Jen's Column / Working from home

When people learn that I work from home, they sometimes say, “I could never do that! I’d go crazy!” But mostly they say, “You are so lucky.”

And they’re right. I am lucky. I get to do what I love while hanging out with the people I love. It’s a good gig.

Don’t get me wrong. There are days when I’m crazed. There are days when I wonder why I ever thought I could balance stay-at-home mom with stay-at-home work. There are days when, after getting the boys in bed, the kitchen cleaned and the school papers signed, I finally sit down to work and realize it’s 11 p.m.

There are days my husband comes home from work, innocently asking whether I had a chance to throw his blue shirt in the laundry and I shoot daggers from my eyes as I say, “Did YOU throw a load of laundry in when YOU were at work today?”

For the most part, however, I think I’ve finally worked out the kinks. Now that our boys are in school I even get to work when it’s light out sometimes. (Oh, the luxury!) The best part? I can make my phone calls during my five-year-old’s morning kindergarten class.

Oh yes, I’ve learned my lesson.

There was the time that my office phone rang while my boys and I were building a mammoth Lincoln Logs ranch in the playroom. I’d been waiting for this call all day, so I was ready with the phone at my side. I answered as I sprinted to my office, rounding the corner to the hall in a blur… until I slipped on a paperback book and went flying into the living room on all fours. I twisted. I turned. I yelled, “No, no, it’s a good time! Let me just look that up for you…” while simultaneously extricating my legs from under the couch and waving my hands wildly at my boys who’d decided now would be a good time to jump on Mommy’s back.

Ah, memories.

There was the time I got a call from a new editor — an editor who was notoriously hard to reach and whom I wanted desperately to impress. My three-year-old and I were wrestling in the living room when the phone rang. “Stay here and be quiet as a mouse, OK?” I begged.

The look in his eyes told me that he took my words as a challenge. The race was on: His stocking feet padded down the hall behind me as I jogged to my office. “Tom!” I said in a rush of breath as I lifted the receiver to my ear. “This might not be a good time. My son is…” And that’s all poor Tom heard before my little guy lifted the extension, yelled, Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!” into the handset and pulled the line out of the wall.

And then there was the moment that sums up my work-from-home/stay-at-home career. I was on the phone finishing up an interview with a story source. We were just about done, and I was feeling very, “I am work-from-home woman, hear me roar!” when we both heard my son’s voice coming from the bathroom: “Mommy!” he yelled. “Wipe my butt!”

Yes, he did.

Those days are over. Now that the kids are older, in school, and — for the most part — reasonable people who can handle all required bathroom duties on their own, I should be OK. But just in case, if you call my office, don’t expect me to call you back anytime after morning kindergarten.