The First Day of School for a SAHM

What does the first day of school look like for a SAHM with no kids at home?

Disclaimer: I can talk about this because, for years, I have said the same to other SAHMs. Hell, I did it THIS year.

Click to enlarge

Click to enlarge


Polite, medicated, socially capable me responds like this:

“Enjoy your day off!”  I sure will.

“I can’t wait until all of my kids are in school all day!”  Oh, aware that my kids are actively listening to my response, it IS exciting, but I sure will miss having them home with me.

“Are you going back to work?”  For pay?  Not this year.

“What ARE you going to DO with yourself for an entire day?  All that free time!”  Well,  I have this book that I’ve been trying to write for a year– it’s such a great story, but fiction is hard.  And I volunteer a lot… 

My mouth, both good and bad, often flies solo.  It’s true, I just open my lips and watch the appropriately vapid responses stream out.  After all, these aren’t people stabbing me with a passive-aggressive-interest-knife.  In previous years, I’ve spoken similar words and received similar vapidity in response.

This is what I meant when I said these things to other SAHMs.

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No one else cares, so why should I?

Sometimes disgust and the resulting apathy is the right choice.  Let me explain.

It’s Saturday morning, the youngest kid is throwing a fit* because I won’t let him take a 4 week old bearded dragon on a scooter ride; the oldest kid is quietly sulking**; the husband is zoned out because he’s going out of town in the afternoon***.

*The boys worked for, and earned, the money to purchase two bearded dragons.  I, being the ultimate non-herpetologist chose the cheapest lizards, aka newborns.  Understandably, there were some early adjustment issues; we’ve all since relaxed.

**Apparently he was nervous about his first week of summer camp.

***JB’s out of town trip? To Amsterdam, the land of wooden shoes, delicious chocolate, and diet-breaking cheese of the heavens.  And Amsterdam.

I had grand plans for a day of family fun (who-hoo) that got smashed by negotiations and grocery shopping.  Well, my fun– the three of them went to chuck e cheese, while I wept over being lame.

So I might have started Monday pre-seasoned for bitter.


A week of karate camp for two boys from 8-4? That’s 35 hours of free time.  I had plans, both productive and creative.

Monday morning I started in the hall bathroom, determined to clean up some peeling caulk around the toilet.  I should have known better.

But this happened, causing me to just say fuck it (disgust and apathy).


Having my face inches from someone else’s piss crystals twisted something in my soul.  One of those pivotal, life-altering moments where the crystallized pee shone up into the cloudy sky, a beacon for the ultimate metaphor of wasted time and effort.

So I did this.

Baking Soda Soulmate

I am BFFs with large bags of baking soda.

Followed by this.

Kale Smoothie

Kale Smoothie in 4.3 seconds, thanks to the new blendtec.

And then this.

Baby Bearded Dragons and Kale

Convincing babies to eat pureed green stuff since 2007.

With several versions of this.

Bathing Baby Bearded Dragons

A warm bath for the babies.

And more of this than my kids need to know about.
Baby Bearded Dragons

Then today, on the very last day of my karate-camp vacation?  I did this.

And it was good.

Through Experience

Why is Exercising at Home so Hard?

I started trying to exercise at home 3 months post-partum with Elliot. A replicable correlation existed between his screaming and the first televised frame including a pony-tail/sports-bra wearing person.

Since I agreed with his peevish irritation at these women–- and their functioning pelvic floors-– I was quick to turn them off in favor potato chip. Or 50.

I considered joining a gym, with childcare. But they are expensive and none of them send a limo to my house forcing me to actually go. Exercising at home is so hard– but going somewhere else to do it is harder. For me.

Then I started running. And I ran. A lot.

Then I didn’t run for a long time.

And I won’t run in the dark, or on the treadmill.
Or in a box, with a fox– wait, I got mixed up with Dr. Suess again.

A) Refusing to run at night while still B) wanting to run should logically result in C) waking up earlier.

Logic– she be a bitch. Attempts at molding myself into a cheerful, alarm-clock setting, morning person continue to be completely unsuccessful.

Wait– you are a morning person; 2 AM is the morning. Technically, yes– but unhelpful for my purposes as I’m certain that most of those running at 2 AM are being chased.

All of the above frippery merely to announce that I queued a bunch of fitness/dance/yoga videos on youtube so I could torture Elliot workout in the afternoon.

