I knew we were poor when I was growing up.

I knew the car we drove was beyond used.  I knew when the food I ate had come from a food bank.  I knew that we had to buy groceries from a list and that the type of juice we bought was dictated by government regulations.

And I knew better than to ask for things we couldn’t afford.

The reality of our circumstances could not have been concealed with even the most protective parenting.  I don’t, in any way, blame my mother for the fact that I knew more about money than most kids.  But at the same time, I’d always hoped to be able to protect my own children from that level of awareness.

Unfortunately, this sucktastic economy has put a swift end to those plans.

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Confession: I love business travel.  Now, I’m lucky that my need to travel for business is more rare (once or twice a quarter) and that nowadays it only requires a three hour drive.  But even when I traveled to lame places or had three hour layovers, I loved it.  And I didn’t feel guilty about it at all.

When I am traveling on company business, I’m not a mommy.  I am Robyn.  I am a highly-respected colleague.  I am a contributor to a team.  I am a problem-solver, a solution provider, and a subject matter expert. I feel like I’m Super-Woman instead of Super-Mom.  

The “Mom” in me is put on the shelf for a few days.  I don’t have to juggle. I don’t have to worry about what’s for dinner. I don’t have to wipe any butts.  Business travel is a luxurious break from my day-to-day reality.

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Boy, do we women love to talk about how we’re different.

And it takes about 30 seconds for those conversations to jump from “different” to “better” and “worse” and “harder” and “easier”.

The most recent example I’ve seen of this phenomenon is between the work-at-home-moms and the work-outside-the-home-moms.  Or the WAHMs vs WOHMs throwdown, as parental acronym experts call it.

For those of you who do not have to keep up with internet drama topical discussions on working mothers for the sake of a job, let me bring you up to speed.

Mother who works outside the home says working outside the home is different than working at home.  Possibly even harder.

Mother who works at home says working inside the home is real work, too.  Possibly even harder.

And mothers everywhere, once again, line up to take sides.

There.  You’re caught up.  Now, here’s my two cents.

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Maybe it’s because I was basically raised by a single mother.

Or maybe it’s just because I have a more dominant personality than my husband.

Whatever the reason, I’ve come to realize that I tend to think of my two children as my kids first, our kids second, and his kids when I am blaming their forgetfulness on his genes.

When it comes to making decisions about discipline, I am the long arm of the law in my house and I have final say on how poor behavior will be handled.  By the same token, when a child is sick or summer vacation leaves me with a 9 year old who needs child care during the day, it’s my job to figure out how to adjust work schedules and make new arrangements.

I’m not saying it’s fair - I’m just acknowledging that it’s how it is.

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I recently had the conversation with my boss about potentially going part-time.  With my son starting kindergarten in August, I’ve felt the overwhelming need to be at home.  It surely isn’t a desire to be a SAHM; I love and I need to work.  But there’s been this all-consuming feeling that I need to be home at least part-time. 

There are two people on our team that work part-time, so I know that my boss is open to the idea.  In fact, she herself has worked part-time in the past.  After the birth of her first daughter, she came back from maternity leave working three days a week and slowly moved back up to full-time.  She understands the need to work less hours.  But she also offered a very strong opinion on what it would do to my career.

Essentially, if I went part-time I would be giving up any and all opportunities to advance. 

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I am one of those women who struggles under the delusion that everything is my job.

And my responsibility.

And my fault.

I’ve never found that I can do everything, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying.  Or from feeling incredibly guilty when I fail.  Asking for help has been a last resort for me for as long as I can remember.

When my husband and I first started living together and sharing household expenses, I avoided asking him for money to pay bills.  I’d be down to my last dollar and in tears before I would bring up the uncomfortable topic of money and needing him to give me some of it.  He was always baffled that I hadn’t asked sooner.  We finally had to set up a joint checking account just to remove the option of me trying to handle everything on me own.

Issues.  I have them.

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