Did I Just Earn Myself a New Acronym?

My morning mug of coffee goes down like liquid velvet. Birds chirping, the tick-tock of a wall clock and my own keyboard pecks are the only sounds I hear. My two youngest are still asleep and their big brother is already off to his first day back at kindergarten following two weeks of Spring break.

I'm mulling a few things in the finite peace and quiet. Nothing major. Some items notable. Other passing and insignificant.

Let's start with a significant realization: Mama can still bring home the bacon. Make that mama can still bring home the bacon (work) FROM HOME -- even while the kids are still young enough to BE HOME, right alongside her, attempting to steal her attention from earning that very bacon.

Yes, I'm fresh off of two contract copyrighting jobs, one big, one small. Jobs that jogged my writing/editing brain. Jobs that reminded me that I "still got it." Jobs that rebooted my dwindling intellect. Jobs that made me feel proud that I accomplished them at all with three young children afoot, only feet away from their laptop-absorbed mama.

Jobs I couldn't have done without the help of fellow working mamas (thanks so much, Amanda) and mini-mamas (babysitters Alex and Camille). Jobs that I couldn't have done without the ever-patient Hubster's battery, memory and wireless card upgrades to my laptop, and without his uncanny ability to listen to me bitch about said jobs for hours on end. Oh, and there's the hours and hours of daddy-ing (I refuse to call this "babysitting" because it's simply not when you're the father) he logged in my absence (during my exciting "alone time" work escapes to free wireless-enabled coffee house after coffee house).

Jobs that made me feel rusty and naive for a number of reasons, the key reason being NOT CHARGING HOURLY and a HELL OF A LOT MORE. Jobs that made me wish I didn't obssess over the details, didn't expect perfection from myself. Jobs that I learned too late I could have charged upwards of $120 an hour for. Major mistake. Never again will I rush into work without having properly researched the market's "going rate" for comparable work/skills. (How could I afford to be picky when hard up for cash? I couldn't. I was happy to have paying work at all.)

Jobs that made me realize that I should have been achieving this kind of rewarding, paying work all along, all through my six years as a stay-home mom. Jobs that made me feel like a slouch for not taking them on earlier, for not easing my husband's financial stress before today.

(How many sentences can I feebly start with "Jobs"? Let me see ...)

Jobs. Work. Actual career output. Creative fulfillment. Reasons to wake up and get dressed OTHER than the kids, who must always be fed, nutritionally, physically, spiritually, developmentally and in every other way possible.

Last week, while steeped in 20-something neighborhood descriptions that I somehow meticulously researched and carefully wrote in stolen half-moments between (unhealthful, rushed) meals, (7-Eleven) groceries, (where's the clean underwear around here?) laundry, (so this is how Penicillin was discovered) dishes, (Shoot. We're late for another game!) basketball practices, (Um, late again?!) school drop-offs and pick-ups, I realized that I CAN work and stay-home mom (that's right - SAHM is more than a noun, it's verb ... just go with it, okay?).

Despite three-, four- and five-hour nights of sleep, despite mounting dust I never really dusted or could be bothered with in the first place, I CAN. I DID. I WORKED. (Crap. Now that he knows I can do both mom-ing and working, my husband will no doubt expect me to take on more!)

While helping feed the family (a teeny bit financially and generously literally), I fed myself. I fed my interests. I fed my writing passions. I won't hide that I fed my writer's ego a bit too. Okay, a lot.

There's something to be said for still chasing your career dreams while at-home mothering. Even if it's a bitch to do. Even if you aren't exactly writing fulfilling, award-winning content. I will never again shelve my selfish career desires. Thanks to WAHM-ing, I realize that I can dedicate far more time than before to crafting my book. No stalling. No whining. No excuses. No inhaling a pint of Ben and Jerry's instead of writing.

'Much respect to work-at-home moms who come 'round my (blog) way. For once, I DO know how you do it.