If I hear another person say “It must be nice to not have to work” I may ‘cut a bitch.’ Staying home with three kids is more work than you can imagine. I actually used to look forward to my job because it gave me a break. A 2-year-old is more demanding than any boss. This week I actually had to read her books while walking on the treadmill. My 5-year-old doesn’t care if you are saving a life. If he wants to show you something you need to drop what you’re doing. This morning I had to see what he dropped in the toilet. “It smells bad, doesn’t it,” he giggled. (From interviewing high ranking politicians, heroes and athletes to examining feces.) Plus, I have a tween who knows everything and sounds like Napoleon Dynamite. Then, there is the fighting, the constant fighting. It’s not like their arguing over how to free Tibet. (Nope, it’s still not free. I saw a bumper sticker the other day.) They argue over things like who gets in the car first. I don’t know if Home Alone has scared the hell out of them, but this bus ain’t leaving until everyone is on board.
It has been two weeks since I left my job to be a stay at home mom. I was second guessing my decision yesterday until I saw the news. There was a story of a 3-year-old killed in a jetski accident. The mother was my exact age. I’m sure she would give anything to have to clean spaghetti sauce off a wall, brush his teeth while he spits out toothpaste or make a peanut butter sandwich for the millionth time. It’s funny how we always want something more instead of cherishing what we have. Last night I danced with my daughter in the kitchen to the same song about 10 times. I didn’t rip my hair out. I enjoyed the moment watching her smile, shake her hips and wave her hands. I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy. I may go bananas from time to time, but this is where I’m supposed to be.