I have a confession. No, not the burn-your-secret-sin-in-the-bonfire kind of confession.
Just this: It takes every ounce of willpower and Spiritpower, to the core of my being, to be a SAHM.
Not because my kids are so terrible (although, admittedly, they can be a handful),
But more because it's just not 'natural' for me.
Don't put me in the judgement seat just yet.
There are days when every fiber of my being wants to follow any number of dreams I've had
And have the feeling of a project complete, a paycheck deposited, or every other rosy imagining I may have about that world out there.
Most days I am the lady in that picture up there, in my imagining I am Somebody dressed to the nine's,
With a place to go and a purpose to fill.
And most days I am also her, in all my pretendings and the reality is that I am still...at home.
Not just at home, but also homeschooling.
(It is a lesson, the more adamant one is about NEVER, the more likely it seems to be that they will eat humble pie at some point.)
Some of you were blessed with that mother-gene and it has only ever been your wish to fill the part, And you feel that this just fills your cup.
I applaud you, and I am not-so-secretly jealous of your level of contentment.
So, what's a mom to do, who only travels within the block once in a week?
I had this feeling this week for a big bowl of potato chips and a bumper to bumper movie marathon.
And I'm not a daily potato chip kind of gal.
It was just the dailyness of being in these 4 walls that had gotten in my head and my hormones.
Quite frankly, there is no moral to this story, or even a lesson to be learned from this post.
It's just more of : hey, if you've chomping at that mommy bit in your mouth, ya ain't alone.
How do I cope?
Well, hey, Jack. Sometimes my husband has to talk me back off the ledge (so to speak),
Sometimes I get a hold of my own coattails and give myself a virtual spanking.
Sometimes I do buy that bag of potato chips (and I've also been known to buy Little Debbie's and hide them under the school tests in my filing cabinet. Kids never like to go in that drawer)
But most times I practice a little art.
Yeah, to me all of life ends up being art when I am most content. That means tootling with some paint in my house, baking something fancy, sewing some crazy project, or literally doodling on a pad.
Because art is about creating something, usually from nothing, and I am most content then.
So if you happen to stop in someday, and I'm wearing heels and a cocktail dress
While trimming my bushes, know that I'm not a crazy woman.
I'm just practicing at contentment and maybe a little art, all the while praying that the Almighty
would so graciously bestow me with a measure of love for Staying Home.
I know there are more of you...staying homer's. Tell me, do you love it? Endure it?
What do you do to practice contentment, or keep yourself from the crazies?
jo