I’ve asked Elliot to join me– especially with the kick-boxing– to which he responds by gently suggesting that I’ve lost my damn mind.

Peeved Elliot

He and I– we’ve got a thing.

Thus, imagine my surprise, when during the belly dancing portion (don’t judge– have you seen the curves on traditional belly-dancers? Obviously these are my people), E sat up from his self-imposed couch prison, cocked an eyebrow, and said,

“wow, mom. You can really shake your butt!”

I’ve decided that he’s complimenting my superior dance moves, rather than commenting on the jiggle in my wiggle. But I sneaked cauliflower into his lasagna as revenge, just in case.

Kid-approved recipe: Cream Cheese and Chickpea Lasagna Rolls

My Small People are playing host to one of their BFFs while her mother is out of town. I always get motivated to cook real food, which sends me to pinterest. I found a lasagna roll recipe on pinterest. Spinach wasn’t gonna fly here, so I started with an inspiration and made some tweaks. Sound familiar? I ended up with a Cream Cheese, Cauliflower, and Chickpea Lasagna Roll recipe that was both delicious and healthy!


    Lasagna noodles
    8 ounces of cream cheese
    Frozen cauliflower
    1/2 can of garbanzo beans (chick peas)

I added a meat sauce, but the garbanzo beans have enough protein to make this unnecessary. After assembly, cover with foil, pop a few holes, and then bake at 350 degrees for about 40 minutes.

Boil the noodles

Boil the cauliflower. Bonbon ninja mode prevents photograph taking!

For the love of… HIDE THE EVIDENCE.

Blend the cauliflower with about 2 tablespoons of water. Hurry up and add the cream cheese before they show up in the kitchen, blend well.

Get fancy and add 1/4 cup of chick peas. I’ll add more next time.

Blend, blend, blend

Make sure noodles have cooled (because *ouch* otherwise) and dried. Spread your secret cheese mixture, and roll.

This is where I’d show you the perfectly set-up shot of the lasagna rolls. Three Small People under age 6 and dinner-time hangry (hunger + angry): there was an incident.

They all ate their portion without a single complaint or bribe. Bah-ha-ha. Suckers.

I did fess up to this guy. After dinner.

That’s a thing of beauty, right there.

This is My Body

Stop right now and watch, This is My Body by Jason Stefaniak, and go share it with everyone you know. Then–and only then– come back and read this.

I don’t need a hero and I don’t need saving– because I’m not in distress.

Love this. I’m not sure though that the Vagina Attacking Republicans ever intended to save anyone. At least not anyone who now, or in the past, rocked a set of ovaries.

My pursuit of orgasm is neither unnatural, nor dangerous, nor scary, nor an infringement of your religious activity.

I mean, really. Female orgasms aren’t mysterious– most of the women in my cohort are doing just fine. Or perhaps John Boehner’s fear is that we will tell his wife how to achieve one? And then she’ll know he’s been lying to her all these years?

Vagina, vagina, vagina, vagina– labia– vagina, vagina, vagina– clitoris.

I determine who, and what, goes into my vagina.

If I wanted something hard and plastic in my vagina, I would buy a vibrator. However, writing legislation to force women into having transvaginal ultrasounds prior to performing abortions sounds a lot like forced vaginal penetration. Which sounds like rape.

Okay, I have just a wee tangent here, thanks to 3 hours of reading the 2013 proposed budget, and then trying to comparing it back to budgets from 2006, 2007, and 2008.

I’m a fiscal conservative, y’all! I very much OPPOSE the amount of money spent on the global war on terrorism (current new favorite Bushism is a line item in the DoD budget marked “other” for 900 billion-ish dollars), the war on drugs, and corn subsidies. Very much OPPOSE.

According to the 2010 US census there are 156,964,212 women in the US. Of course, getting an accurate count on the rates of forcible rape is difficult– made more so by how the event is defined for analysis purposes.

The numbers are horrifying.

In 2007 the Office on Violence Against Women (as part of the DOJ) received 2.7 million dollars.

On page 24 of a November 2007 JEC report, they note spending $432 million dollars per day in Iraq.

Yup, that’s small spending all right.

Allowing myself to be penetrated once does not assume your right to do it again.

