A Day In the Life

This was my day today:

5 a.m. Alarm goes off. I curse alarm and when Mike says, “Why is your alarm going off at 5?” I say “Hell if I know,” and hit the off switch, readjust my boob so Dude can latch back on and fall asleep wondering ‘Why did I set my alarm for 5?’

6 a.m. Alarm goes off. Again. And suddenly I remember that I have to leave early for William’s doc appointment this morning. Hence the 5 a.m. wake up call. I hit snooze again, readjust boob again, realize Dude is waking for the day, text Mike to come get him and lay in bed in a half awake/half asleep daze trying to will my body up to start the day.

6:40 a.m. Get up and start rushing around like a crazy person. Pump the left boob since it was neglected all night, get coffee, take a shower, make lunches, fix hair, eat breakfast, remind Mike that he can’t leave for work yet because he has to take Oli to school because I have to take William to the doc, fix my hair, put on work clothes, say prayers with family, throw baby in the car with no pants on (The baby, not me. I had pants on.) despite the 55 degree weather, and take off for the doc’s office.

8:18 a.m. Arrive at doc’s office for 8:20 appointment. Score! I’m EARLY for once! Answer 5,000 questions about Dude’s development. Yes, he grabs things. No, he doesn’t have Wobble Head anymore. Yes, he’s already learning Mandarin. No, we never eat GMO’s. Whatever. “How’s the ‘sleep thing’ going?” the doc asks. Maniacal laughter from me. No further sleep questions from her. Dude has another ear infection. Tell me something I didn’t already know. Can I have my own script pad please?

9:34 a.m. Back in car. 9:34?!?!?!? Shit.

10:02 a.m. Drop Dude off at daycare. Pray like a mad woman that he doesn’t spike a fever because of the damn vaccination he got.

10:17 a.m. Arrive to work. Slide into desk while boss’s back is turned and hope he hasn’t realized that I just now got there. Breeze through a dozen e-mails before 10:30 meeting.

Work, work, work, work, work…pee…work, work, work, work, work…shovel food in face and call it ‘lunch’…work, work, work...and off to my real job again.

6:22 p.m. Pick up Dude from daycare. Head to Costco. Really, it had to be done.

6:34 p.m. Hoof it into Costco all mall-walker style. Load the cart with a year’s supply of chicken, diapers, beer, tilapia, cheese sticks, and applesauce all while dangling plastic keys in Dude’s face to keep him from clawing at my sweater (Yes, my kid has on no pants and I’m in a sweater.) and, ooh is that a pack of black bean and rice burritos? Will I eat 57 burritos before they go bad? No. Moving on.

7:07 p.m. Check out of Costco, manage to pack a moving truck’s worth of goods into my trunk, and head home.

7:18 p.m. Pull up at Circus Headquarters, unload all groceries, change clothes, convince Olivia that we will read her new book tonight at bedtime while I change out of work clothes as Mike finishes warming up dinner and mashing up an avocado for Dude, sit down, wolf down dinner while doing a short debrief on our days. It goes something like this:

“I finished the yard.” 

“What yard?” 

“Our yard.” 

“Oh, awesome. How was work?” 

“Awesome. How was your work?"

"Awesome. People cried.” 

“Great.” 

“Great.”

7:47 p.m. While Mike gets the kids in the bath, I jet off to Kroger to pick up the ear infection prescription. Run in, go through this ‘Who’s on first’ routine with the pharmacist about who my prescription drug coverage is through, try to explain very patiently to him that I never did receive a prescription drug card, call Mike to confirm this only to be told that the card is right there in the benefits folder, get that sorted out and get pharmacist opinion about a probiotic for an 8 month old since the antibiotic is going to tear up his stomach.

And here’s where I kind of lose track of time,

Get home, give Dude medicine, kiss him goodnight as Mike takes him to bed, finish washing up dinner dishes and lunch containers and baby bottles as Olivia runs circles in the kitchen and reminds me of my promise to practice her new book. I tell her to read it to me while I wash and she kind of tries but really just stops at every word to inform me that she doesn’t know the word. Mike finishes with William and takes her to her room to read as I finish all of the laundry from this weekend and finish cleaning up the kitchen. I go to tuck her in finally and she asks me to sing a song. I say no at first but then agree to one song all the while thinking about how tired I am and how I’d love to just go to bed but then what’s the point since William will be up in about 2 hours anyway and then 3-4 more times during the night.

I get Oli tucked in and come to my room to get ready for bed and to enjoy ONE moment of quiet but I turn around and there’s my sweet girl jumping into my bed begging to “snuggle” with me and promising not to be a distraction but asking a question every 35 seconds. So I tell her to go to bed because it’s late and she does but then comes back like 20 minutes later to tell me how much she was crying and can she *PLEASE* lay down with me and then she smacks her hip into the bedside table and starts sobbing so after verifying there’s no broken bone or blood, I tell her to go to bed for real this time and I can hear her sobbing in her room as I type out this crazy-busy, run-of-the-mill day.

