![](\"http:\/\/s.xanga.com\/images\/laughing.gif\")
I’m kind of thinking the next time someone says, “So, do you work?” I’m going to say, “Yes, I do. I just don’t get paid anymore.” ![](\"http:\/\/s.xanga.com\/images\/silly.gif\")
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"If you are a typical stay at home mom, do you ever sort of squirm when someone casually asks you, “Do you have a job?” or even better, “So, are you still working?”<\/p>\n
It happens to me. Sometimes randomly when I meet someone new and we’re in that getting acquainted stage. Or the time I ran into one of my favorite nursing professors. Or just whenever I run into someone I haven’t seen in ages.<\/p>\n
I always squash down the little chuckle that is determined to get out and politely shake my head and say slowly, “No, I’m at home with the boys.” <\/p>\n
I have incredible respect for Mom’s who are also able to hold a job and for those who choose not to do so. It’s a matter of personal choice and I’m fine with leaving it at that. But “do you work?” is a really odd way of differentiating between the two if you ask me. <\/p>\n
Take this week for example (It’s an exceptionally bad one so I’m definitely using it to make a point. Believe me when I say I work but I do not always have to work this hard!). On Monday I ran six loads of laundry through the washer, picked up around the house … you know the typical after-weekend mess. We’d just come through a week of revival meetings at church and I think we were all tired physically. Clipped and filed the coupons from the Sunday paper. My mom was trying to choose a carpet sample for their house and decided to bring it over to compare with what we have. She brought subs for lunch and played with the boys and we all got a yummy break in the middle of the day because of it. That night I was up until nearly midnight trying to be successful making pumpkin rolls for the school hot lunch I was in charge of the next day. (We serve hot lunch at our church school the same day the ladies sewing day gets held. That means four women plan and make lunch for anywhere up to 80 or 90 people.) My first batch flopped so I had to make three instead of two. Tuesday I loaded up the boys, four pumpkin rolls, and 4 gallons of green beans dripping with brown butter and mushrooms and headed for school to meet the rest of my group. Arrived home at 3, tucked Liam into bed, talked with my book publisher for the next forty minutes and then had twenty minutes left to shower and get out the door for a photo session. David kept the boys and I headed to my friend Janelle’s house to hang out for a few hours. On Wednesday, we got together with David’s family to butcher 150 chickens. NOT a fun job and it was freezing cold outside; but it is absolutely wonderful to have a freezer stocked with hormone and antibiotic-free chicken again. And luckily I only had to take the tea and paper products for my part of the lunch. Yesterday Liam was finally acting completely normal again since the horrible food reaction he had Saturday. He played and played and ate and slept and smiled happy smiles. I did another seven loads of laundry (no, we don’t wear THAT many clothes in three days but I did all the bed linens and our jackets from Wednesday and Liam’s clothes still have to be washed separately), cleaned the house and restored order and placed a photo order. Whew!<\/p>\n
Today is a vacation day. It’s dreary out and just delicious inside. And I am not working. Not one little bit. That’s the nicest thing about “not working.” You can choose when you don’t work and when you really truly don’t work.<\/p>\n
But let me guess. You don’t work either? I’m kind of thinking the next time someone says, “So, do you work?” I’m going to say, “Yes, I do. I just don’t get paid anymore.” <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
If you are a typical stay at home mom, do you ever sort of squirm when someone casually asks you, “Do you have a job?” or even better, “So, are… <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-636","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p39ynQ-ag","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/636","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=636"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/636\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=636"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=636"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.michellebeachy.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=636"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}