Happy Boss's Day

It's been a rough past couple of weeks in our house.  Lots of sickness, numerous trips to the doctor, too many cancelled plans and shuffled schedules, and, if possible, the house has gotten even messier than it was prior to all of this.  The optimist in me (what?!...I totally have a little of it) says that I should just be thankful that the illness is all minor and, in theory, short-lived.  But the pessimist in me thinks that this just might be what pushes me over the edge into a full-blown nervous breakdown.

I continue to be asked by people how I'm liking staying at home.  I feel like it's the same as when you're pregnant and people ask you if you're excited (which I always found to be a dumb question anyway).  It just feels like there's a right answer that people are expecting.  Sort of like the "how are you today?" thing.  You're supposed to answer with "good" and be done with it.  I'm supposed to answer that staying at home is going well.  If I give any other answer it's either too much information or just plain makes me look like a bad mom.

I don't hate my new role.  But I can't say that fully love it.  And I'm not embarrassed by that and I make no apologies.  Because I *do* love my children.  And I *am* thankful for this opportunity.  I really do think years from now I'll look back on this time and be so glad that I was able to spend the extra time with the kids.  I look at Max and feel like I've just blinked and he became a 5-year-old.  And, despite that last week was one of the longest of my life :), it was nice to not have to worry about finding alternate daycare and calling employees to ask favors to work extra hours.  And I could be the one to give them extra kisses (and wipe their noses....and get whatever it is that they have five days later...).

The point to all of this (I swear that there is one), is that I am beginning to realize that the pressure to 100% love this staying at home thing is totally self-imposed.  Brian doesn't expect a clean house, or apparently, a sane wife.  He continues to love me no matter how disgusting our family room is or how often I serve him breakfast for dinner (it's SO easy...I just can't stop).  And he puts up with my constant emotional breakdowns.  And the kids seem to love me despite the fact that I forever mess up as a mom.  My patience has taken a nosedive the past few weeks, and poor Max hasn't been to school a minute before 8:40 (i.e. the time school starts) since September.  And as long as my family still loves me, which appears to be an unconditional, long-term thing, I really am as happy as a mother and wife could be.  It doesn't mean that I'm not allowed bad days and weekly cries on the kitchen floor (hypothetically, of course).  It just means that it's more motivation to keep working on being a better mother and wife.  Because these four, beautiful souls in my life really do make me want to be a better person.  And someday I will go back to working outside of the home.  And I'm sure at that point I'll miss things about staying at home.  The grass is always greener, right?  But this is what I'm supposed to be doing right now, and I've always loved a good challenge, so I'll continue to work on all these domestic skills that appear to not be a part of my genetic makeup.  And on the bad days, I'll take great solace in the fact that my "bosses" give performance reviews via kisses and hugs.

Go Team Tortoise!

This conversation occurred this morning between Max and me.  The Today Show was on the tv, and we were watching the story about the news anchorwoman in Wisconsin who spoke out against an email sent to her that criticized her weight (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GdJ2jHii6Y0&feature=plcp).  Max and I had this brief conversation:

Max: "Mom!  Did you hear her?  She just called herself fat."

Me: "Well, she's actually talking about how someone sent her an email telling her that she was fat.  That's not very nice, is it?"

Max: "No."

Me: "Because we shouldn't call people names, ya know?  It hurts their feelings.  We should just say nice things."
Max: "Yeah.  Like, even though you're fat, Mom, I still love you."

Clearly he missed the "don't say mean things to people" point, but he full embraced the "we should be nice and try to love everyone" point, so I can't get too down about it.  :)  I just wish it didn't come on the week where I have two bridesmaid dresses to squeeze into.  

When I was pregnant with Milo, I decided at some point in regards to my weight gain that ignorance was bliss, and that I'd lost baby weight two times before, so I could do it again.  I attempted to enjoy my last pregnancy (as much as anyone, especially me, can enjoy pregnancy...) and not focus on the fat I was also accumulating.  I still don't know exactly what I weighed when Milo was born or exactly how much I gained, but I do know that I've got a good 10 pounds left that I'd like to lose (and realistically I'd like to make it 15 pounds).  And as much as I'm struggling with my body image right now, I do know that I'm slowly but surely getting closer to my goal.  In my mind it would have been reached by this weekend (when I have to wear the two above mentioned bridesmaid dresses), but it is what it is.  Slow and steady wins the race.  (Although sometimes the super fast and steady guy wins, too....but we're not focusing on that today.)

Honestly though, I had to laugh at Max's comment.  Because the absolute wonderful part of it?  He was being sincere.  He looked me straight in the face, and in not so many words told me that he doesn't care if I've showered, if I'm sweaty and smelly from a workout (because I do actually work out, thankyouverymuch), if I'm haggard from the daily strain of parenting....he loves me.  And if I'm being honest with myself, that's a billion times more important to me than 15 extra pounds of fat affixed to my arms and belly.  

*This is not a solicitation for "you look great!" comments.  Despite my insecurities, I'm still okay with what I look like.  I'm working to get to where I want to be, and until then, I'm good.  Pinky swear.