And as I finish typing all of this up, I look back on this day and think, “Holy freaking SHIT. I’m exhausted.”

My nobler self likes to think that by working and co-managing this circus, I’m teaching my daughter that you can be a wife and a woman and have a career too and be really good at all of it.

My realistic self wonders if what I’m actually teaching her is that if you are a wife and a mom and a career woman, you will be exhausted all of the time and run around each day like a rip roaring lunatic.

And y’all, my kids aren’t even really INTO stuff yet. This actually wasn't even that crazy of a day. It wasn't that far outside of normal. I mean, what the mother crap are we gonna do when they have homework and after school activities and sports?

Hire a personal assistant? Hope and pray science has mastered cloning? I have no idea.

And by the way, did we notice that not once today did I actually SIT DOWN AND ENJOY MY KIDS?? I mean, I got tiny flecks of enjoyment during the limited time I spent with them but when my daughter was asking me to read her a book or sing her a song all I could think about was the 1 bazillion things that need to be done to keep this household running.

Should we even talk about the fact that my day was survived with the help of an incredibly supportive partner? I mean, you single mama’s out there—WHOA. You are real, live, freaking Super Women

To be honest, I’m not even sure what the point of this post is except to say that life is just BUSY. And I suspect there are some of you out there who feel the same way today and I’m not even sure it has anything to do with being a working mom although that may be some of it.

I think it just has to do with being a MOM. This job is busy, hectic, crazy, non-stop, IN-FREAKING-SANE. There are days like today where at the end I just think “No way in hell can I do that all over again tomorrow.” But I will. And so will you. We’re in this together, ladies.  

There will be a day when we look back and think “Wow. I can’t believe I survived that craziness.” I don’t know how we’ll do it or how much wine will be consumed in the process. Thankfully, Costco sells that too.     

Lost and found

Yesterday, three little happenings occurred which helped me to put into perspective something that’s been gnawing at me for several months. Until yesterday though, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it and I didn’t yet have the words.

The first thing that happened was a conversation between Mike and me yesterday morning. My husband and I rarely have a chance to talk these days. Often, I’ll find myself mentioning something about so and so or such and such and he’ll be like “WHAT????” And I’ll be all, “Oh…yeah…didn’t I tell you that??? I could have sworn I told you…maybe I just said it in my head…” Between work and kids and sleep and just the basic functions of running a household, we just don’t have a lot of time to really TALK. As a result, I find that I have all of these thoughts that build up in my head and come tumbling out in what is usually a very ill-timed conversation. Like 6:30 in the morning. When we have a baby with a fever. And I’m trying to get ready for work. And Mike is trying to get The Boss Lady ready for school.

Nevertheless, it was at that very time that I felt the need to begin to put into words this great thing that has been looming in my mind for quite some time. So I blurted out, while I was packing my lunch,

“I feel like we are coworkers sometimes. I miss just getting to TALK to you. I miss getting to just breathe. And I’m starting to feel like I’m standing in the middle of a hurricane just watching all of this busyness take over everything. I feel lost and like I can’t keep up most days. And alone, I feel alone. The only place I feel like ME right now is at work because it’s the only place where I know what I’m doing or whether or not I’m appreciated.”

And my sweet husband looked at me with his big, honest, innocent eyes and said “I’m sorry. I thought that I was helping out by doing more and—

Olivia, stop scratching your vagina!”

True freaking story.

Smack dab in the middle of trying to connect with the man that I’ve built a life with, one of the tiny people we created together interrupted us AGAIN. Because even when we are feeling down or lost or harried, we still have to be parents and monitor things like vagina scratching (No, really. It’s become a chronic and embarrassing—for us, not her—issue.).

Anyway, it wasn’t some ground breaking, earth shattering conversation. I was just trying to get some things out about how I’m feeling lately and when our moment was interrupted, I felt furious and extraordinarily sad. I wanted to scream, “THAT’S IT!!! NO MORE. NO. MORE.” 

No more of what? I have no idea. No more of me being pushed aside I guess. No more of my relationship with Mike being pushed aside. No more having to be the Vagina Scratching Monitor. Just No More. 

The second thing happened in a meeting later that morning. One of the managers said “Did y’all hear about the forest fires in California?” And I realized I hadn’t heard about them so I said proudly, “Nope. But I can tell you all the members of the Paw Patrol.” Boom.

But really, inside my head, I was thinking “How did I not know about this? Where the hell have I been?” I used to listen to the news every single day. And all I know about the world right now is that Indiana sucks (or is that Illinois?), the Middle East is dangerous, and One Direction broke up. My news these days comes from a preschool Facebook page and website.

