And GO!

If you had asked me last year what I would be doing at this time in my life, my answer probably wouldn't have been "staying at home."  I had a pretty decent job, which I enjoyed (at times)... But I did enjoy working with the people there....  So leaving after seven years has been a little difficult.  Adult conversation, and using my brain for REAL stuff (other than making flashcards, planning dinner, and trying to get grape stains out of a BRAND NEW pair of shorts) was fun.  Exhausting, but fun, and I felt like I was pulling my weight.

Now, being at home, I don't feel like I'm not pulling my weight... But it feels -- different.  I foolishly thought that I would have more free time, more sleep, more creative moments, more "housewifery".  Instead I find that I have more laundry than I know what to do with, I worry about "sensory bins", and colors/numbers/languages.  I feel bad about not keeping a cleaner house, or planning better meals, or decorating, or how about just UNPACKING my crap from a move two months ago.

Do other stay at home moms just have their shit (sorry Mom) more together than I do?  Have I not been doing it long enough to learn the ropes?  Am I not following the right Pinterest boards?  Certainly somewhere there is a handbook on how to do it ALL, and be happy about it.

But I can't deny that I am happy about it.  Ridiculously so.  Being able to spend my entire day with my son (even when he is being a pain) is a blessing....  Being able to stand outside with the kiddo and wave bye to dad, instead of rushing out of the house in the dark.  Being home when Dad comes home, and having him find us dancing in the kitchen.  It's an amazing thing, this time that I have been given.  It may be more work (and it is), but so far I am loving every minute of it.  And once I get the hang of it, I'm sure that I will have time to do the other things.

Writing all of this just reminds me that time is fleeting.  Best to put emphasis on the important stuff, and it isn't the laundry.

Song For a Fith Child, by Ruth Hamilton. 1958

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.  
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.