Jack of All Trades….Master of None

The other day I was feeling pretty proud of  myself because I cleaned out our linen closet, the guest room closet and both bathroom drains that had been giving us drainage problems. I even wrapped more presents. Maggie helped throughout it all, enjoying being part of the process. I jokingly told Barry that I’d have to charge him for the plumbing problem and that we (Maggie and I as a team) don’t come cheap. At one point she was chewing on a granola bar loudly in my ear while yelling “YUCK, YUCK, YUCK!!”

We fixed the problem(s) and I can safely say that it’ll probably happen again in a few months unless I shave my head and Barry stops shaving his face and that ain’t happening, people! But really, I found myself thinking about this whole stay at home gig and how much I love it. I really love it, but it isn’t full of sipping on tea and reading books together all day. There is a whole other side to it (grocery store trips, horrible naps, spilled everything, laundry, etc.) that makes it challenging to find authentic time between it all sometimes.

For the most part, I think we do a pretty good job of it….the authentic part, I mean. Sometimes other things fall to the wayside. Like last week we went to visit my grandparents and abandoned our house that was practically in shambles. We brought lunch of left over chili and cookie dough to bake. I had visions of Maggie pressing the cookie cutter into sugar cookie dough on my grandma’s kitchen table. That SO did not happen. The dough that I’d made turned out not to be great so I scratched that idea and made snicker doodles instead. Sugar cookies can wait until next year, we’ll stick to play dough for now.

But the magic of the trip over to my grandparents was everything else that was going on. Cora and Izak were there helping to set up Christmas. My grandparents love Christmas and their house transforms each year with each nook and cranny full of little vignettes. Maggie was in heaven listening to the annoying songs of my grandpa’s prized toys and petting the beards of the santas on the little bench. Seeing Izak put some more lights around the pond only reinforced everything that she thinks she knows about Uncle Izak and Christmas lights.  She also got to help Cora string lights (and listen to my grandparents each state their case for blinking or non-blinking lights) around the tree.

After spending a few hours we returned to our home (still in shambles, but who cares sometimes, right?) with a gifted snow globe and a Sugar-doodle cookie for Papa. That evening after we changed into our jammies, and picked up the shambles from previous activities, we took the snow globe out of the box to see if it was as beautiful as it was back at 3G’s.

It was.

But then we did some puzzles and the state of our shamble-like house returned.

But since I wear the hats of mama, plumber, professional organizer, and chef, why can’t I wear the hat of a wrecking crew too?

Paid in Love

I get the magazine Mamalode in the mail and always want to give it a little smooch when it shows its pretty little self in my mailbox. The content is astounding because it is written by mothers for mothers. And sometimes I need a swift kick in my mama-toosh.

Like lately I’ve needed that swift kick in the toosh because I’ve become a worry-wart about the future of this motherhood thing I’ve been doing. Shouldn’t I be gearing up to go back to school? Shouldn’t I be freaking out about my old job? Lots of mothers work, why can’t I?

My ears burn at comments made about working mothers and I have internal battles with myself about what that term really means. Working mothers. Aren’t all mothers working in some capacity? Does collecting a paycheck really make a better mother? Does not collecting a paycheck really make a better mother? Aren’t all mothers working to better their family?

When I cozy up to Mamalode and paw through the pages, I again am able to align myself and figure “it” out for a quick second. Someday I’ll probably be a mother that collects a paycheck.

And that’s fine.

Right now I’m not that mother.

I get to stay home.

I am that mother.

Just like the seasons of the year, this too will eventually change. It works for our family right now. This doesn’t mean that I don’t miss teaching because I do. Dearly. But for this next year I am again choosing a different path and my version of working doesn’t involve a paycheck.

As my internal battle rages on about under-appreciated paycheck-collecting mothers and non-paycheck-collecting mothers alike, please know that I’m getting paid in full by sloppy smooches from my littlest worker. This makes all things right in my world.

And for now I’m happy to be that mother.