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Keeping A Homeschooling Perspective At Work

by N.S. Gill

Copyright © 1996 N.S. Gill

"Which job do you prefer, Mom? "The one that's like cleaning or the one that's like grocery shopping and meal preparation?"

"That's a tough one," I equivocated.

When we got married, my husband, Paul, was eager to have me stay at home. His mother had been home for him and he thought, although bucking the trend, being a homemaker was a valuable occupation. I agreed, not only because I had been unable to find a work niche that made me happy, but because I'd grown up during the Leave it to Beaver era without a mother to come home to. Instead, when I was five my father handed me house keys saying, "Don't tell anyone there's no one home or we'll get in trouble with the law."

When I had a young child of my own I didn't want him to face the fears I'd suffered. An eleven year old isn't a "young" child. For almost a year mine's been reluctantly willing to have his parents go to the Farmer's Market Saturday mornings while he watches cartoons. Persuading him to stay home alone for anything else has been impossible, but as a homeschooling mom it wasn't a serious problem until recently.

Financial Sacrifice

Homeschooling typically means the mother stays home to educate her children. This can involve such financial sacrifice that many of us are on the lookout for easy ways to earn a few bucks. Some sell Tupperware or Usborne Books, provide daycare, or, as the informational blurbs on the pages of this magazine attest, do freelance writing. Only the last idea appealed to me and it hasn't been a reliable source of income, so with what I believe is the majority of homeschoolers, our family makes sacrifices and is proud of being able to do without.

Sometimes, I confess, I wish we didn't have to be so cheap.

My friend Shari planted the germ of an idea a few years ago when she started working in a toy store. For her homeschooled family, dependent on toys as ours is on the computer, it made sense to work and receive the hefty discount. Then another friend and homeschooler, sought out part-time employment at a yarn shop to help support her knitting addiction. Another friend sent her children off to religious school and herself to a fabric store to feed her sewing habit. All of us have preteens; two also have little children. If they could go out a couple of afternoons a week, then maybe I could--if I had incentive.

Last winter provided it. My son and I agreed staying in bed watching the VCR, unable to read because it's impossible to turn pages with mittens, was boring. Yes, my son, the television addict, agreed that doing nothing but staying under five layers of comforters in bed with the blue glow of television day in and day out was worse than almost anything. So, yes, I could go out to work if it meant we would avoid future winters of hibernation.

Saving Up For Winter Sanity

My objective was to earn enough money so my son and I could go south for the worst three months of winter. Paul, who had returned from a brief convention in Las Vegas to a brutally cold Minnesota, agreed our family needs to find a better climate. Unfortunately child support has him locked into his job for another five years, until his daughters are twenty-two. But that doesn't mean our son and I couldn't do some advance scouting. If we wanted to try out different cities and I could arrange the money, then go for it, Paul said.

That I walked into the local nutritional supplement store to apply for a job was a fluke--almost. The previous manager had offered me a job. Like my friends before me, I was walking into a store where I already spent money. This time I was buying Dong Quai. Incidentally I asked the manager if they had any openings. "For you?" he asked excitedly. . . .

I haven't exactly lived up to his expectations. My mind isn't as swift as it once was even though I've been taking Ginko Biloba. One time through the operations of what looks like a cash register but is actually a very fussy computer was not enough. Nor could I distinguish among the myriad L-xxx amino acids. Let alone the stuff that increases body weight. (Whatever for? I always want to ask.) The managers wanted me because I do know European herbs--although, unfortunately, not the more popular Chinese ones. My first day of work in almost thirteen years I arrived a bit early and wound up anxiously waiting more than a half hour for the manager. My son, who was with me to see what work was like, also planned to hover around the mall, at the library, and at a nearby store where he'd wrangled a job of his own with payment in store credit. The manager gave my son a quizzical look but didn't say anything. When I put on the company's introductory tape and headset, I sent my son away. He did what we'd planned, returning briefly, but frequently, to tell me where he'd be next.

What To Do With My Son?

The idea of staying home alone for six hours bothered my son, so he accompanied me on my second day of work, too. He followed me around the store and must have been rudely surprised when I had to interrupt him to help customers. As an only child, he's used to being the center of attention--mom's, at any rate.

Thinking over the two days, I felt that one day a week at the mall wouldn't do him any harm because there was plenty to occupy him for one four or five hour shift, but anymore than that might be child neglect. I asked the obliging manager to adjust my schedule to one weekday and one weekend shift (when Paul would be home) instead of the three weekdays I'd originally requested.

I had avoided weekends in the first place because I wanted to spend time with my husband. Paul gets home late and leaves before dawn, so I don't see him much except on weekends. By working Saturdays I would be depriving myself of his company but at least I would be giving our son the opportunity to do the things he and his father enjoy and I detest--like going window shopping at computer stores.