The third thing occurred on my way home from work when I heard on the radio that Malcolm Gladwell was going to be speaking at a luncheon later this month. MALCOLM. FREAKING. GLADWELL. I nearly squealed with excitement. Oh, AND he has a new book! I felt like it was Christmas in April and as soon as I walked in the door, I announced to Mike, “Malcolm Gladwell is coming! And I don’t care what it costs, I’m going to that luncheon!” And he said “You are such a nerd. I love that about you.”

And that’s when these three things collided together in my head. That’s when I realized what’s been gnawing at me for the past few months:

I’m getting lost in the hustle and bustle that is Motherhood.

Right now, my life is full of packing lunches, signing up for snack week, pumping breast milk, making sure eggs are stuffed for the school Easter party, dance class, dirty diapers, books about princesses and trains, snotty noses, windows streaked with hand prints. And, yes, it absolutely is filled with immense volumes of joy. But it is BUSY and it is fast paced and it is exhausting. And all of me is wrapped up in this but that means that other parts of me are being pushed to the side.

See, B.K. (Before Kids), I used to do things like go to bible study and take notes during church so I could absorb the message even better (See? Nerd.). I was a part of a book club for about 5 minutes which I ADORED. I remember going to the library with Mike and each of us leaving with a stack of books. I’d stay up all night or sit on the patio all day reading voraciously. I used to get a subscription to Time and I used to listen to the news every day. I used to eat at restaurants that don’t have play structures. I used to get to talk to my friends, uninterrupted, about any topic we wanted. Mike and I used to take walks around our neighborhood together and grill steaks on Sunday.

I used to be this whole person that enjoyed doing things just because they made life more interesting or helped me think about the world. I used to do things for ME.

These days, I don’t do things for me. I even thought about my monthly pedicure and how that’s become more of a maintenance item than a luxury because I simply don’t have time to take care of my feet at home. And you’d think that getting to sit down in a big comfy chair while someone massages your feet would be a huge treat but for me, it’s not. I schedule them during my lunch breaks at work so that I don’t take time away from our family during the weekend. The place I frequent had this express pedicure option and they did away with that for a lengthier, more luxurious one. I was actually UPSET about that because I don’t have the time for it. Who in the mother crap gets upset about a longer pedicure??????

I currently have a purse that is fraying at all of the seams not because I don’t want a new one or don’t know that I’m in “need” of a new one but because I don’t have time to go shopping.

And do I even want to bring up the fact that I hardly ever work out these days? I'm seriously exhausted. I haven't slept through the night in nearly 8 months. Each night I go to bed wondering what it's going to take to motivate me to get up and work out. The alarm goes off the next morning and my head is trapped in a fog of sleep deprivation and an overall feeling of mental exhaustion. 

Yeah, I know – wah, wah, wah. Poor me that I don’t get to fully enjoy my pedicure or upgrade my handbag or go to the gym. But the point is that even what were once fun things have become items on my ever growing list of “to do’s.”  

Yes, Motherhood has made my life rich in ways I didn’t even know were possible. It has pushed me and stretched me (literally and figuratively) and made me think. It blew my heart right open and though this seems contrary to what I’ve just written, it’s made me more ME.

But in all of that stretching and growing, some other parts of me have run out of space in my life. Motherhood is a whirlwind of dirty diapers and hissy fits and giggles and smiles and hugs and it is easy to get lost in all of that. Sometimes that’s a great thing. And sometimes I feel like I’m standing there, watching all of this busyness happen and wondering where I went. All while being trapped in a fat suit.

When I bought that ticket to see Malcolm Gladwell, at first I could not understand why I was SO excited. Then I realized that this is the first thing I’ve done for myself that is reminiscent of my B.K. life in a VERY long time. This luncheon has nothing to do with my children—or any children really. This is just about me going to geek out about a writer whose books I used to pour over again and again because I had all the time in the world to do it.  

Look, I get it. I have small kids right now and this day to day sprint is just how it is. I get that. Really, I do. I know that there will be a day when I have ample time to drink coffee or wine on the patio as I dive into a book. I’ll be able to listen to the news in the car instead of the Frozen soundtrack. I’ll be able to take notes in church. When that day comes, the complete psychosis that is Parenthood will set in and I’ll miss THESE days. I know that.

But I can’t let myself get lost in this journey either. Even Mike said it—he loves my nerdiness. But it’s something I put on the back burner for everything else in our life. If I’m going to continue to be a good mom and wife (or at least a functioning one), every now and then I have to throw my B.K. self a little love. She’s there, waiting patiently in the wings. She’s there with her notebooks and news stories ready for the day when the school Easter egg hunt is no longer a pressing matter. And she’s excited about that luncheon later this month. Excited that it’s just for her and no one else. Excited to be found again and brought out into the world, if only for a couple of hours for lunch. 

One Day...

