I often wonder at my being a stay-at-home-mom. I sometimes think I'm failing at my job. If I was being paid, I'm pretty sure I would've been fired by now. I mean, if I'm not accomplishing what I should be, why don't I just get a job and contribute to the stash of gold?
There are many facets that feed into this guilt. One of them being that I am prone to guilt. Another being that I feel I'm asking too much of my 40-hours-a-week husband. Why should I be asking him to dress the kids in the morning? Why should he cook dinner 4 out of the 6 nights a week we should be eating at home? Even if he is a much better cook than me?
I'm not a feminist, by any means. On the far side of the scale, I'm also not Betty Crocker. I rarely wear an apron, and if I do, it tends to stay on for days at a time, simply because I forget to take it off. (This is why you see me walking around the neighborhood with my apron. Not because I'm some amazing woman who participates in such activities which would call for said apron.)
I hate, loathe, despise with every fiber in my being, day time shows, soap operas, features on the news, and any show placed in a court room. It's like I'm a secretary who can't type. It's standard that I be obsessed with at least one of these, isn't it?
I don't do playdates. I mean, we go and play with friends, and sometimes scheduel these interactions, but I don't do "playdates". I don't need to sit around with a bunch of other moms while their children pull my childrens hair, bite them, and otherwise make the afternoon a nightmare.
I won't be surprised if my third childs' first word is "McDonalds".
But my son can read and write. My daughter has great gumption which I assure myself she got from watching me as an example. They play outside and get plenty of Vitamin D and Kembry's hair is up and pretty 98% of the time. They both potty trained at 2 years old. They know where their shoes go if they're not on their feet, and they make it to that spot 76% of the time.
So what if they know that when daddy comes home, mommy shuts down almost completely. So what if my house is never always spotless. Bah, I don't want to raise my kids in that atmosphere. We need dirt! We need clutter! We need counters full of breakfast dishes and most likely last nights dinner! We need these things, otherwise, they won't have a happy mommy.
And everyone knows, if mommy ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.
So, pooh on guilt. I vacuumed today. Did some dishes. Threw in some laundry. Made some lunch. I'd say that's a job well done. I wouldn't expect a bonus or a raise for this. Maybe just a look of great surprise and big hug and a kiss from my adoring husband.