I am the management. I create the schedule, assign the tasks, check the progress of the team. I am the CFO, the cook, the housekeeping staff. I run interference. I am the chauffeur. I provide the tools and oversee the work. I take notes. I am the secretary and the gopher. I am the staff-nurse. I am the critic and the audience. I am the one who writes the script and fills out the cast. I am on call 24 hours a day. I work for free. But I am not the Boss.
Today has been tough. No school which meant bored kids, bickering kids. And, it means they will still be in school next July when I am ready to hit the beach after this long, cold winter. We have a pageant on Saturday, a birthday party on Friday night, a family dinner on Sunday.
The pageant has taken the better part of a month to prepare for. Seriously. Four costume changes each, multiple routines (Oh, yes, I am the choreographer too.) Too much work, all mine. Forcing extra piano practice sessions and dance practice sessions on top of our already overly full schedule of dance, piano, theater classes, schoolwork and life. Fitting in trips to have dresses altered, nails done, superfluous activities galore. I have not a minute to spare it seems.
The girls have insane amounts of homework lately, and on top of that extra work from their advanced academic program. Research projects. MLA documentation. Ridiculous expectations. And one who tells me at 9pm tonight that she has a book report due tomorrow. not. yet. started.
Cake. Games. Prize bags. Cupcakes, juice. Did I remember to buy her a gift? Keeping track of who can come, who was invited. Almost forgetting the neighbor's kid. Birthday parties are not exactly a breeze.
I have wash in the washer, wash in the dryer, clothes folded on the bed. There are dishes. The floors need washing. Boots, hats and gloves are multiplying by the front door. Get two together and end up with fifty. They multiple exponentially and without restraint. The trash, which I have taken out twice already, is overflowing in the kitchen.
I am overwhelmed.
Sometimes I envy the working mom. Drop those kids off at daycare and with no one in the house all day, it stays clean for hours, if not days, at a time. My house doesn't stay clean for mere minutes. I can leave a room spotless, and return to disaster. When someone asks what I do, I sheepishly answer that I am a stay-at-home-mom. There's no shame in it. It is work.
But staying home is also a luxury. Steve works hard enough to allow me to maintain a place in the home. Being here for the kids, guiding their every step, loving them through every mess, every spat, every dirty dish and every bedtime argument. Staying home allows me to be the general management, even when it feels like mere maintenance.
Management. It's what I do.
My sink is magic. I kid you not. It can make things disappear; it can make things appear. I doubt the previous owners of the house knew they were installing a magic sink. It certainly wasn't in the realtor's description when we bought the house.
For Sale: Family-sized, 1 and 1/2 bath, four bedroom garrison colonial.
Needs work. Previous owners taste awful, so here is an opportunity to impose
your own style. Unfinished basement. Huge living room, additional family
room, open dining room to kitchen designed for comfortable gatherings.
Bonus: magic sink.
No, I'm fairly sure it didn't say that.
When I walk into my kitchen, all day every day, there are dishes in the sink. I usually empty it first thing in the morning, loading everything into the dishwasher. Whew! That's done. I sweep the floors, sometimes run the steam mop, clean the counters etc. Not like I didn't do it the night before, it just always needs doing again in the morning. I sit down with my coffee and check my email. I return to the kitchen for a refill. VIOLA!
Dishes in the sink. How did that happen? Empty it again. The dishwasher is usually full by now, so I put in some detergent and turn it on. I might start in on cleaning the toy room now. Back into the kitchen to fill a cup for Alex. VIOLA! Dishes in the sink again. Okay, now I have to empty the dishwasher just to get these in. Done. Go do something else for awhile. And later, as I pass through the kitchen again, maybe getting some food and water for hungry dogs... VIOLA!
My word! It is like magic, there were no dishes and now there are dishes. I look around, seeing no one who could have possibly put them there, and I marvel at the amazing abilities of my mystical sink.
But that's not all it can do. Things disappear. Spoons mostly. Sometimes forks. A dishrag. I think the sink takes these items as payment or tips for it's daily routine performances.
And after dinner, the kids carefully trained to be told not once, not twice, but fully three times before clearing their plates-- I empty the sink and load it all into my dishwasher. Again, the job is done. Fin.
Until an hour or so later, when I walk by and find the sink has once again astounded me, against the odds, and mysteriously produced another pile of dishes. They sit there waiting for me to remove them. I do. But as I do this, I know that overnight that sink will once again perform producing not one, not two, not even three, but a sinkful of dishes for me to marvel at in the morning.
Yes. It must be magic.
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Some days- No, most days, I eat standing up at the kitchen counter. By the time I get food served onto plates for the kiddos, I barely have time to take a bite before the, "Mommy, I need" and the, "Mommy, get me" begins.
Two finicky girls, a finicky husband, and a toddler who eats on his own schedule don't make the family dinner special in our house, but I do think it is typical for the modern mom. No candles, no table cloth, paper towels instead of napkins most times, paper cups too; it's all a matter of inconvenience just to try to get everyone to eat at the same time. And, I might add, I am not a great cook so I rely heavily on prepared foods. Yep, I am one of those moms.
Tonight I am sitting down eating Ramen noodles an hour after the kids have had their dinner. By the time I got past getting one milk, getting one juice, cleaning the little man's mac and cheese from the floor ("Mommy, I dropped my soup," he says like it's a game), filling his "baby juice" bottle with OJ (the only beverage he will drink right now), fetching a spoon for the one who won't eat noodles with a fork, getting the butter, and the "Mooom, I need the salt too"-- You get the picture, by the time I have the requests completed, my food is stone cold and I've only managed three bites from my plate as I run back and forth from counter to table to fridge to counter to cupboard to table to-- Where Am I? Right. Dinner is over, and I am sitting here with fried noodles that microwave in three minutes.
One daughter is doing homework, one is playing piano. The little man is asleep on the couch behind me. I am sitting here, saying Hello to you. Saying Hello and eating my 30 cent noodles. And, you know what? They're good. The rush and hassle of my family dinner hour? All good.
Hectic dinner hour at your house too? Click here: The F- Words
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Sometimes I envy the working mom. Drop those kids off at daycare and with no one in the house all day, it stays clean for hours, if not days, at a time. My house doesn't stay clean for mere minutes. I can leave a room spotless, and return to disaster. When someone asks what I do, I sheepishly answer that I am a stay-at-home-mom. There's no shame in it. It is work.