Parenting is tough, there’s no doubt about that. But we deal with all of the insanity because the payoffs are huge and we know that ONE DAY we’ll no longer have clothes stained with spit up or windows streaked with hand prints. We know that one day we’ll look at our little creations and in a sick way think “Oh, how I miss those days.”

Like most parents, that One Day motivates me on the hard days. There’s something else that motivates me. In fact, I think it motivates most parents.

That thing is Revenge.

Yes, you read that right. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it. Don’t act like you’ve not fantasized about One Day illustrating to your children all of the frustrating and zany things they put you through. Don’t act like you aren’t biding your time until you can walk into their room at 6 a.m. when you wake up, and with a metal spoon in one hand and a metal pot in the other, begin a drum solo that will cause them to jump from their beds like you lit it on fire. There are many of these plots that I have brewing for that One Day.

For instance…

One Day, as my children and their friends are standing around talking, I’ll walk right up and join them. And without breaking stride in the conversation, I’ll fish a large booger from my nose. And I’ll eat it. And I’ll just look in them in the eye as though nothing really effing disgusting just happened.

One Day, when my children have a date over for dinner, I’ll finish my dinner, throw down my fork, and stand on my chair. I’ll gleefully announce, “I HAVE TO POOP!!!!” I’ll use the bathroom off the kitchen and do my business with the door wide open as I sing to myself. When I’m done, I’ll shout repeatedly “COME WIPE MY BOTTOM! COME WIPE MY BOTTOM! SOMEBODY COME WIPE MY BOTTOM!!!”

One Day, while dining at a restaurant, I’ll order my favorite dish. When it arrives, I’ll loudly announce that I don’t like it. I will pick up each piece of food and hand it to my child in order to get it off my plate. I’ll pour ketchup on my now empty plate and eat it with a spoon. All while standing in my chair.

One Day, I will fart when I’m driving my kids and their buddies around town. They’ll try to ignore it to be polite. I’ll loudly say “EXCUSE ME.” They’ll ignore that too out of sheer awkwardness. At which point I’ll clarify -- “I said ‘Excuse me’ cause I FARTED.”

One Day, when I initially meet one of my children’s friends, I will not greet them with a smile or introduce myself right away. Instead, I will give them a dead pan stare as I turn to my child and ask, “Is that a girl or a boy?”

One Day, I will stand beside my sleeping child *this close* to her or his face, breathing heavily, and I will wait for them to wake up. And scream. Cause that shit is just creepy.

One Day, as I take my children out shopping, I will stop periodically to scratch my crotch. Hips thrust forward to get a good angle and so that everyone will be able to tell that I’m getting in a good crotch scratch.

One Day, as we’re out shopping perhaps, I’ll begin tugging at my pants. I’ll grow more and more agitated. And even though I’ve been wearing the same exact flippin’ pants for the past 3 hours, I’ll start yelling things like “These pants are too TIGHT!!!” “They’re TOUCHING me!!!!” “I don’t like these PANTS!!!!!” I’ll writhe on the ground in pain until my, then grown, child ushers me out of the store and into the car to take my psychotic ass home. The next day, I’ll wear the same pair of pants and declare that they are my VERY FAVORITE pants and that they are SO COMFY and SO PRETTY!

One Day…

I will eat an entire meal with my hands.

I will run circles around the tables at restaurants.

I will answer questions with strange guttural noises.

I will take an insanely long time in a public bathroom and make my children stay in there with me.

I will not wipe my mouth with a napkin the entire time I’m eating. I will instead use my shirt.

I will interrupt their sentences 35 times as they attempt to have conversations.

I will ask the question “why?” after nearly everything they say.

And I will love and laugh through every second and every moment until then. Because, hey, all of this insanity now is only going to make my revenge that much sweeter. One day… 

I found a rock in my pocket

Today, on my drive home from work, I found a rock in my winter coat pocket. An ugly brown rock that’s been in that pocket since I don’t know when. I’ve known it was there so I didn’t really just find it. I guess I rediscovered it tonight. Oli put it there however long ago and I’ve just never taken it out.

My sweet girl had a rock obsession not so long ago. Everywhere we went she’d collect rocks and proudly present each one to me or bring it to me to admire it for the awe inspiring formation she thought it was. 

At my sister’s old house, she’d happily play in their flower beds which had been landscaped with rocks while the rest of us swam or sat around talking. She’d pick up each dark gray rock and turn it over, inspecting the different shades of gray. I never understood this. I’d watch her and wonder “Doesn’t she know they ALL look the same? They’re all boring gray rocks.”

When she’d come home from school, she’d hand me palmfuls of small pebbles and gravel and tell me that she collected them for me. “I got you some rocks, Mama!” she’d say excitedly. “Shiny rocks!” And shiny they were. And when she wasn’t looking, I’d toss them in the trash or in my own yard. What was I going to do with handfuls of rocks?

