The Grass is Always Greener

So I'm 4 months in to the stay at home mom gig, and I have to admit that it is the hardest work I've ever done. It's like having a full time job where your midget boss follows you around all day asking obvious questions and messing up work that you've just completed. Not only is the midget boss (or team of bosses) incredibly demanding, but he/she is also critical, messy, sometimes whiny and cranky, and pays you $0 dollars and no change. The midget bosses even follow you to the restroom--very unprofessional.

We're having dinner with some new neighbors, and we're all talking about what we "do" in addition to raising our children of which there seem to be at least 18 by the noise in the house, and I'm finding myself overwhelmed with jealousy as one mother of two describes her job as an art teacher and department chair at a nearby prestigious private school. A year ago I would have felt envy if she had been describing her day staying home with her children and taking them to the park or art museum, and packing lunches to go to the zoo. I would have felt like the slacker mom who rushes in a little grouchy after a long day at work to whip up some half assed dinner all the time thinking about what needs to be done at work and how quickly I can get baths and get them to bed. But I sat there listening to her and thinking about the creativity of teaching, and the freedom of movement throughout the day, not to mention the extra income to save for vacations, or say the gas and electric bill.

Maybe its just that I don't feel like I'm any good at this stay at home thing. My house isn't any cleaner, I'm still rushing to make dinner (often more than half assed), we still lose important papers, and we have no money. I do attempt to take the kids more places, but until the last few weeks its been too cold to really want to go anywhere. Not to mention, the threat of E coli virus on every surface has left me thinking twice about most of the indoor climbing/play places. Plus we get there, and I think about all the things that I should be doing at home, and I wonder how many days that clean laundry has been sitting in the office upstairs waiting to be put away.

So the grass is always greener. Why is that?

But I make my life sound tragic. I have left out a few details that make it all worth while, like the look on Ian's face when I pick him up from preschool, and he can't wait to show me the button he sewed on his felt bracelet. And how much I love meeting Julia at the bus and walking home with her realizing how tall she's getting and the quiet confidence she has acquired. I love the mornings when the older children leave for school, and its just me and a sleeping baby for about an hour until I hear her sweet little cooing, and she greets me with this wide gummy grin, her whole face lighting up when she sees me. And sometimes, though not all the time, I love the crazy chaos that is our life; the painted pictures and sticky floors, the glass jar filled with dirt and worms I find in the living room, the piles of folded laundry we dig through to locate the gym clothes. And I love that it is wonderfully, completely and totally mine to love.