Work

I have often wondered why anyone with small children would choose to work if it weren’t absolutely necessary.  I would look around at the sleepy faces of my children each morning and be so grateful we didn’t live that life.  There is no early morning rush in our household as my little people awaken when they do (dreadfully early) and meander their ways down to breakfast.  Our morning is filled with impromptu snuggles and hugs and small warm bodies curling up next to me in bed.  It’s a delicious beginning.  I couldn’t imagine what would tempt me away from this life; what could even begin to measure up.

I’ve begun to have a bit of writing success over the last few weeks.  People are interested in manuscripts, and I got to jump in and teach a class at the Catholic Writer’s Conference when the regular presenter didn’t show.  It went so well they invited me back to present it next year.  It’s been a heady couple weeks.  My life has a sense of purpose and completion which I don’t normally get to experience.

There is no completion with being a stay-at-home mom.  My day may begin in a slow and lovely way, but it ends late.  The part that is the most wearing is that nothing is ever done.  There is no sense of completion.  I can wash laundry all day, but the only way to finish it would be to strip everyone naked and make them sleep on bare mattresses for the night.  The only way the dishes get completed is to wash them after bed-time and that only lasts until the 5 year old needs a glass of water in the middle of the night.  One day blends into the next and nothing is ever done.

I’ve wondered what it would take to lure me back into an office.  This could be my siren song.  I’m not tempted by title, salary or prestige, but the chance to actually finish something could lure me back.  The opportunity to finish something and actually be done with it has an undeniable allure.

I’m not leaving my little people, yet.  I’ll start the garden next week and find joy in the feel of the earth.  I’ll anxiously await warmer weather when the grass grows enough for me to mow it; mowed grass stays mowed for a week.  I’ll paint our bedroom and finish making it all that I imagine it can be.  And I’ll write.  I’ll write because I have to.  I’ll dream of someday holding a book of my own in my own hands and imagine how that feels.  I’ll move ever closer to the real finish line when I send six children out into the world to begin their own lives.  What an accomplishment that will be.