Happy Easter!
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From the category archives:
Stay At Home Mom
It isn’t easy being a one-income household.
There are a lot things we go with out so that I can stay home, and take care of our boys.
We hardly ever go on vacation. If we do it’s short, and to some place we can drive.
And our cars? They’re older than my five year old.
We don’t have the hottest cell phones. Our clothes are from the sales racks at Old Navy and Target instead of the newest inventory at Macy’s.
The boys aren’t enrolled in Montessori School. I’m the pre-school teacher around here.
When we do purchase something like a new computer or a Wii, we don’t go out and buy it right away. We save until we can afford it.
If the car breaks down or there’s some sort of other unexpected bill, we pay that first. Then we wait even longer for our “wants”.
I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t admit sometimes I’m envious of other moms’ spa days and luxury mini-vans with entertainment systems.
But, you know, all that stuff?
It’s just stuff.
Though our society doesn’t view it that way, things like iPhones and weekly manicures and dinners out four nights a week are really luxuries.
In some homes, and yes even in this country, just having enough food to eat dinner every night is a luxury.
I am so grateful that our needs are provided for.
I could go back to work.
Then we could go on Disney vacations every year, and I could Tweet from my Blackberry.
But I’d miss out on the one luxury that does really matter to me.
The privilege of being at home with my precious little boys every day.
Oh, sure, there are times I desperately want to talk to someone over 4 feet tall, and want to pull my hair out, and want to lock myself in the bathroom.
But most of the time I’m laughing or giving snuggles or kissing boo-boos. And that’s the stuff I don’t want to live with out.
I wouldn’t give it up for any of that other stuff.
This is heavy on my heart, because several moms have told me recently they’re going back to work even though they don’t want to.
I know the economy is bad, and it’s scary. I know you wonder some days if you’re going to make it.
If you really want to work, there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think everyone should be a stay-at-home-mom.
But if staying home with your children is what you truly desire, then I implore you to weigh all your options. Re-evaluate your financial priorities. Re-work your budget.
You might find a way to make it work.
It could mean giving up small things like gym memberships and designer jeans.
It could mean giving up big things, like downsizing your house or your vehicles.
Is being home with your kids every day worth it?
I think so.
What do you think?
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My 34th birthday was today. I spent most of it resting on the couch and napping, trying to get over a cold.
David was with my mother-in-law. She let him stay over last night and kept him most of today since I was sick. My husband wasn’t able to be home tonight, so when I went to pick David up this evening and she took us out for dinner.
Someone else at the restaurant was having a birthday too, and the staff came out and sang to them. Well, it didn’t take much for David to put two and two together. He informed our waitress that it was my birthday also, and insisted that someone had to sing to his Mommie. Before I knew it, I was being serenaded.
Being sung to in a restaurant full of people really isn’t my thing, but David loved it.
I had a birthday cake and candles at home that my mother-in-law brought over the day before. So when David and I got back after dinner he told me we had to have cake. He put all the candles on the cake. There weren’t 34, but there were a lot. I lit them, and he sang Happy Birthday to me. Then he blew out the candles.
My little boy singing Happy Birthday to me all by himself was pretty sweet. What a great memory.
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I’ve been painting this week if anyone is wondering where I’ve been.
The walls are now Oyster Shell.
Looks tan to me.
I’ve never seen a tan oyster shell.
I’ve tackled the hallway, the living room and the kitchen so far.
I don’t know what possessed me to do this at 31 weeks pregnant. I think it’s that nesting syndrome. I decided the walls looked dirty, and I just couldn’t take it anymore. I also know that once Wade arrives it will be a long time before I’ll have time to paint again.
Don’t worry. The pregnant lady did not fall off the ladder and suffer some sort of tragic injury like she always does on TV, and I took lots of rest breaks. Which is why I’m still not done.
The problem with painting is that it’s one of those projects you have to finish once you start.
Unless you like a two-toned look on your walls.
Like I said, I’ve got more to do, but I need to take a day or two off to recover. Did you know painting makes every muscle in your body sore? I guess it’s really good exercise. They should make some sort or painting workout video.
It couldn’t possibly be any worse than Sweatin’ to the Oldies.
I am very grateful to my mom who let David stay at her house for almost four days so I could paint. I would not have gotten anywhere near this far with him running around splattering paint everywhere.
I’m going to lay down now, and not move for two days.
If you don’t hear from my anymore this week, it’s because I can’t get up off the couch.
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I finally figured it out.
Daylight Savings Times is a government conspiracy.
They know they can wear us down and get us to do almost anything if our sleep schedules are all out of whack. And especially if our kid’s sleep schedules are off. A few days with a cranky kid who goes to sleep too late and gets up too early will weaken the resolve of even the strongest individual.
Did you notice how many controversial bills are up for consideration in congress this week? They figure we’re too bleary-eyed to notice.
Write your senator and ask them to end this unconstitutional practice today!
OK. So maybe it doesn’t have the makings of an Oliver Stone movie, but seriously, DST really has things messed up in this house.
You wouldn’t think an hour here or there twice a year would have this kind of effect. But it’s like having jet lag.
