The naked truth about working from home, the real post


I’m in the shower when the phone rings, and I hear it through the water and the door, and I know who it is even before Cinder hollers, “Mom! It’s for you!” Shampoo in my hair and my eyes, I’m leaping out of the shower and out of the bathroom without turning off the water—where the fuck is the towel?–and skidding into the combination Lego room/Sean’s office that holds the only upstairs telephone.

“Hello, “Jane” speaking,” I say crisply, sharply. Out of breath? No way, not me–the phone voice kicks in ASAP. My well-trained eldest son—the ire of the mother for misbehaving on the telephone is legendary—hangs off the receiver. On the other end of the line is a VP of a blue chip Bay Street company (like a Canadian Wall Street, but less sexy and exciting) I’ve been stalking for a few days, and I need to talk to him today. He’s in an airport—“Houston? And how’s the weather?—he’s got five minutes, what do I need? I speak quickly and cut to the chase: this, that, and, above all, a comment on that mess. The door of the room creaks open, and my daughter comes in. She sees the phone at my ear and mouths, “Mom? Why are you naked?” I mouth back, “Towel! Paper! Pen!” I cast a desperate look around the room—full of Lego and an assortment of my husband’s crap, including a printer, why the fuck is there no paper here? Or pencils? How can there be no writing implements in the bloody office?

The VP’s already talking and I see, gloriously, buried under all the Lego, a purple marker. This is how the professionals do it, boys and girls—I grab that marker and… I move to start writing on the wall, but the two-year-old comes in, and I have a brief second thought. I make desperate hand motions at my seven-year-old, and—she’s well-trained in this this too—she immediately says, “Ender? Want to watch a show on the i-Pad?”

But their exit is too slow–they’re still in the room and I start to scribble. With the purple market. Not on the wall. On my leg. I start at the thigh and work my way down, to the ankle and instep, contort myself, and write on the inner leg. Then the other one… The VP’s a gold mine. He gives me exactly what I need, and I’m transcribing every word.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I sing as I hang off. And become aware that

a. I’m naked in my kids play room

b. my legs totally covered with purple marker

c. the purple marker is a horrible, kid-friendly, washable piece of shit

d. the water from my hair is dripping onto my legs and smearing! Smearing my interview transcript!

“My laptop!” I scream, and Cinder bounds up the stairs with the lap top. “Um, and a towel!” I add. I’ve been anticipated: Flora’s in with the towel. I grab the towel, the laptop. Scrunch my hair with the towel before tossing it over my shoulders and torso. And I start to transcribe. From the top of the leg—never before am I so grateful for the remnants of the baby weight that give some heft to the thigh—down, up the inside. Down the other one.

And yeah. I got this, that, and the comment on that mess in particular. Fucking score. My heart beat slows down. I’m going to meet deadline, and the story’s going to kick ass.

What you need to know:

 a. It’s not supposed to be like that.

b. It’s like that much too often.

c. If you can’t handle life throwing that at you with regular irregularity, you shouldn’t even think about working from home with children underfoot.

I’ve worked as a freelance writer since 2000, and I’ve popped out babies in 2002, 2005 and 2009. They’ve all grown up in this: I managed three weeks off after Cinder, four days after Flora (I went into labour actually in the middle of an interview, and had to cancel another ), and with Ender, I blocked off a luxurious two-and-a-half months off… sabotaged about four weeks in by a favourite client.

What I mean when I say I’m a freelance writer: I churn out five-to-ten-thousand+ words a month for a variety on business publications and clients (my real life business portfolio here for the serious-minded in the crowd).

What you really want to know: what this means time-wise and brain-wise and child-wise. The time commitment is erratic: I’d say at least two hours a day spent in just keeping on top of having the work—that is, emailing back and forth with editors and key contacts, keeping on top of what’s happening, clearing up questions and details on what I’ve filed etc.—and anywhere from 12-40 hours a week in research-interview-writing mode. My target weekly work rate is 20-25 hours (12-low-effort-maintance, 8-12 high-effort research-interview-writing hours). Less than that, and I’m setting myself up for a hellish 40+ week down the line. (My target earn rate, by the way, is the equivalent of a full-time job within that 20-25 hours. But that’s a topic for another post…). Once or twice a year, I actively invite a hellish week or two because of a particular project, client, or painful state of the bank account.

I used to get the “How on earth do you do that with a toddler and a baby?” comment all the time; now I get the, “How the heck do you manage that with homeschooling?” And everyone who asks it is looking, if they’re honest with themselves, for a magic bullet. They’re looking for that instruction sheet, that secret, that has them visualizing me sitting at a desk typing away—or on the telephone conducting an interview—while my children quietly and peacefully play at my feet.

