Which is Harder, Rock or Concrete?

The debate has been going on forever, I imagine. Which is harder – working a day job or taking care of the kids? I’ve stayed home, I’ve worked full-time and now I’m working half-time and I can tell you that I have found the answer.



They are just different.

You can’t compare them in an objective way, on the same scale. That would be like saying Brad Pitt is hotter than the sun. Well, maybe he is, maybe he’s not, they are just different.

I can say one thing, though. Taking care of the kids has more extremes.

Like the other day when I took the young girls to the pool. The girls were splashing and playing and smiling non-stop. The sun was warm on our skin and the water was keeping us cool.  We saw friends from the neighborhood, we made new friends and all the kids shared their pool toys. Then we had a snack of Goldfish crackers and ice water on our walk home in the red wagon.

Oh, my, times like these are so sweet and my job is so much easier than my husband’s that I feel I should give him special favors each night after the kids go to bed.

But then there are the other days. Like the other day when I was getting the girls ready to go to the pool.

Sparkles hits Buttercup. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” cries Buttercup. Time out for Sparkles. “MOOOMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYY,” cries Sparkles. Gather the sunscreen, pool toys, flip flops, extra swim diapers, snacks and towels. Sparkles is out of time out, but she doesn’t want to put her swim suit on. “Do you want to go to the pool?” “Yes.” She puts on her suit. I notice Buttercup isn’t tugging at my leg any more and I look up just in time to see her pull a towel off the counter where the sippy cups are drying and they all fall to the floor. She cries. I pick her up and she stinks. I change her poopy diaper, but she does her super-squirmy-wrestling-routine and she escapes, sitting her poopy butt down on the towels. I get Buttercup in her suit, Sparkles in her suit, put the dirty towels in the laundry and get new ones. Then as we head to the door, I trip on a sippy cup and fall to my knees.

Nothing especially dramatic happens, there isn’t one thing I can’t handle, it is the constant series of little things spaced out only by seconds, involving constant attention, a lot of screaming and unexpected physical pain.

Oh, my, times like these are so difficult and my job is so much harder than my husband’s that I feel he should give me special favors each night after the kids go to bed.

So, which is harder? Both. Neither. They just are what they are and for now and my husband and I will have to take turns with the special favors each night after our kids go to bed.