David who is usually pretty easy to put to bed at 8:30 every night is still bouncing off the walls at 10. I mean really bouncing off the walls. I heard him banging on it or kicking it or something last night.
While you might think falling asleep after 10 p.m. would lead to waking up at 9 the next morning, you’d be wrong. He’s up at 7. And mad at the world because he didn’t get enough sleep. But despite being so tired I can’t get him to take a nap until 2. That leaves him still revved up at bedtime.
I understand his problem because I can’t fall asleep before 11, but wake up at 5:30 in the morning.
Tired, cranky kid and tired mom with a short fuse makes for some long days.
Maybe that’s the key to Daylight Savings Time. It’s not that extra hour of sunshine that makes the days seem longer.
It’s the sleep deprivation.
Does Springing Forward and Falling Back make things crazy in your household? Talk to me.
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I can close my eyes and in a moment be transported back there.
I am seven years old.
The kitchen smells of boiled potatoes, fried pork, dogs and barn boots. But it’s not a bad smell. It’s comforting, welcoming.
The air is hot and moist from the cooking and simmering that’s gone on all day.
A green kettle sits on the gas stove ready to heat water for tea.
There is a worn old table surrounded by mismatched chairs. A cookie jar that looks like a hen sitting on her nest rests a top the table.
Behind the refrigerator, the kind with the freezer on the bottom, is a yard stick, often threatened, but never actually used, on a gaggle of rowdy grandchildren.
There’s an old metal stool at one end of the table covered in peeling green paint. The seat spins. Sometimes it’s a merry-go-round for a bored kid.
But now Grandma sits there peeling those potatoes, served at almost every meal, usually mashed.
Oh, how I loved that week every summer when we stayed at Grandma’s house. For an only child, lots of nearby cousins meant instant comrades.
For a child who lived in town, the farm meant new experiences and adventures.
I fed calves with a bottle, watched chickens meet their fate at the end of an ax, climbed the hay elevator up to the loft, collected eggs from the hen house, helped slop the pigs.
There was an old pony, a pack of friendly dogs and a gang of ferocious barn cats to provide hours of entertainment.
And Grandma was the queen of all of this. The royal matriarch of this magical, rural realm.
When you’re seven your Grandma is a Fairy Godmother.
I think of this today as news comes that the farm has at last been sold.
I can’t go back there anymore.
I’m no longer seven.
The house isn’t the same.
Grandma doesn’t live there anymore.
Grandma, who time is now catching up with, isn’t the same.
Our family, changed by time and scattered by distance, isn’t the same.
But I have all these memories, and can recall so many details about the house and the farm. I can see every room of that house just as it was 25 years ago. I remember the dusty lane and how the field looked full of growing corn. I see the cows eating at a trough in the barnyard. I hear the loud ruckus as aunts and uncles and grandchildren fill up that big old farm house.
That house is just a place in my heart now. A part of dreamy childhood reminiscences where innocence and naivety still exist. Where there isn’t a care in the world.
But to soar on the tire swing hanging from the hundred year old tree in the side yard once more!
To laugh with cousins around the kid’s table once more!
To bound up the steps on the back porch one last time into the kitchen where Grandma is busy cooking something and the tea kettle is whistling happily away!
These are sweet, sweet memories.
Do you have fond childhood memories of a special place? Talk to me.
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Dave and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary on Saturday.
Well, I use the word celebrated loosely, because I spent the day reclining on the couch, sick with a stomach virus, while Dave kept little David entertained so I could rest.
Sunday I was feeling better, thank goodness, because we had tickets to take David to see Playhouse Disney Live. We went out for lunch before the show, and splurged on an expensive appetizer with our meal in honor of our anniversary.
Do we know how to live it up or what?
Anniversaries are usually pretty low key for us anyway. Unless it’s a milestone like our 10th last year when we went to Chicago for a few days, with no child in tow. Although we usually do manage something a little more romantic than eating pasta with a precocious preschooler and watching Mickey Mouse dance hand-in-hand with Goofy.
But you know, I didn’t mind one bit.
As I sat there watching Disney characters parade by and asking myself why I believed it would be OK to eat Italian the day after an upset stomach, my eyes fell on David’s beaming face. He was mesmerized by all the music, lights and activity on stage. Dave was there next to me just as he has been for the last 11 years. Wade was tucked safe inside my womb waiting to arrive in June.
I began to wander back over a decade, in and out of memories. A lot of good memories. A few difficult times, but mostly good. Then I considered the events of the last two days, and thought, “This is why we got married. All of this.”
To be together. To have a family. To share life’s ups and downs.
Is there anyone else I’d want around while I convalesced all day in my nightgown, hair uncombed, no make-up?
Is there anyone else, who on our anniversary without complaint, would keep a four-year-old occupied for hours so I could rest?
Is there any better date than spending a day with my guys?
To all those questions the answer is simply no.
As the curtain came down on Mickey and his friends I knew there was no place I’d rather be.
Not for all the quiet dinners and dancing and roses and candlelight in the world.
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