In my almost 34 year old mind, I could not understand those rocks or her obsession with them. In my almost 34 year old world, I have no use for rocks except that they provide a bit of landscaping to my back yard. But I especially have no use for ugly brown rocks or gravel. What was the big deal about rocks? They’re everywhere for crying out loud. Despite my disdain for something so commonplace and so boring, my sweet girl had become quite the collector. And despite my incomprehension at her love of rocks, I kept this ugly brown one in my winter coat pocket.

Tonight as my hand brushed against the heavy lump that is that rock, I thought of my two and a half year old niece who just this weekend stopped in the middle of her tracks to pick up a handful of rocks. “Look, Aunt Steph! I got some rocks!” Her mom walked closely behind and I said “She has some rocks!” My sister-in-law smiled and shrugged in the way all of us moms do when our child does something we don’t entirely understand. “Yep,” she said “everywhere we go.”

As I remembered my small niece smiling up at me showing off her treasure, I realized something. I can’t remember the last time The Boss Lady brought me a rock. I can’t recall the last time I had to sneak pebbles into the trash or slyly throw one of her discoveries back into the dirt from whence it came.

Suddenly I knew why I had kept that ugly brown rock in my coat pocket all of this time. I kept that rock because it is a reminder to me of a little girl who once was. A little girl who found the wonder and mystery in all things—even a boring old rock. It’s a reminder that to a small child, my small child, the world, and all things in it, is so very, very exciting. This boring brown rock is a reminder that not so long ago, I, too, was a small child who found awe and beauty in everything around me. Yes, even rocks. A reminder that my daughter thought of me whenever she found treasures.

Now don’t misunderstand me—she still brings me treasures that she’s found and she still finds the beauty in things I often overlook. But I can’t remember the last time Oli brought me a rock. I'm sure it hasn't been that long but it definitely isn't with the frequency she once did. Rocks are something she’s growing out of I think. She’s moving on to different and bigger discoveries. Rocks don’t hold the thrill for her that they once did. Rocks are something she only stopped to pick up when she was very first discovering her world. And I can’t even remember the last time she brought me one.

I was struck tonight by how quickly she’s growing up. For those last few moments of my car ride home, I felt as if I was staring straight into the face of the Future. The Future where my daughter is too cool for rocks. I clutched that rock the rest of the way home with the knowledge that I have a little bit of time before the Future. I have a little bit of time to ooh and ahh over the discoveries she shows off to me. A little bit of time left to marvel at the little girl who is growing right in front of my eyes every single day.

If ever we are out and about and she picks up a new rock, I’ll add it to the ugly brown one in my coat pocket to serve as another reminder to savor each phase of this life and to find the beauty in all things—yes, even rocks. I’ll leave that goofy rock in my pocket so that one day in the distant future, I’ll find it and be reminded all over again of my little Oli handing it to me with her hair wildly flying around her head, her hands and arms coated in dust, her smile bright as she once upon a time happily said “Look, Mama! I got you a rock!”

Blessed?

“We’re so blessed that she’s able to stay home with our children.”

It is these words that I dwell on a little bit today as we end another weekend and look forward to the start of another work week. Another week of alarm clocks, lunch boxes, commutes to and from school and meetings. Lather, rinse, repeat, as my friend Christina so fondly states of the day-to-day that is the work week.

It feels like this sometimes so maybe that’s why the statement I started this post with is on my mind. In fact, this statement is actually a HUGE pet peeve of mine. And though a man said it in this instance, I’ve heard plenty of women use that same phrasing. The flip side of that pet peeve coin is when I hear the phrase “I have to work because we can’t afford for me to stay home.”

Why these two phrases? Well, I’m glad you asked! Allow me to attempt to explain:

Let’s start with the Blessed Statement.

We were at a Chick-fil-a when this was said. I was there with Mike, Oli, and Will and we had taken our food outside to the playground where another family sat with their two young children. As young families often do, we started chatting about how old our kids were and the zany things they do that make us wish places like Chick-fil-a served beer. Okay, that last part was just me but whatever. Anyway, I can’t even remember why he said it but the husband said, “We’re so blessed that she’s (his wife) able to stay home with our children.” At the time I just nodded but it really rubbed me the wrong way.

What does that even MEAN? Blessed?

First off, this man doesn’t know me or my situation. I hadn’t revealed anything about our working situation. For all he knows, I’d love to be a stay at home mom and can’t because my husband is unemployed or disabled. If I wasn’t so secure in my decision to work full time, I could have really taken a little offense to that. I mean, after all, why couldn’t I have been blessed to stay at home? Why would God have chosen that family to have “enough” money (whatever that means) for the wife to stay at home but not my family? If a mom and dad both work, does that mean that family is NOT blessed? That they weren’t picked in the Blessing Lottery?