I don’t pray, but AMEN. I went down a rabbit hole filled with rape/sexual assault laws (did you know that the US doesn’t have a national definition for rape?) and came out the other side feeling sad and ashamed.

To sum up how I feel? The parameters of these laws suck.

I know my physical and mental strength.

We’ve come too far in our quest for equality to stop now.

Why Feminists are Killing Feminism

Reading Elizabeth Wurtzel’s rant about how rich wives are killing feminism and fueling the war on women wasn’t on today’s To Do list.

But according to her, I don’t have a job, so I guess it’s all good. And no I’m not rich, but she didn’t only attack the rich stay at home mom.

Alright, let’s look at some of her points.

Who can possibly take feminism seriously when it allows everything, as long as women choose it? The whole point to begin with was that women were losing their minds pushing mops and strollers all day without a room or a salary of their own.

(Emphasis Mine)

Boredom might go a long way toward motivating people, however Ms. Wurtzel makes a gross oversimplification for the motivation of the feminist movement.

Consider first that the loudest demands for equality began in the 1800s– spearheaded by educated women.

Check this out– it’s called logic. In the 1800s an educated woman was a wealthy woman. A wealthy woman in the 1800s did not mop; she had servants. It wasn’t ennui that provoked those women, but rather exclusion from interesting conversations.

Beyond that, the feminist movement was about women being trapped in abusive marriages, without the ability to establish credit, or open checking accounts. It was about women being denied access to birth control, and safe, legal abortive procedures. Equal pay is important, but without the ability to control reproduction it doesn’t mean much.

Why does a SAHM referring to her day as a job seem to provoke such a negative knee jerk response in working moms? Semantics?

So, in the interest of keeping the peace, fine, I don’t have a job.

But I do work, and much like any non-profit volunteer, my work has value.

Even moms with full-time jobs spend 86 percent as much time with their kids as unemployed mothers, so it is apparently taking up the time of about 14 percent of a paid position.

I can’t find the source for this quote– can you email it to me?

Sarcasm alert:

I blame the working mom for ruining feminism! After all, these women are earning a wage, but are still carrying the bulk of child and household responsibilities despite having partner/spouses available to share the burden. Those working moms should put their high-heeled foot down– right away.

Of course, I’m not actually blaming working moms for this trendy war on women. I’d never judge an entire group of women based on a few examples in two extremely non-representative socio-economic time zones. Because that would be, well, stupid.

Reality alert:

This disparity between working and stay at home moms is a symptom of a larger problem: the United States’s ultimate failure to value any working contribution that isn’t desperately manic.

I have to admit that when I meet a woman who I know…one who has read The Second Sex and therefore ought to know better — but is still a full-time wife, I feel betrayed.

See, mostly I feel betrayed by the sneeringly pompous women who degrade my contributions to the female’s quest for equality because I’m at home. You know, raising the next generation of (male!) feminists.

Yeah, totally failing over here.

Interestingly enough– and I think this applies to many of my SAHM friends– being a full-time SAHM mom isn’t the best choice for my family. For me the best choice would be to work part-time. However, with two children and laughably expensive childcare that option is unavailable.

But, hey thanks for sharing your story. Enjoy that golden tower of integrity– I have to mop the floor.

NC Passes the Marriage Amendment

I remember the blazing disappointment when Dubya was re-elected. You see, I lived in Durham, worked in Chapel Hill; my perspective of reality was blurry.

By the way– it’s late, and I’m sad and angry. Raging, actually. I remain convinced that the intent behind passing the marriage amendment was always devoid of religious conviction, the purpose only for re-election. I see what conservatives mean about too much government because their power? That sort of extremist-fly-a-plane-into-building-mentality? Horrifying.

Protecting the rights of even the least individual among us is basically the only excuse the government has for even existing. Ronald Reagan.

Even Ronald Freaking Reagan wouldn’t be down with this nonsense.

I saw the For signs decorating too many surfaces today. I suspected the outcome. But I was hopeful, mostly that many closeted homosexuals would say “for” and vote “against”. But it didn’t turn out that way.

But what made me pull over and park after carpool was my 5 year old saying, “don’t worry, Mom. I’ll fix it [discrimination] when I’m a grown up”. There you have it everyone. Even a 5 year old sees it as broken.

Perhaps the zealots plan to attack my atheist marriage? After all, if the origins and definitions of marriage are purely biblical, then my marriage doesn’t apply. Right?