No such thing. How do I work from home with children underfoot?

The short, and really honest, answer is—in ideal circumstances, I don’t. My most productive and efficient output happens when another adult is in charge of them. My husband—my mother—a neighbour—a friend—a paid babysitter. That childcare and that focused time don’t happen spontaneously. I plan the hell out of my work weeks and work days. I schedule interviews for the days when the kids are planning to spend a day with Grandma. I swap child-care with my film-maker husband. I pay for it when I must. In a four-hour block of child-free time, I get two-days worth of work done. Perhaps more. On the days my mother takes the kids for a long 8-10+ hour day, I am so uber-productive my brain and fingers (and sometimes throat) hurt at the end of it.

That low-maintenance work—checking email, social media, initial research, screwing around on the Internet and calling it research—these are things I can do with kids underfoot, during the littlest one’s naps, while the older two are really engaged with something. These are things I can do in spurts, things that don’t require me to enter the flow or to fully focus. Telephone interviews? I never plan to do these without another adult in the house or the kids (under sevens anyway) out of the house. Writing? There are things I can write in spits and spurts, off-the-top-of-my head, and in 45 minutes after I put the kids to bed. A 5,000 word feature on the history of the Canada-US Softwood Lumber Trade Dispute? Or an analysis of what’s really at stake when it comes to the proposed oil sands pipelines? I need focused time and space to produce that, and I prefer not to sacrifice sleep for that.

Sleep-deprived writers produce second-rate drivel. (Unless they’re in the flow on the novel. That’s different. Right?)

So. In my ideal world, working from home still requires an investment—financial, or otherwise, in child care. But life is rarely ideal. No matter how well I plan, every story and every project has its share of surprises. A cancelled interview—spontaneously rescheduled just as the toddler needs to go down for a nap or the baby needs to nurse. An editor’s demand for a last-minute rewrite, due yesterday. A client’s panic attack requiring me to pull an all-nighter—or to rely on the house’s assortment of electronic devices to babysit the children while I pound away at the keyboard. A last minute “I shouldn’t take this story, but oh-my-god-I-get-to-fly-to-Montreal-to-interview-the-prime-minister!” assignment. And havoc reigns.

Planning allows me to ride out the havoc. The irregular regularity of the havoc trains the children. They know a deadline must be met. They learn by age four how to behave when Mommy’s on the phone (she doesn’t push it too much: tries to keep those unplanned interviews to under 15 minutes).

(Sorry, until age four—no guarantees. A DVD might buy you 15 minutes. Or it might not. The good news: with my almost-8 year-old and 10 year-old, I can handle whatever havoc hits with them taking it in stride. I now only have to outsource the three-year-old on the days when I have to write, write, write—or spend the day glued to the telephone. And increasingly, I can outsource the three-year-old to his siblings. Not for an entire workday—but for a decent stretch of time. So yes, it gets much, much easier as the kids get older. But when they’re little? It’s tough.)

And that, friends, is the naked truth about working from home with children in your life. Possible, rewarding, the only way I want to work.

But it’s work. It requires planning. It throws you curveballs. It don’t look like that sepia-postcard dream you’ve got rolling in the back of your mind in which you write an award-winning article effortlessly while a perfectly balanced and delicious meal is already simmering on the stove and the toddler is at your feet playing with dinky cars for two hours. It’ll have to racing out of the shower naked with shampoo in your hair at least once in your life, and teaching your children swear words nobody at the playground knows yet.

Think you can do it? Of course you can. Right?

More like this: The naked truth about working from home, the teaser

This post is being recycled as part of A Mother Life Hum Day Hook Up #33: 

A Mother Life

The most recent Nothing By The Book post is How we teach children to lie, without realizing it.

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47 thoughts on “The naked truth about working from home, the real post

  1. So true and can only say you described working (freelance writing) from home perfectly and love how many people think it is a hobby. Seriously, I work my butt off all damn day. Thanks for writing this and sharing, because I couldn’t have said it better myself!!

    • One of my pet peeves is “Oh, you’re so lucky to work from home.” Well, yes, I am–but it didn’t happen by accident, it happened by design, it took a lot of planning and work, it still is a lot of work. Complex topic. Thanks for taking the time to comment, yet again, Janine, you are really an amazing colleague.

  2. This is great! I totally understand, as I was babysitting my friend’s too little girls for awhile (while she found a permanent sitter), ages 2 and 4. It was easier to occupy the 2-year old while I was trying to work. The 4-year old is a chatterbox. I finally had to let their mom now, “Hey, I need you to find them that permanent babysitter. I can’t get my writing and schoolwork done.” So, I can relate. Luckily, my kids are older, but I spend more time breaking up fights. My theory? As long as you have kids of any age in the house, there will be interruptions. I enjoyed your post. Thanks for the laughs!!

