Lately I’ve been ranting about bad customer service. (And yes, I've got that out of my system now...) I think part of my frustration comes from a sense that others don’t value my time the way I think they should. When I’m waiting in line at the grocery store, holding the phone for the Comcast rep, or chasing my son around the waiting area of a car dealership or doctor’s office, I think to myself “they’d get this done faster if they thought my time mattered. They probably think I have nothing else to do anyway.”
Maybe my frustration reflects my own internal conflict about staying home with my son, I don’t know. Most days I really don’t feel conflicted about it. I’m thrilled to be able to watch Carson grow even on days when I’d give my left eye for a conversation with a well-read, interesting grown up.
But I’m sensitive to the value of Mommy time in our culture. And I know there are lots of ways to do the math on what my time is worth. I’m sure the real answer is “it depends.”
It depends who you ask. And it depends how you think about the value of time. If my time is worth the amount I could earn working professionally, it’s worth at least $60 per hour. If my time is worth the amount it would cost to hire someone to care for my son, it’s worth about $15 per hour. If my time is worth the amount I currently earn per hour, it’s worth nothing at all.
Of course, the value of my time is much greater than this calculus suggests. But its value isn’t fairly captured by an economic analysis, because you really can’t put a price on love.
You can’t put a price on kissing a skinned up knee or mending a well-loved blankie. You can’t put a price on trips to the zoo or searching for bugs in the yard. You can’t put a price on mac ‘n cheese from scratch or reading “My Truck is Stuck” for the 10th time today. You can’t put a price on holding hands while crossing the street or blowing bubbles at bath time.
You see, I get paid in smiles and tears, in hugs and kisses, in crayon scribbles and feathers found on the way to the mailbox. I earn the affection and respect of my child. And that’s priceless.
