art of ReInvention

The last time I wrote a resume, people were still stuffing their basements with apocalypse supplies in preparation for the anticipated Y2K disaster. That resume landed me a great job with a great company where I worked for many years. I made friends, travelled, earned promotions and made lots of money. The stuff career dreams are made of.

Then I had babies.

I tried, after the first baby, to maintain my prenatal workload despite the introduction of nursing bras and zero sleep. Even after the second baby I kept going, maintaining some sense of balance by  reducing my work hours. By the third pregnancy (yes, we know what causes it, and yes, it was planned), my career had completely taken a back seat to my family. I opted out of the workforce. I was tired of being jealous of the nanny, tired of feeling like I was doing a crappy job at work, and tired of feeling like I was doing an even crappier job at home. I was just tired.

I’ve now been a stay-at-home parent for six years. It’s been a lovely six years and I actually (honestly) have no regrets. I’ve been a better parent and a better – I’ll say it – person since I’ve been at home with my kids. We’ve had one more kid since then (yep, that one was planned too) and added a dog. My staying home to take care of our family full-time was the right decision, without question.

Then came this, a game changer: My youngest child started preschool. For the first time in the six years that I have been a stay-at-home parent, I don’t have a child to stay at home with.

For those of you who don’t have kids, let me make one thing perfectly clear. “What are you going to do all day?” isn’t the right question. My family eats at home – I cook. One income doesn’t afford us a maid – I clean. Six people dirty a lot of clothes – I launder (oh, so much laundry). Schools need tons of support – I volunteer. I grocery shop, fix broken things, help with homework. My day isn’t lacking for “things” to do.

The right question is, “What do you want to do all day?” For six years, I’ve devoted myself solely to parent-y, household-y activities. While I know that none of those things are going to disappear now that all my children are in school, I don’t want them to command my focus. Yes, without children at home it might, just might, be possible for me to be caught up with laundry, at least most of the time. Hell, I bet I could even learn to master the most dreaded of household chores: fitted-sheet-folding. But I don’t want to. (Irresistible aside: does it really matter if your sheets are rolled in a ball? have you ever had someone come over and look in your linen closet and remark on the mess that’s there? have you ever had someone come over and look in your linen closet?). I’m not saying that running a household isn’t important, just that I don’t want it to be all that important to me.

The beauty of my situation is that my family isn’t dependent upon my income generation (although more money would be really, really nice to have). Without dollars clogging up the equation, I feel no pressure to walk a path that isn’t ideal. For now, I get to ask the question “What do I want to do now?” and enjoy the pursuit of uncovering the answer.

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