  3. Okay, I didn’t know you homeschool as well. How do you do it?! You really are an inspiration. I’ve been wanting to start doing some freelancing, but it’s enough work for me to keep up with blogging 5x a week and trying to interact with people on twitter! But at least I’m heading in the right direction for when The Kid starts school, as I will need something to do between drop-off and pick-up!!!

    Thanks for sharing this. You really are nothing short of amazing my friend!


    P.S. Electronic devices are the bomb. I highly recommend the LeapPad. My almost-2-year-old has had one since she was 16 months, and she would play with it ALL DAY if I let her. I’m still trying to figure out how to load movies onto the Innotab2, but so far that hasn’t been as big a hit.

    • Well then, my work is done. Enter on the path with your eyes open. Wonderful, fulfilling–would never go back to either the office or the corporate world… but as exhausting and challenging as it can be exhilarating.

  4. Damn, I’m impressed. I used to work from home when my 4 kids were young and it was truly hellish at times. I used to throw shoes at my youngest when he purposely started screaming or fighting with his siblings while I was on the phone with a client (TV and toys NEVER distracted this ADHD kid long enough). But in the end it was worth it just to be home with them….even though they drove me bat shit crazy more times than I want to recall….

  5. Oh my gosh -this was awesome and I can totally relate! I used to have to hide in the bathroom with the phone to do interviews when I was working as a reporter (which I did until about a year ago). And I get that question a lot too – how can you write and homeschool? Not easily, is my answer, but there are people who claim otherwise. Thank you for your total honesty!

  6. Great post and very inspiring. I didn’t start to devote myself seriously to writing until all three of my kids were in school all day. However, now that I’m blogging as well as attempting to publish a book, take writing classes, etc, I find myself having days similar to yours. Multi-tasking can be key sometimes. Thanks for sharing your experience…it’s definitely not for the weak or lazy.

  7. Wow!…my two year old is running around me singing a Yo Gabba Gabba song…so I can’t come up with the right words I want to say but just know I am truly amazed! That is true dedication and this is absolutely hilarious!!!

  8. I feel awkward admitting that I was picturing you naked as I read that story. I hope you’ll take it as a compliment of your writing skills, and not, you know… That was hilarious.

  9. And this is why I could never do freelance writing! I used to be able to manage it all fairly well, but if it ever got to the point of phone interviews? Nope…no amount of training, throwing shoes, or electronic distractions will stop my hoard from going nutterz the moment mom is on the phone! Even going outside isn’t enough because they just follow me! My kids favorite game is when Mom is on the phone, run into the bedroom and ask a million questions, and then when she’s good and ticked, run from the room, then creep back up and run screaming away every time you see her…even my 9 year old is in on it…and she should know better. Actually she’s generally the ring leader when it comes to chaos while I’m on the phone.

    I guess you could say when I did work it wasn’t work from home, not entirely. I was a belly dancer and instructor. I would get calls at all hours of the day from students who wanted information on classes or potential clients calling for a dancer for their party or event. Of course, none of this was scheduled and if it was particularly hectic I’d have them leave me a message and would get back to them when it was calm. Of course, first impressions and my memory for calling people back, I’d much rather answer immediately if at all possible. Then there was all the work in marketing and trying to build my business from home. It’s a lot of work. I remember all my students saying how great it was that I could teach dance and how having my own business must be so easy. They envision me spending a couple of minutes on my website each day while my children all play blissfully in the background. Little did they realize how many hours of work marketing takes with my kids running absolutely crazy in the background, interrupting me every five seconds. Nope, working from home (or working for yourself in any capacity) is never as easy as people seem to think it is!

    • It’s the key reason I still don’t have a cell phone. I need to schedule to talk to you on the telephone: if you call me while I’m at the playground / store / Science Centre / ANYWHERE with kids, odds are it will be a disaster.

  10. I am totally and completely impressed!! And I have to wonder, had that been my house it probably would’ve been a sharpie and I’d still have the writing on my leg. Good for you!!

  11. Oh wow, you are awesome. I really appreciate you sharing all of this in detail with how it actually works trying to work from home. I am really struggling with this and can’t ever get anything done! I thought something was wrong with me, but it’s nice to hear the affirmation that is really tough. I snorted over you taking the call while naked and having to take notes on your leg–sorry for you, but too, too relatable! Love your blog and thanks for linking up too with the #MTMmixer.

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  16. I was cry-laughing at the image of you–naked and dripping wet–trying to make the decision between writing on the wall or on yourself. I don’t know if I would have made the same decision. (BTW, I’ve had this comment written for a few hours, but kept getting distracted by kids during homework time.)

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