Housework Doesn't Do Itself

By the end of the first week, I'd only made the beds twice, and hadn't gotten around to vacuuming at all. I ignored the dishes. The kitchen floor had crumbs. All the stuff we normally spread throughout the week was crammed into my free days and, to make matters worse, I got on one of my schooly binges. Since he was spending all day either at the mall or on the computer, I wanted my son to put in some time on his Latin and math- -or reading, but we'd have to wait almost a week to get to the library to find something enticing.

If we could only get everything into a tightly knit schedule, it would be all right, I said to myself. Last summer, when we had a French boy as guest for a week, we had four organized, daily sit down meals, trips all over the city, and time for housework. The dishes were always done and the beds made. If we could do it for a guest, surely we could do it for ourselves.

At five dollars an hour it was going to take more than the seven or eight months until our departure date to earn the money. It seemed clear I needed another job. Near my house, in our sleepy little neighborhood, is a coffee shop. I'd done enough restaurant work that I figured I could get a job there and I was right. I would start at 6:30 AM and work until noon three days a week. My son, who normally awakens at nine, would eat breakfast, dawdle, do his own thing and then bring a book to the coffee shop for my final hour of work. Basically, that's what happened, except, since I went to sleep at 9 PM, my son stayed up until 1:30 AM watching Conan O'Brien and beyond. He barely awoke in time to join me at the coffee shop. Then the next night, after I'd gone to sleep, he woke me up for food.

Meals are a source of frustration in our house. My son picks at unsatisfactory meals, then demands more food later. Even when we have "good" meals, he can only eat a small quantity at one sitting. Normally when he shouts "food" at me as he agonizingly holds his stomach in mimicry of a starving Biafran, I enumerate what is available and remind him once the dishes are done, so is my job. But he's so unaccustomed to hunting for himself that when his stomach rumbled at 9:30 PM, he figured I'd better do something about it. Besides, the dishes were still in the sink.

After I started the second job things got worse. Far from following a schedule, I was so tired I fell asleep and burned the beans I'd presoaked the night before. We started doing what for us was the equivalent of eating TV-dinners--we ate turkey burgers three nights in a row. I began to think seriously of getting a microwave oven.

Work at the coffee shop is hard. The space is large and stuff is shelved from floor to ceiling to accommodate a 6'9 owner. Besides moving the stool around incessantly to suit my 5'3 frame, I got exhausted the first few days running to the kitchen and back, cleaning, prepping, washing dishes by hand and learning the prices, all without a break. Basically, however, there was nothing new and little I don't do at home--other than rinse my dishes in bleach and get paid.

The worst day at the supplement store came early on when neither the manager nor I had slept the night before. Nothing went right. We didn't sell anything. Someone shoplifted. My bored son hung around the store more than ever. Since then things have been better. The worst day at the coffee shop came early on, too, but a little sleep won't solve the problem. I knew when I was hired that bosses split the tips--when they worked with us. What I didn't know was that when they sat comfortably for hours on chairs in their office, we still had to split tips with them. I wish I could tolerate injustice better.

So when my son asked which I preferred, cleaning or grocery shopping and meal prep, he was referring to my characterization of my job at the coffee shop as cleaning (hard, repetitive, predictable work) and the work at the nutritional supplement store (often unappreciated, frustrating and incomprehensible as any job for a large corporation, but occasionally creative and richly rewarding) as like meal prep.

I answered his question, "It depends." But since we homeschool for principles, it's hard to imagine I'll be able to stomach the workplace injustice at the coffee shop for long. the supplement may vary from day to day. I may not know where I stand, but at least we keep our commissions on separate register keys. Besides, I'm learning stuff I want to know--about Oriental herbs and other health products.

Do We Eat to Live or Live to Eat?

I guess when I think seriously about my son's question, the answer is clear. And not just metaphorically. I do enjoy cooking gourmet meals following Julia Child's Mastering the Art series, but our family can't tolerate a steady diet of heavy cream (or turkey burgers). The mundane pasta with tomato sauce, rice and beans, are as boring for me to cook and my family to eat as they are healthful, but just as we can occasionally indulge, so the health food/supplement store job sometimes gratifies me. Not so the cleaning, either at work or at home. Because I decided I had to earn a couple of thousand dollars, my son is at loose ends, vegetating at the mall one day, sleepless at home the next. Even though it's summer, he doesn't get to visit friends. And at five dollars an hour there's no end in sight. Maybe I missed the most important point about those mothers who work for a hobby. They don't need to work and can quit the moment the job proves unsatisfactory or they find they aren't meeting their children's needs.

As to money for our trip? Between the $500 I've already saved working the two jobs and my anticpated income from another five months at the supplement store, I should have about half. The idea of providing daycare in a new city is beginning to sound like a great way for both my son and me to meet new people.