BREAD-WINNER LEARNS TO MAKE ROOM FOR, FIND MATERNAL BLISS.

Byline: KAREN THACKER

Somehow, I always knew I wanted to be a mother.

Then came college and with it, journalistic goals I wanted to achieve. I was a full-time newspaper reporter while my husband continued in school. I became acquainted with mayors, police chiefs, school superintendents and college presidents. I felt important - like I was contributing something to society and providing income for our home.

When our first daughter arrived, I was still the bread-winner. Who picked Courtney up from day care changed from day to day because my work wasn't done at 5 p.m. I often had night meetings. We scrambled to create a makeshift dinner in as short a time as possible, and then it was bedtime.

They were enjoyable years, but I felt someone was getting short-changed, and somehow my previous goal of motherhood wasn't quite what I had envisioned.

When we moved to California and my husband, Bill, began working at Edwards Air Force Base, I decided it was time to be home with Courtney.

For the first few months there, was plenty to do. I got to spend time with Courtney, and I knew this was important for both of us.

Still, I missed work. I missed providing financial support. I missed feeling valued.

It would take time to realize that rewards for motherhood come in small ways - ways that endure forever. What didn't take too long to figure out was that as much as I missed working, I knew I couldn't leave Courtney all day again.

So I began looking at part-time work, and after viewing opportunities that still took me away from home more than I wanted, I found something ideal. I could write for the newspaper from my computer at home. On a few occasions, I would be out ``in the field,'' but I could set my own hours and be home to inspect artwork, bandage scraped knees, acknowledge achievements and answer important questions like ``Where do babies come from?''

Over the years, my supply of daughters has expanded to three, with another little person due in less than two weeks. Each one has brought me unmeasurable joy and I can't imagine my home without any one of them.

As for my ``work'' . . . well, my office isn't exactly glamorous. The desk drawer is shared with crayons, the filing cabinet with construction paper and the computer isn't just for Word 6.0 and fax capabilities - it also holds Dr. Seuss' ABCs, a Barbie Fashion Designer program and The Magic School Bus Explores in the Age of Dinosaurs.

The people I contact these days usually don't hold some official title, but most of them are ``make a difference'' type of people. I enjoy that.

My 10-minute stops by ``the other office,'' that is the newsroom, occur every few weeks, and the damage left behind by my little darlings, like when they slammed the main door and knocked the clock off the wall, is minimal. Especially since the clock is now bolted in place.

When it is time for mom to work, I explain that I now need some quiet time in the office, even though the rule is frequently bent. Especially when 5-year-old Kaley has a strong argument going for who had the stuffed unicorn first.

The system isn't perfect - there are interruptions during phone interviews and there are those who crawl around my feet and find great fascination in pushing the red ``off'' button controlling the power cord to the computer and its accessories.

Thank goodness for the ``mute'' button on phones and a wonderful new device that allows computer work to be automatically ``saved'' every five minutes or so.

The real danger is what mischief is being hatched elsewhere while mom is in the office.

I only know more than ever that I couldn't leave them for a ``real'' office. My career is in place here at home. The fact that I can still write about my community, contribute to the family and enjoy a little work is all an added bonus.

For the most part, my ``work'' isn't the priority, and it can usually be done when the crowd has gone to bed.

Instead we are busy driving people to school, preschool, gymnastics, the park, friends' homes. We are reviewing homework, reading stories, putting clothes on Barbies, pitching baseballs and picking roses.

Should I start to forget why I chose to stay home, I will usually be reminded by Madison, age 2-1/2, when she comes into ``the office'' and removes my hand from the keyboard so she can crawl up on my lap for a hug. Then she'll talk about the baby in mommy's tummy and other issues important only to the mind of a small child searching for love and reassurance.

I knew there was a reason I always wanted to be a mother.