That’s the biggest problem I have with that statement. Saying you are blessed to be able to stay home indicates a loss of control. As if you really lucked into finding a man who has a job that can support you being a stay at home mom. As if God bestowed a gift on you. As though He is Oprah sitting on his throne picking from amongst mommies everywhere:

“You get to be blessed! And  YOU get to be blessed! And YOU! But not you. You gotta get your ass up and go to work.”

Is this how we think God works? I don’t. I don’t think He works like that (disclaimer: I am not, in case you are new to this blog, a theologian). I don’t think He decides who gets blessings and who doesn’t. That seems a little cruel in fact. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely think there are times He intervenes and provides miracles but I don’t think a God who gives us free will to choose whether or not to spend eternity with Him, WHERE WE ULTIMATELY BELONG, would suddenly take away all other decision making of ours and decide for us whether or not we get to be “blessed” to stay at home with our kids (or any other blessings for that matter).

Isn’t the biggest blessing that God made us the highest life form in His kingdom? Isn’t the blessing here really that He created us as beings who have the ability to reason and strategize and make choices? Isn’t it an incredible blessing that He created us to glorify Him with ANYTHING we do?

Is the blessing here really being “able” to stay at home with your kids because your spouse makes “enough money?” Or is the real blessing that you and your partner were able to sit down and make a decision together that is good for your family? Is the REAL blessing that God gave you the ability to make choices and sacrifices in order to do what you and your partner decided is best for your family?

Okay, so before you go thinking that I’m being hard on stay at home moms, I told you there’s another phrase that makes me steam.

“I have to work because we can’t afford for me to stay home.”

Let me preface the rest of this post by saying that this in no way applies to all of you single mommies out there. You women are incredible and I know that you truly do HAVE to work to support your families.

Ladies who work and who have used this phrase: When was the last time your boss showed up at your front door and dragged you into the office? This has NEVER happened to me. My boss doesn’t even call me to make sure I’m coming in each day. Nobody, not even Mike, MAKES me to go to work every day. I’m a grown ass woman in a country that shouts “FREEDOM” from the rooftops, I am a child of God who promotes free will. Nobody makes me do anything.

And now the real shocker: I CHOOSE TO WORK. Yes, that’s right. I choose to take my kids to day care every day and I choose to go to a job outside of my home. Nobody makes me do this. When Mike and I had Olivia we sat down and evaluated what was best for OUR family. And me working is it. It’s a little about the money because we like our lifestyle and we have certain goals that are more easily attainable with two incomes. And it’s a little about me being a better mom when I’m not home with my kids all day. I NEED to go to work. Occasionally, we review this to make sure this is still what is best for our family. For now, it is. If it ever is not, I will choose to stay home. Regardless, it is my CHOICE.

When we say things like “I have to work because we can’t afford for me to stay home” we do 3 harmful things to those we love:

1. We tell our husbands that they aren’t providing enough for us. Isn’t this the implication here? That if our spouse made more money or “enough” money, we’d be able to do what we REALLY want to do?

2. We tell our daughters that work is something you only do if you “have” to. We tell them that the real blessing is in finding a man who can support them in their goals instead of finding a partner who works toward a goal WITH them.

3. We rob ourselves of the true virtue that is working. Let me phrase it another way: Work is VIRTUOUS. Providing a service to others (and every job does) and doing something well is a virtuous thing.

Let’s please try to change our phrasing here Working Mommies! Please stop undoing what so many women fought for so many years ago. When we act like our work is a punishment or the lack of a blessing we are not doing anybody any good.

So you’re reading this and you’re thinking, “But I really can’t afford to stay home.” And I’ll agree that there are probably a handful of you for whom that is really truly true. For the rest of you: What is it that you can’t afford? Vacations? Name brand clothing? Dance/Soccer/Football/Art class/Piano/Mandarin/Etc.? Your 4,000 square foot home with granite and hard woods and a swimming pool? I will challenge you here and say that when you say “I can’t afford to stay home” what you are really saying is “If I stay home, we can’t afford our lifestyle.” And if that is the case, THAT’S OKAY.

It’s okay to want your lifestyle. It’s okay to want nice things for your kids and family vacations but those are YOUR CHOICES. Nobody is making you shop at Baby Gap every time your kid needs a t-shirt. Nobody is making you go to the Bahamas for vacation. I know plenty of stay-at-home moms who gave up many of those things when they chose to stay home. They clearance shop or buy used clothing. They drive to their vacation spots instead of fly and they go to the lake instead of the beach. Living on one income is actually very doable—even if the one income isn’t six figures. But you have to CHOOSE that. You have to choose doing your own pedicures instead of going to the spa. You have to choose cleaning your own house instead of having someone do it. Choices, people. Choices.

