Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I want ten children and a screen door that bangs. I want white sheets on the clothesline, and lots of bare feet in the kitchen where glasses with lemons leave puddles on the countertop. I want to hear my children yell and watch their little bodies dive and fall and knot together, all knees and bums and pink until I must stop whatever it is I am stirring and untangle them; leaving them to giggles and popsicles and sticky drips on the dog. I want to watch the seasons pass my window, for ten minutes every Monday, while my hands punch the same dough my grandmother still makes and my house smells yeasty and wholesome like hers. I want long hot days and a garden, with peas that need shelled one by one and the sound of them dropping in a bucket. I want the sun to shine past bedtime and keep us all awake and reading Charlotte's Web on the creaking porch swing. I want sandy high-fives stuck to the windows, and weedy flower beds and a worn-out welcome mat. I want a giant oak tree. I want to smell like sunscreen and have tanlines in weird places. I want to line-up canning jars like a Victory Parade all across the kitchen. I want to pick my own berries and find a thousand ways to use up zucchini and tomatoes. I want to dance in the rain and make lemonade and stop and smell the roses. It's summer. I want everything.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Some moments lately that only Stay At Home Moms get to experience:
We were invited to speak at a Very Important Meeting, with Very Important People attending . . . which creates the Very Big Problem of WHAT TO WEAR?? The beach t-shirt and faded shorts that I usually wear won't work . . . my one good pair of jeans won't work . . . what about the dress I picked up on clearance at Target? No, my husband was right, it really does look like a choir robe . . . after digging through my closet I finally emerged all pulled together and dressed for suc-cess! Tasteful pants and top, both picked-up at a Goodwill thrift shop somewhere, and a cute red purse that I'd grabbed for 25 cents at a garage sale last year. Classy? Ohhhh yeah.
Another rare occasion, I happened to be going somewhere alone, and decided that the giant canvas diaper bag number I take everywhere was a bit excessive, so I decided to transfer some items to a smaller purse. Dumping out the contents of my big bag I found:
one Eric Carle board book
a plastic lobster
a plastic gecko
one lost sheep left out of the Christmas Nativity box
a pink stuffed poodle
a tupperware bowl with stale goldfish
three cell phones: one plastic, one finally dead after much abuse by little people, one recently and painfully purchased.
a green tractor
a mess of coupons
diapers, wipes, lipgloss
. . . you know, just the essentials.
Have I told about the time I was doing some SERIOUS couponing at CVS with the girls, and before I knew it Sami had tipped the cart over with Annie IN it!? It's hard to appear in control while lifting a cart off of your toddler.
Today, I took the girls to our Amish bulk food store. I go here to shop for things wholesome AND thrifty, like dried fruit and oat bran pretzels, so I can feel like a good mom, the kind of mom who is conscientious, and who knows about things, important things, and a cool mom, the has-it-all-under-control-mom, whose well-behaved children wait patiently while she reads box labels and searches for flaxseed- kind of mom . . . the problem is, this particular store also has little shopping carts for kids. And now that Annie is all-opinionated already, she feels entitled to push one too. And the store is small. The aisles are tight. And by the time we left it was lunchtime at the factory next door, and quickly became very crowded. We couldn't move, because we were each pushing a cart, and my well-behaved children don't listen to me and were both going in opposite directions, while I got glares from every side. Then, my well-behaved children ran away while I was checking out, and I became blocked-in by a cart behind me. More glares. I could not get them and our all-natural groceries out the door fast enough.
. . . They both fell asleep in the car, so I could head straight to McDonald's for a really-really-bad-for-me-but-much-deserved iced coffee.
Then, there are moments like this:
Sure, being a stay-at-home mom isn't glamorous, often humbling, never boring. You know what? I wouldn't change a thing.