I do.
If not because I miss my sweet little people with all my heart, than simply because I would love to delay the shower-shave-blow dry-make-up-iron routine if only for an extra hour each morning (in the interest of full disclosure, I only iron about three times each year).
But alas, I am not. And though I love my job, I love my kids (and lollygagging in pajamas) more, and I often find myself torn between being a pretty good professional and the kind of mom I earnestly endeavor to one day become.
The kind of mom who spends whole afternoons in character as her four-year-old hunts for zombies with an empty paper towel roll-turned-laser gun. Or the kind of mom who has the time to figure out the secret behind turning a two-year-old's bedhead into evenly-spaced twists and ribbons and curls that will somehow hold through a day full of running and wrestling and napping and snow angels on the living room carpet (she really does this).
The kind of mom who can whip up a pirate costume at a moment's notice (though this kind of mom would, of course, not procrastinate such a whipping-up for 1 1/2 hours before the official start of "Pirate Day" at her son's preschool).
Alas, I am not.
I am the kind of mom who -- even though she has known about said Pirate Day since December 6th -- waits.
Waits for a great idea or a great sale or a boost of energy. And when Pirate's Eve rolls around, I run around like a chicken with my head cut off to gather the necessary supplies for what I still envision will be one killer costume.
And then I remember that I have used my sewing machine all of six times.
That I forgot to borrow my neighbor's pirate hat until it was too late in the evening to drop by.
That I have no idea how big my kid's head is. That it would be cruel to wake said soundly-sleeping child just to measure his noggin. And that all of my son's striped shirts are either too little or much too big (because I do manage to do a little advance planning when it comes to school clothes and end-of-season sales).
And then, after assuring myself that it will be fine -- that I'll just wake up early the next morning to do a little pirate fashioning -- I am the kind of mom who hits the snooze button six times.
At that moment, when I don't even have enough time to get myself ready, let alone turn the sweetest four-year-old boy in the history of man into a fierce seadog, I pick motherhood (which, by the way, does not do much for your career -- rather than giving excuses for why I'm late these days, I find myself fielding queries when I am even just five minutes early).
And the end result?
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| See, he can do fierce seadog. |
A 9:00 office arrival and one obviously last-minute pirate costume.
BUT, one very happy little man who, turns out, never would have known the difference (with the exception of a sword; he was very disappointed that he couldn't take his garage sale sword to school -- especially since, turns out, his BFF and a few others did).
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| Yep, whipped that eye patch up at 8:17 a.m. |
It's lessons like these that I wish I could remember. But somehow, in the race to be supermom, consummate professional, kinda still hot wife, and a good enough friend, it's lessons like these that I most often forget. Why is that, I wonder?
Marjorie Hinckley said, "We women have a lot to learn about simplifying our lives. We have to decide what is important and then move along at a pace that is comfortable for us. We have to develop the maturity to stop trying to prove something. We have to learn to be content with what we are."
I often muse over this idea. I aspire to be this kind of woman almost as much as I daydream about being at home with the little Burts. But when schedules collide and to-do's pile up, it just seems impossible. To say no. To slow down. To think before I open my very big and well-intentioned mouth.
And this is the point where I offer something new to the conversation. Where -- after two kids, five houses, a host of bickering and my first gray hair (in my bangs a few months ago) -- I find the solution that will stick. But I've got nothin'. Just a blog post that was, admittedly, half composed on company time and a to-do list that grows with every Better Homes and Gardens I oogle.
But what I do have. What we all have, is gratitude. Life is chaotic. We leave projects unfinished. We make scrambled eggs and call it dinner. We're late for work and we forget about scheduled playdates. We delay the grocery shopping and we fight and make up only to fight about the same thing four days later. But what a blessing it is to have all of this -- this mess and jumble of people and projects.
This ragamuffin little girl who fiercely clings to my side as I make dinner simply because she's missed me as much as I've missed her.
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| Strawberry milk is the perfect bribe in such situations: some nutritional value and much longer lasting that a cookie or piece of candy |
This little man who, fortunately, still thinks drying the dishes alongside his mom and dad is just as fun as boardgames and play-doh.
A husband who is the only person who loves my kids as much as I do and who still makes me laugh -- even if his jokes are simply a ploy to diffuse tension.
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| This little girlie is very "kickelish". |
For a job that not only helps pay the bills but that also fulfills a piece of my self that I suspect I might miss were a genie to one day grant my stay-at-home hoop dream.
And a place -- a safe, quiet, beautiful place -- to call home. To rest, if only for a moment before the next project begins.
And for all of this -- for the shoddy pirate costumes and the unmade beds, for the kids who beg for story after story even though we are all worn down from a day of running, for the half-finished work and the date nights with Redbox wherein I generally fall asleep -- I am so grateful.
Feeling grateful.
And tired.
But grateful, nonetheless. And to all of you, my friends, my family, and a couple of people who have left kind comments but whom I don't believe I have ever met, thanks for being part of the circus and for enduring the starts and stops as this working mom tries to find that comfortable pace.
P.S.
After dropping Porter off at school (on time!) and just as I pulled into the office parking lot an hour late for work, our nanny called to ask if we had any spare diapers hiding somewhere that she may not know about. Needless to say, I did not actually get into the office until 9:25.
Ever wonder what it's like to be a working mom? There you have it.
