Dealing with negativism

Since I made the decision to quit my job and stay home, I've gotten more than enough opinions about it from pretty much everyone. Many, many people were supportive, and shared with me their experiences.

Then there were those who, to put it bluntly, told me I was insane. THEY could NEVER do it, nor did they want to. Those who couldn't be paid enough to stay home with the kids. Those who reminded me, lest I forgot somehow, that I had a Master's Degree. I responded simply by saying that it was the best decision for my family. Period.

The way I increasingly felt was that my kids' kidhood was slipping away faster than an icepop on a 97 degree summer day, and I was powerless to stop it.

I used to watch my little boy trudge off into someone else's house each morning at 6:30 to be put on the bus. Sometimes I could barely make out his form in the darkness, and I'd stifle the tears as I drove the hour to work. Yes, his babysitter was wonderful, supportive, and a lifesaver, but why wasn't I putting him on the bus?

I used to listen to my toddler crying for me through a classroom wall while I remained on the other side, trying to engage my own class of preschoolers. At some point in the school year, spending so much time with other people's children while mine cried for me a room away began to get to me. Separating at the preschool door with a tear is something MANY a parent has to go through. Listening to your child cry for you off and on for seven hours when you can't go to them is another. It just felt...wrong.

I felt disconnected from them. I was disconnected from them. So, degree or no, I decided that I had to take action soon.