Having it all

I'm a devout member of the Church of Oprah. One of the many perks of working from home is that I can turn my TV on every afternoon at 3 p.m. for worship. Today's sermon topic: Can women really have it all? It was enough to make me stand up and shout "HALLELJAH!"

It's working moms and stay-at-homers sounding off on their choices for their families. It's the debate that will never go away as long as printing our own money is frowned upon by authorities. So many moms have no choice but to work. Others make the choice to work because they love what they do. Each side feels guilt, each side is convinced the other is looking down on them.

I see myself in the middle. I left an office job, but I continue to work. When I was pregnant, I burst into tears every time my husband and I talked about day care. I didn't know how we'd manage financially, but I knew that I had to find a way to be at home.

This conviction is not based on religion, politics or tradition. It's just something I knew was my personal truth. My consience, subconscience, superconscience -- all that I am -- told me that I had to be here for Riley.

So I quit my job right before Riley was born, but worked freelance assignments up until my water broke. I went back to work three days after I came home from the hospital. Not that I got a whole helluva lot done. But I was in a panic about how I was going to take up the financial slack I caused when I walked away from a steady paycheck.

I felt so guilty about not pulling my financial weight. I still do. I went through a real identity crisis as I tried to figure out how to be the best mom in the universe but still somehow be Kerry. It took well over a year to come close to a rough balance, and every day is a new juggling act.

I don't make enough money. I don't pursue my true passion -- horses/horseback riding -- the way I should to really keep my happiness balance in the black. I still haven't lost those last 10 pounds I promised myself I'd whittle off. I can't remember the last time I went shopping for myself and enjoyed it, much less bought myself something.

The list of things I gave up on or about June 24, 2005 could fill cyber space. But on every day since then, I've tried to mark a point on my new infinite checklist of what I've gained. This list is much, much longer and more gratifying than my old one.

It's not the right choice for everyone. I don't look down on my friends who went back to the office after six weeks just as I don't look down on my pals who do "nothing but" care for their children. There's no definitive right answer for womenkind. It's up to each of us to find where everything fits in our own lives and totter across our respective tight ropes inch by inch, day by day.

My world has become much smaller since the center of my universe shifted outside of myself. I still pine for my horse. I still wish I could take exotic vacations. I still wish I never worried about pay checks making it in to the bank before the car payment hits. But the eternal maternal cliche rings true: As long as I have my family, I really do have it all.

To her own beat

For the past year, Riley and I have been going to Kindermusik. This is a hilarious music program for babies as young as newborn up till they're gigantic 7-year-olds. Once a week, we get together with our baby pals to sing, chant nursery rhymes and bounce around to silly games.

It's a blast. We've made lots of friends and enjoyed every minute of it. I really think that it's the reason Riley's got such a strong vocabulary. Granted, my verbal brakes are a little weak, so she could be following my example. But I really believe the research on the bazillions of benefits of exposing your kids to music at an early age.

So after a year, we've finally moved up from the baby program to the toddler class. Yesterday was our first trip. I first thought we were in the wrong room because we didn't know any of the kids and almost all of them were three times Riley's size. To me, these were not toddlers. These were free agents awaiting a call from the NFL. They were running, throwing, howling, jumping and tackling. All that was missing from this Broncos spring training session was a tire trail and helmets.

Riley was not nearly as concerned about the new crowd as I was. She was quieter than usual and hovered closer to me than she usually does with her pals, but she didn't seem intimidated. As soon as the music started, she was good. She didn't respond as vocally as she normally does, but she did stand up and do The Riley Dance to the beat of whatever song was playing.

She did her own thing as the rest of the team ran their drills. She didn't worry about getting mowed down. She didn't care that she was bouncing on my lap as the rest of the kids rolled all over the floor. She found her own little space in a sea of wild things and claimed it as her own.

To coin a music cliche, she danced to her own beat. So even as I tried to run interference and protect her from the mob, she seemed completely unafraid and secure. Even in my heightened maternal watchdog state, I was really proud.