Today is national “Take Your Kid to Work Day” or “Bring Your Children to the Office Day” or “Escort Your Sons and Daughters to a Soundproof Room as Far Away from My Desk as Possible, You Fucking Psychopath Day” and as such, my office has been transformed into a crayon-littered war zone, if wars took place amid cubicles and were fought by tiny sugar-amped scream machines.
I understand the purpose of such Take Your Kid to Work Day: to let your kids into a mysterious part of your life and show them you do when you’re not at home; to teach them about work; to inspire their work ethic; to scare your childless colleagues off of having children of their own; to grind all productivity to a halt. But that doesn’t mean it makes much sense.
Having kids around does not a stress-free workday make, whether in the office or at home. I learned that a few years back, and Mom and Buried is discovering that now, only for her it’s every day and not once a year.
So in honor of “Get Your Kid Out of my Face I’m Trying to Get Something Done! Day”, I’m resurrecting the aforementioned older post, about “working” from home when there’s a kid around.
Here’s an excerpt from the original post, all of which you can read here:
When I first realized my job allowed for the occasional work-from-home day, I was thrilled. And my wife was through the roof. After all, we had a baby due soon, and when that little guy landed, my wife was going to need all the help she could get, especially during the first few weeks and months of dealing with a newborn. So having me at home once in a while was going to be great. What she didn’t count on was the “work” part of “working from home.”
Original Post: Home-work Almost as Bad as Actual Homework
I’ve shared my thoughts about raising Detective Munch with religion before. I’ve even discussed why he was circumcised (COME AT ME, BRO!).
But as a Catholic so lapsed the term just plain doesn’t apply anymore, I’m a little conflicted. I definitely think some of the more universal values Christianity teaches (kindness, discipline, humility) do a kid good, and despite the problematic trappings, it’s a decent delivery system for them. And yet, he’s never been to church. Until yesterday.
Growing up, I went to Church every weekend, and my parents still do. And although I’m not sure how well years of catechism and church-going and Catholic high school did me, we are currently living with my parents. And “when in Rome,” right?
So went along to Easter mass. And my son took it about as seriously as I do. Consider Sunday schooled.
We’ve moved! Mostly.
Right now, we are in limbo at my parents in CT while I commute to Manhattan during the week and hunt for a Brooklyn apartment on the weekend. (Yup, from BK to NC and back again.) It’s stressful and exhausting and it generally sucks, for everyone except my son. He gets to spend all day with Grandma, gorging on juice boxes and cracker parties and chocolate chip cookies. He’s like a pig in shit. But he’s wiping my parents out.
To offer them a reprieve, sometimes Detective Munch comes down to NYC too. And if you thought apartment hunting in NYC was hard, try doing it with a 3yo by your side.
Over the weekend, I read a couple of parenting articles in The New York Times.
It was some intense reading full of hardcore facts and figures and suggestions and techniques, and I came away from it thinking that I have no idea what I’m doing as a parent. Which is totally cool, because I already knew that. It helped to discover that, judging by the articles, no one else knows what they’re doing either.
But thank God I don’t believe in parenting experts because even if I did, I have no idea how I’d be expected to even remember all the so-called “best” techniques, let alone have the wherewithal and discipline to implement them.
Everyone knows that living with a toddler isn’t all fun and games. In fact, I’ve spent a fair amount of time whining about the fact that it’s NO fun and games.
Today I’m going to let you in on a little secret: it’s SOME fun and games.
A lot of it is stressful and loud and crowded and dirty, but the good parts make it all worth it. So, no: living with a toddler is NOT like being in prison (except when it is). It’s actually more like going to an amusement park.
Allow me to explain…
As I suggested last week, every parent has secrets. Unfortunately, not every parent has a blog via which they can express their innermost feelings under sarcastic cover (I swear!) and therefore escape the wrath of their spouse and children and the authorities.
Understanding this, I have created a “Buried Secrets” forum, this well of souls, where any parent who feels the need to can get something off their chest without fear of judgment (you know how we feel about that) or embarrassment or the NSA.
Just kidding, I can’t hide from them! Thankfully they already know all of our secrets anyway.
Everyone has secrets, including parents. Especially parents!
Part of being a good parent is teaching your children right from wrong. In order to do that, they have to believe that you occupy the moral high ground and that you have the authority to judge what is right and what is wrong. You can do this in two ways: you can explain that you learned the difference over a lifetime of your own experimentation and your own failures and your own mistakes – which will backfire until your kid is at least 25 and finally understands just enough about life that he realizes the truth behind that; OR, you can lie. Mostly by omission.
The more your kids know about you, the harder your job will be. Trust me. I’m a regular Don Draper at home; my son has no idea what my real name is and I smoke like a chimney.
Here’s a list of some of the secrets that I keep from my son, and will continue to keep, at least until he’s old enough to hear them over a few beers.