There are days when going to work is a real beat down. And I love my job! I can’t imagine how people who hate theirs do it. There are days when I want to stay home and work on projects or just snuggle with my kids. But the choice I made is to go to work. I am very, very happy with that choice. It is the BEST choice for MY family. I, too, have to watch my phrasing on occasion. I let my children know how important it is to make a contribution, whatever that is, and that we all have jobs that are important and deserve our time and attention. I let them know that I choose to go to work and they are better for it. They are happy and healthy and well adjusted. They have been blessed in being exposed to others who love and teach them in ways I could not even if I was with them 24/7. They have blessed others with their smiles and their crazy little personalities. They and I are better for me working. And we are blessed for it.

I wonder if this working vs. staying at home battle of the Mommy Wars would come to a screeching halt if we all started looking at both choices as the virtuous decisions they are. Both choices hold virtue and have value and benefit our children.

Stay at home moms: You work your asses off every day to keep your kids happy and your homes in order. You deal with attitude that cuts to the core because it comes from these little people who have a direct line to your heart. You often give up adult conversation and getting to dress up in clothes that don’t have baby gunk on them. Your coworkers are little people who in one day make you deliriously happy and then deliriously insane. Your family vacations are essentially vacations with your bipolar little coworkers. You sometimes sacrifice new things for yourself and pedicures and you clip coupons and shop bargains to live on one income. You made this choice because when you started your family you knew that being with your children was worth all of that sacrifice and that you and they would be better for it. You wanted to show your daughter that she could have a college degree and still make the choice to leave the working world. You wanted to show your son that the work a woman does at home is worth millions and deserves the utmost respect from the man in her life.

Working moms: You work your asses off every day to keep your kids and your employers happy. You skip lunch breaks so you can go to Target for birthday gifts or to attend parent conferences. You give up sleep to work out before the kids get up. You come home exhausted but feel exhilarated the second you see your little people. You feel cheated when they act like terds because of the limited time you get with them. You plan every detail of your family vacations because you want to soak up every single second with your family and sometimes feel disappointed when it isn’t completely perfect. You hope and pray that your sweet angel doesn’t do anything momentous like roll over or walk for the first time while you’re away. You made this choice because when you started your family you knew that you being at work and your little person being at daycare/preschool would make you both better. You wanted to show your daughter that a woman has a chance in the world and can make good money and be competitive. You wanted to show your son that a woman’s career is just as important as a man’s and that both partners have to pitch in to make a household work.

Ladies, the work we do is incredible whether it is at home or in an office. It is an incredible choice. The blessing is that women many, many generations before us made sure that we would have this choice. The blessing is that we are able to glorify God no matter what we are doing, whether we are at home cleaning up poop or at work…cleaning up figurative poop. The blessing is that we have the ability to sit down with our partners and choose what is best for our families.

No matter what we choose, it feels at times like a blessing and at other times like a curse. But we make our choices and we do each act every day with love and joy and we lift up both choices to glorify God for the blessing of being able to parent these crazy little beings. Let’s stop pretending these are choices beyond our control.

So to the man at Chick-fil-a who told me how blessed they were for his wife to stay home: Yes, sir. You are incredibly blessed. Blessed with a partner with whom you have shared goals. Blessed to parent two incredible little people. Blessed indeed. So am I. Come to think of it…aren’t we all?   

Just say "No."

A few months ago, I read a blog written by a mother who talked about letting her child reserve the right to say “No.”  She was specifically referring to her female child and her right to refuse hugs in particular. I thought it was a very good read and brought up some very good points about how we teach our little girls that they can’t say “No” and the implications of that further down the road. The mom blogger’s point was that we should allow children to say “No.” (There were several other great points in the piece and I apologize that I can’t remember the name of the blog or the piece to share.)

At any rate, I think we’ve done a pretty good job teaching Olivia that she has the right to make choices and to say “No” every now and again. Of course, we try to encourage a “thank you” on the end of that. For instance, if a friend wants her to do something she’s not interested in, she has a right to say “No thank you.” Pretty simple.

Somehow though, in all of my efforts to teach my child that she is in control of her decisions, I’ve forgotten my own right to say “No” every now and then. Well, tonight, I’m taking a stand. I’m reserving my right to say “No.” After all, I’m a grown freaking woman, right?? I get to say “No” sometimes, right? Right.

Here are just a few of the things I’m reserving my right to say “No” to from here on:

No, I do not want to play the Animal Game. Again. For the 87^th time today.

No, I do not want to try your boogers.

No, I will not play the Frozen soundtrack again. For the 7,867 time this week.

No, you cannot see my poop or your brother’s poop, or any poop that is not your own.

No, I do not want to help you wipe your bottom.

No, you cannot have a drink of my water. You have your own water. I just want to drink my own water!

No, I will not read another story. Because 548 stories in a night is sufficient.

No, I will not smell your feet.

No, you cannot tell me a secret. Because getting 2 millimeters from my ear and making a gagging noise is not a secret.