Thanks to facebook I felt a little less alone, less isolated in my horror.

But then… then someone decided to point out that the people had spoken. And that I should just get over it. After mulling over what I wanted to say, it occurred to me. I had already written it.

Being a bigot is wrong. Complaining about big government, socialist spending, and then supporting an amendment to the constitution because you are terrified of homosexuals is WRONG. Racism, sexism, animal abuse– wrong, wrong, wrong.

Amending the constitution to restrict equal rights isn’t like disagreeing over whether McDonad’s or Burger King has the best hamburger It’s about people, who claim to be conservatives, supporting small government, only to turn around and vote for legislation that puts government ALL UP IN PEOPLE’s business. The children that will lose their health insurance? Guess who’s going to pay for that? Yup. those social welfare programs (also biblical, by the way) that no conservative likes to fund.

All those people who love each other, love their families, living a low-key life, just like me? Just trying to enjoy their life, here on earth? Thanks to this amendment NC just said, “screw you– there is something *wrong* with how you were born”.

You know what? I have one kid with brown eyes, and one with blue– determined because of biology and genetics– just like sexuality. Oh– and if it’s a biblical thing, then I’d like a constitutional amendment banning shellfish, pork, and wearing polyester (three of North Carolina’s very favorite things)– because all of those? Sins in the bible, too.

But, if either of my children–my sons– are gay– I stand proud in the fact that I will never, ever, never, ever have to look them in the eye, and say that I was once a bigot. Instead, they will always be secure in knowing that I LOVE THEM no matter whether they date/marry an Ann, or a Stan. And that feels good.

Yes, I truly can be mad that 61% of this state voted on bigoted legislation, especially considering my gender hasn’t enjoyed equal rights for very long. Are y’all going to take those back now, too?

I truly can BE FURIOUS that the biggest pushers of these flavors of religious legislation look exactly like the people who talk themselves blue in the face about government waste on social programs, lazy bums that won’t work, etc. Only to end the rant, complaining that the government has too much power!

Why does this attitude, in particular, raise such fury? Because it’s fucking idiotic to DENY things like universal health insurance in the “name of small government”, only to vote for a law intended to be a morality litmus test, based on some words in a book.

Cognitive dissonance (google it) Just Pisses Me Off.

Even worse is that the whole thing– ALL OF IT– is red herring legislature designed to get these folks re-elected. Can’t fix the economy or unemployment? Let’s attack the gay folks!

Go talk to a teacher– ask them how they feel about the frozen pay raises, lay offs and increased work load.

Instead of money for that, NC legislators spent it on a constitutional amendment to “protect” us from something that was already illegal. I mean, really– did y’all even read this thing?

“I AM NOT A BIGOT” A common refrain from the pro-side. I get it, I understand that saying that to another human makes them all itchy and twitchy. They stop listening to reasonable discourse, get all angry and defensive.

The problem? None of them were listening to reasonable discourse to begin with. So, why not calls them as I sees them.

I am baffled by the people duped into saving marriage by disallowing it for an entire population. But I don’t hate them. I am disgusted by their actions; I feel sorry for their ignorance. Mostly I wished all of them would have stayed home today!

Then again, I READ the words. I searched the history of the bill. Not on huffington post or fox news. I read it straight from the general assembly website.

I can honestly say, with complete conviction that I don’t respect a damn thing about someone that supports this law. Which makes me sad, because for every person that I stand with, in agreement, I’m probably related to someone that would support it. Which means all my biting-my-cheek-don’t-say-anything-is-all-used-up.

I can agree to disagree on politics, on religion, on parenting strategies, on whether or not red dye is unhealthy. But I cannot find a single reason to respect those that participated in this political maneuver.

Later, when their kids kill themselves because they are gay and alone; or when the police won’t press domestic violence charges on boyfriend Jimmy John when he beats her up again again– well, surprise, surprise Goomer.

Also, as an aside? If I hear the statement: “I don’t hate gay people; I have gay friends” one.more.time… Double shame on those of you with that positive exposure to that which is different from you, only to then vote in an amendment that purposefully and maliciously denies those friends equality under the law. Sounds similar to the old days (you know, about 40 years ago) when a similar type person might talk to one of their “colored friends”, and then go home and pull the white sheet and pointy hat out the closet.

