Mommy, what's your job?

My kids are curious kids, and I’m a talker. Combine those two realities and you find yourself in a highly conversational situation. We talk plenty at home, but our more focused conversations occur in the car. The reason is pretty obvious to me. We’re stuck there, and we all have a captive audience. I’m not a car DVD person unless it’s a really long drive, so our options for entertainment are somewhat limited. 

My kids ask me all sorts of questions and we discuss the world around us. We talk about the trees and how they change according to the seasons. We talk about the weather. We talk about the cars and trucks we observe. We talk about where we are going and where we have been.  We talk about what we like and don’t like. As the weather gets colder, we are starting to talk about what toys Santa should begin acquiring. It’s one big discovery lesson, in reality, and it’s normally enjoyable for all of us. 

The kids always ask if Daddy is home, when we pull into the garage. It’s ironic, really, because the answer is almost never yes. I can’t think of the last time we got home and he was already there. Normally, we’re in the house when he gets home from work. I always tell them, no. And then we talk about the fact that he drove his car to work and will be home in time for dinner.  

Today, as we were arriving home from school, my daughter looks at me and asks me, “Mommy, where do YOU work?”

Hmmmm…

As questions go, it’s not that outside of the box. Jobs are one of those topics that the kids love to revisit. We talk about grandparents’ jobs and aunts and uncles’ jobs. So, it’s not an unlikely jump to try to figure out what mommy’s job is. I was just impressed that she noticed the information gap. Where DID mommy work?

Up until recently, I would have told her that I’m a teacher when I’m not home with them. With the change in preschool, however, I had to stop working for a hiatus. It was a hard choice in some ways, because I love nurturing my professional side. The surrounding details, however, made the decision pretty easy. For the most part, I have been ok without the professional time. I would not change my decision if I had the opportunity. 

I smiled at her and said “Mommy’s job is to take care of you two, my beautiful children. My job is to teach you how to play and be safe. My job is to teach you how to go potty and clean you up when you are messy. My job is to kiss you and hug you. My job is to make you food when you are hungry. My job is to answer your questions.”

Her response? Pause. Then a slow smile. “Oh, okay!”

 I guess I answered her question to her satisfaction. I wonder if she realizes that she is a job. Probably not. Most kids don’t.  

As I was processing the conversation, though, I began to feel more and more justified in my low energy at the end of the day. My job is huge. It’s one of the jobs that doesn’t quite have a duty list, so nothing is really off limits. 

Here’s what I came up with.

On a daily basis, I…

-          Cook 3 meals a day

-          Clean my kitchen (constantly, it seems)

-          Food shop

-          Take out toys

-          Put away toys

-          Drive to and from activities

-          Schedule and drive to/from doctor’s appointments

-          Shop (i.e. obtain those items that we need to maintain our house day to day)

-          Hug happy kids

-          Hug sad kids

-          Control mad kids

-          Chase unwilling kids

-          Do laundry

-          Play referee over seemingly innocent and uninteresting toys

-          Take deep breaths when I would prefer to scream

-          Plan 10 minutes ahead (minimum) to increase the likelihood of tantrum avoidance.

-          Coax hyper kids to sleep

-          Oh, and whatever else happens to need doing at any given moment. 

On a daily basis, I DON’T …

-          Finish a sentence or sometime even a thought

-          Consistently finish phone calls having acquired all the information I needed

-          Pee when I have to

-          Get a drink when I would like one

-          Oh, meet most of my human needs on any schedule that resembles what my desires would dictate. 

And don’t get me wrong, I’m not really complaining. Ok, maybe a little, but no more than the average person gripes a bit about their reality. In actuality, it’s my choice and my wonderful husband would fully support my wanting a change at any time. 

I do, however, feel more justification for the weariness at the end of the day. Despite the fact that I can’t seem to list more than 5 things that I actually accomplished and still feel like I never stopped long enough to breathe. 

Man, it’s hard to not work.