No, I will not tuck you in. Again. For the 67^th time tonight.

No, I don’t want to talk about flowers.

No, I don’t want to watch My Little Pony.

No, I will not stop drinking this wine. I don’t care if it’s 9:45. In the morning.

Aaaaahhhh... That felt good! It feels good to assert my rights as a woman! 

HEAR ME ROAR, WORLD!

Okay, break time’s over. I have bottoms to wipe and stories to read. It felt good to imagine though…

That last one though…I’m definitely asserting myself there. How else am I going to make it through playing the Animal Game just one more time?

Love is a verb

I’ve fallen in love a few times in my life. There were guys in college and after that I was head over heels for. Until I met Mike though, I had never actually LOVED anyone.

Here’s the thing about falling in love: eventually, you have to get back up.

Cinderella and Prince Charming had to come home from the honeymoon eventually. They had to decide who would do the dishes and the laundry and the yard work. And eventually, who would get up with the baby in the middle of the night or stay home from work with a sick kid or whose family they would spend the holidays with. And some days they would realize that they hadn’t had a chance to even touch each other or say “I love you” or even ask “How was your day?” Some days they would be so busy making breakfasts, and lunches, and dinners, and being interrupted every 35 seconds by little voices asking for milk/water/food/help wiping/etc. There would come a day when they realized that so many of the things they needed to say or meant to say to each other hadn’t been said. If they had a chance to gaze longingly into each other’s eyes it would be because they were in a standoff over who would get up to clean up the milk that had just been spilled.  

And they would fight. Over little things like someone (ahem, Charming…) leaving dirty dishes in the sink. Those little things would become big things that became indicators of respect or caring. There would be yelling and crying and nights worrying how they could keep going. And sometimes there wouldn’t be any of those things at all because they were weary and lost and not knowing how two people who are SO different could POSSIBLY keep the fairy tale alive.

And in today’s world, they’d go to a divorce attorney and split their assets and come up with a schedule for the kids and shake hands and shrug and say “Well, we tried…”

Here’s the other thing about falling in love: the very act of ‘falling’ suggests something accidental and out of our control. After all, nobody PURPOSEFULLY falls. It’s sudden and uncomfortable and sometimes it hurts. It’s not something you decide to do. It’s something that happens to you.

Here’s the thing about ACTUALLY, really LOVING someone: it’s not accidental. It doesn’t “just happen.” It’s purposeful and intentional and it’s ACTIVE.

It is EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. It is someone leaving dirty dishes in the sink and taking care of sick babies and looking across the dinner table and wanting so bad to walk over and hug the other person and just *be* together but not being able to because you are covered in spit up or cutting someone’s meat or arguing over bed time. It is waking up every day tired because you have a baby who doesn’t love sleep as much as you do and going to work thinking “I wish we could just go have margaritas on the patio tonight” but going home to have spaghetti instead and giving the kids a bath while the other one washes dishes and wanting to have sex but feeling not just out of shape but in the shape of a rhinoceros.

It is looking at the two little people you created together and feeling at once exhilarated and overwhelmed by both exhaustion and love.

It is sometimes thinking, “If I had known that when we were dating…” And then remembering you’re wearing sweat pants. Again. For the 78^th night in a row.

It is telling your Prince Charming that you need more. It is him giving it his best every day. It is you putting up with some shit because you realize you put out quite a bit of shit too. It is looking in the mirror and knowing that some of the problems you have with him might be problems you have with yourself.

Loving someone is messy sometimes and exhausting and really hard but also really easy. Because you know that without that person, you’d be…well, not you. Without the two little people that keep you flabby and tired, you’d be…not you.

It is letting this crazy, messy, exhausting, incredible love shape you and mold you and realizing you are better for it. It is making a decision that you are NOT going to give up. Not ever. Because love is not something you fell into. It is something you chose. It is something you choose every day of your life.

And it’s working out who is going to do the dishes and the laundry and stay home with the sick kids. And it’s accepting that you are shaped like a rhinoceros but you need to have some naked time together and knowing  that you’ll probably be up with a baby sometime in the middle of the night. It’s waking up the next day and choosing it all over again. EVERY. SINGLE . DAY.

It’s knowing that society’s solution to shake hands and walk away isn’t an option. It’s knowing that the love stories on tv aren’t the full story and that the reward, the real joy, doesn’t come from the falling. It comes from the staying.

It’s in the smiles and the tears. It’s in the laughter and the little things like eating spaghetti together and seeing your love alive in two other little people. It’s in taking those little moments to snuggle next to each other at night or hold hands while walking to the park. It's in the moment when you know you look like a rhinoceros but you're treated like a super model. 

Love, REAL LOVE is active, and involved, and purposeful. Not accidental. Not something that just happens to you. It’s a choice.

Love is a verb. 

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