Once upon a time, interracial marriage was illegal.

Once upon a time–for a LONG damn time, I was considered property because I had a vagina. I’m still not quite equal, what with that pesky pay inequality thing, but I’d like to keep moving forward. Are you planning to write me back into the kitchen? Will that be before, or after, you take away my birth control?

There are PLENTY of christians, conservatives, purple people eaters– friends of mine, that do not, and did not support this hate bill. They are the type of christians that I wish the rest of you could/would be; the ones that use faith as a personal enhancement rather than a weapon.

Oh, and celebrators? You might have won tonight, but I wouldn’t get too comfy. This action motivated all of the smart people I know. And I don’t mean, Jeopardy-smart, I mean Sheldon-smart. So, good luck with that.

Here’s My Sign

I waited too long to get a sign for voting AGAINST the marriage amendment. Though the fact that I’m finding it difficult seems to be– if you’ll pardon the groan– a good sign.

Since we read a lot (and I mean A LOT) of Dr. Suess, I got all poem-y again.

A sign? Look–a sign!
To all of you, from all of mine.

Celebrate happy families of any combination.
Married. Single. Gay. Straight. Cohabitation.

No insurance coverage for birth control? Demands from Church to be apart from State?
Well back at ya– no Constitutional Amendment for legislated hate.


Learn to accept and live with your fellow (wo)man.

Of course, all that wouldn’t fit. Heck, even the modified version barely fit. And look– I discovered yet another non-talent to add to my list: sign making. Dude. I even had a stencil. Sad.

But then–huzzah– I found out they got more signs. Here’s to hoping I can get my hands on one tonight. Otherwise, I’ll be sporting this in the yard.

That Isn’t Charlotte

This house and its wildlife adventures? For me, there is nothing left but slightly unhinged laughter. Starlings and squirrels in the attic? Check. Moles, voles, gophers, chipmunks, snakes– one night a fox– and whatever-the-hell-else’s that call my little plot of land home. Check. I don’t bother watering our 9 blades of grass– it’s a waste when the days are in 100s–but I have absolutely stuck a house down a vole’s bolt hole, and stood with a perverted grin in my face as I watched the flooding.

But now?

For those of you that are arachnophobic– I’ll give you fair warning before the pictures. And there will be some pictures– later.

First off, I’d like to announce that I was, once upon a time, totally freaked out, squealing in my high-pitched girl voice about spiders. I hated them all, equally. Then I married JB and we kind of came to some sort of television show trade-off agreement. For every DIY/decorating/landscaping show I made him watch, I had to to watch some sort of Discovery/National Geographic/NOVA special.

It ended up being a win/win: because each of us had at least been exposed to these topics,
I was able to convince him that we could do our own plumbing, and he was able to convince me that the common brown snake is better left alive.

Which is why, when I noticed a black spider sparkling motionless betwixt my kitchen window and the screen one morning, I didn’t scream. It’s also why I knew exactly what she was, even without seeing the red hourglass. Know thy enemy.

A mouse? A mouse and I would have been at my Mama’s house. But a spider with venom more toxic than a rattlesnake, watching me watch her while I sipped thoughtfully on my coffee? This wasn’t a freak out moment (there was a pane of glass between us, after all). Lesson 1– fear isn’t logical.

Alright my arachnophobic friends, you might want to slowly back away now. Me? Either I’m getting braver in my advancing years, or I’m starting to suffer from testosterone poisoning.

First off, non-histrionic knowledge is power. So very carefully using google– and avoiding all information delivered by sites related to pest control companies– I found information.

Um, each egg hatches 200-900 little baby spiders. Holy shit, that’s enough to make one pack up and leave, hunh? However, the babies are cannibals, so most of them simply don’t survive. That cannibal information is the bit that most of the pest companies leave out, by the way.

Based on where I am finding the concentration of my little shiny black friends, I think I actually got a picture of the hatchlings right at their birth. Sadly, I only got two before I heard Elliot– from his inflatable pool- say “Mommy, I got your phone”. The spiders were forgotten as I tended to my Precious.

How perfect is it that they are on a bottle of Johnson and Johnson baby shampoo? If only I could have OCD’ed this shot– but if you click and enlarge it, you can see what I’m talking about.

Then there was Charlotte, aka Kitchen Window Spider. I think she’s young-ish, based on the size of the other’s I have seen.

Dude, I was all tap, tap, tapping on the window to get a good picture of her. Because I am, apparently a moron. Or in such desperate need of an adrenaline rush that pissing off a really venomous spider was just… well, exciting.

Or it was exciting–when it was just 2 of them. Finding a ginormous one, protecting eggs at the ground below the kitchen window? Kind of dampening the excitement. Then finding Daddy Black Widow– poor guy, already slated for death and I did him in before he get some– in the sandbox was just anticlimactic. (Ha-ha— get it?)

Now I’m just annoyed. Tonight I killed 11 or so, in various dark locations around the back yard. I crushed their eggs, too. Also, when one’s can of chemical spider killer runs out, vinegar does a decent job of stunning them so you can squash them with the back end of a shovel.
And the whole time, JB thought I was doing my scheduled run, saying as much when I came inside, sweating like a… well, someone who had been running.

Naw, no running for me today. I was outside killing some stuff.


Identity Crisis

Who else has had/is having one of these? Right now? This very moment?

I promised JB that I would play Mario tennis with him tonight, so I’m trying to write this super-fast. Last week, he and I had a conversation like this:

Me: Hey, if I start a graduate program next fall we can write preschool off our taxes.
JB: What in the world would you get a degree in?
Me: (feminist hackles rising) What the hell difference does it make?
JB: Well, it would need to be something good for the family.
Me: (internal feminist standing up and punching her fists) GOOD FOR THE FAMILY?! What about my ambitions? My dreams?

Now, here’s where I have to stop for a moment and mention that I don’t so much have true, career ambition anymore. While I really enjoy (miss) using my brain for good and not poo, that whole go-to-work-every-day was a bummer. Then there was the work-became-my-hobby problem. In that, JB was right (sshh…don’t tell him); I can’t really check out on my kids the way I used to check out on him, nor do I want to (most of the time). At the time of the “discussion”, however, my internal feminist was not listening…nope, she was too busy flicking her lighter at my bra and screeching about unfair it was that it was only I that had to make these concessions. If JB were to tell me tomorrow that he needed to pull longer hours because of a work deadline, I’d have zero options other than acceptance. I felt that bra smoking and my mouth went flaming right after it.

There is no reason to bore you with the details of the 2 hour long fight/argument/discussion that followed my rather flippant mention of graduate school, but I did come away with some eye-opening realizations.

1) My dream of going back to work when the kids start school is sort of unworkable. School-day hours are sort of incompatible with corporate-life. Which is then further complicated by whatever-the-hell will happen to our joke of a school system–meaning I might be on tap for physically driving kids to and from a school that ain’t around here.

2) I do have a problem with doing whatever my employer asks– that Army-brat work-ethic thing, I suppose.

3) Working stresses me out, even before having kids. I have issues getting people out the door to preschool and play-dates. But somehow I’m going to do all that and be, like, dressed for a job? Without loosing my mind and going all Hulk-smash on everyone? It seems unlikely.

4) Already I am semi-bitter about being the one who Knows All About the Small People. I’ve become raging mad over unpacked snacks, or missing juice bottles. Or that I’m the one who has all of the kid-related knowledge (doctor names, clothing/shoe sizes, foods, fears). Let’s amplify that bitterness with working and sick days. Because I’m not going to forget the balancing act of getting kids out the door– which means I’ll still be mostly responsible for not forgetting stuff. And considering my oldest Small Person was not in costume for a Superhero party, and I was running back through the door this morning for Show-n-Tell… well.

5) Dear JB, even when he’s thinking how lame I am for serving bagels with strawberry preserves (hey-they were homemade!) and cream cheese for dinner, didn’t have to take any time off of work today for preschool and ENT obligations. Even with as uber-helpful as he can be, he wasn’t the one at the grocery store buying healthy snacks this morning, nor does he notice when the children outgrow their clothes. He doesn’t know that Zach takes allergy meds at night now, or that he hates certain clothes because of the tags. And it’s not like I can just start working and forget all of those things. Which means I’m going to be working, and still doing all that other stuff, which is just going to piss me the hell off.

Um. Yeah. I’m really not interested in the retail thing, or the bank thing. Not unless people are hungry and my alternatives are living with either set of our parents. So, family-friendly job flexibility in 2012.

Knock-knock… Sweden? Can I come in?