What Works

I was WAY smarter about life before I had kids. . ."Smart" like when I was in high school and knew everything about the world. . . .only to go to college and realize that my parents were the smart ones.  Before kids, I was never eating McDonald's (especially in the car), never listening to kid CDs (again, in the car) and never working.  And then I had Sassy.  And while it would be a few years before McDonald's and CDs appeared in my car, I realized pretty quickly that I HAD to work.  And not just for financial reasons.  I liked work.  I NEEDED work.  As awful as it might sound and as much as I loved her, I needed to not stress over her 24/7.  I needed something else.  I needed to be Mrs. B.  I needed to be ME.  It shocked me.  I never thought I would want to work.  And while there are days that are hard, I don't have any regrets about working.  People will say that I've missed SO much.  I've been blessed with sitters who didn't tell me when the girls were doing something.  And somehow (I still don't know if it was the VERY first time), they happened to roll over at Thanksgiving break, sit up at Christmas, and walk during the summer.  Sassy saw Keke roll over TWICE before I caught it--not because I was at work, but because I was in the kitchen.  My first time will always be my first time.  And it doesn't make it any less special if it wasn't HER first time.  We have raised our kids, not daycare, and neither is suffering any ill-effects from me working.

I honestly think that for me, work helps me be a better mama.  I love my job.  I love that I'm able to spend my days doing something I truly enjoy.  I feel like it's my "calling."  I love when a kid comes running in to grab the next book in a series on a Friday because she can't wait until Monday.  I love when another talks my ear off about how he couldn't put a book down.  I love when someone tells me they didn't like reading until I found THE book that hooked them.  I love my role as "Mrs. B."  And I love being a mom. I love that I can do both and that my girls see me doing both.  I love when they play library or when Sassy brags to her friends that her mom's the librarian at the middle school.  (Of course, this is only "cool" until she's IN middle school. . . ha!)  I love that she comes to my building every day after school and her little "playground" while I'm finishing up is my library.  I hope she has lots of memories of playing in the stacks, of finding books about Pompeii and Harriet Tubman, of joining my kids for book club on Wednesdays.  I hope that someday she--and her sister--both do what they want in life.

A map of Sassy's "spy room" aka the library

I know that these early years are fleeting, but in one short year, Keke will leave to spend the majority of her waking hours with teachers at school--for 13 years!  That's all they'll ever know.  And honestly, while I'm SO grateful that my own mom was able to stay home with me, I have very few memories of life before kindergarten.  I remember that was the year I learned to tie my shoes, I repeatedly watched in awe as one of the Crystals in my class drank (yes, drank) from her glue bottle, and I cried in the hallway because I didn't understand the "drill" part of a tornado drill. But other than that, life before the 8 am-3 pm schedule is pretty much a blur.

I was recently challenged for a) having C-sections, and then b) working.  As if both make me somewhat "less" of a mom.  Insert sad face here.  Some moms never carry a baby in their body, but it doesn't make them any less of a mother.  I love my girls with a mad, crazy love--one of the many things that I couldn't even begin to comprehend before I had kids.  It's that mad, crazy love that made me choose C-sections to get them here safely.  And it's that mad, crazy love that makes me choose to work.  A happy mom is a good mom, regardless of if she stays home or works.  Motherhood changes you SO much.  You do things you swear you'll never do (like clean projectile poop off the bathroom sink) and you say things you never dreamed you would say ("We don't chew our boogers.")  (Funny how often these days I hear my mother's words of wisdom, 'Never say never.'  HAHA!)  Bottomline, you do what works for you and your family--even if it means turning down the "Stinky Feet" CD so you can hear the McDonald's employee in the drive- through.      

Green Grass

A few weekends ago, we helped my sister-in-law and brother-in-law with a "new to them" house that they're moving into soon.  It was so fun to see them get settled, to start this new adventure, to see their dreams become a reality.  It took me back about nine years ago--when we bought our house.  I couldn't believe it when the realtor pulled up and THIS was the house Hubby had been excitedly telling me about.  All I could see was 1970s matted shag carpet, paneling, gold linoleum and a blue toilet (still seeing that way more often than I planned to. . . .) Thankfully Hubby saw a lot more.  Here are some before and after shots from the last nine years:

It's been a love/hate relationship but with each passing year, it's becoming our dream home.  I love that we've done most of it ourselves and that we're making it our own.  I know that a lot of friends and family don't get it.  How do I live out here in the boonies?  In this house?  Why did we leave the "big city?"  Why HERE?

I didn't get it either, until I did exactly what I'd been waiting my whole life to do:  get out of Small Town, America.  I didn't go too far, but "the city" is one of the bigger ones in the Midwest and it was a far cry from where I grew up.  And I hated it.  I hated that there were no windows on either side of my house because the neighbors were THAT close.  I hated that the most interaction I had with several of our neighbors was watching them pull in and out of their garages at the beginning and end of each day.  I hated that there were regularly 20 some neighbor kids playing basketball in our driveway, skateboarding on my front porch (yes, really) and playing hide-and-seek in our backyard.  (One day, I heard someone on the back deck so I opened the sliding glass door.  A kid was crouched down behind our grill and actually shushed me when I asked what he was doing:  "I'm HIDING!") I hated that there were five high schools in our suburb alone (30 some elementary schools!) and that this was the world our future kids would know.

So when Hubby was transferred, we agreed to go back to Small Town, America.  I LOVE:

• that our girls have five acres to run around, explore, and . . .encounter "copper snakes" as Keke calls them (OK, so the "snake farm" isn't a love. . !) 
• running into Sassy's principal at the grocery store ("Mom, how did Ms. R get here?  Does she have a CAR?!")
• running into Keke's daycare teacher on the same trip, just two aisles over.  (And that's probably not a "love" either because that became a 20 minute conference on "Why Ke Acts the Way She Does And What We Can Do About It."  There was no magical answer determined, by the way.)
• the opportunities our girls have in a small school.  Yes, I know that bigger schools offer "more" but here my girls get to be Homecoming flower girl, Citizen of the Month, the Mouse in the school musical, and the first grader who's a "beast at reading."  (One of her classmate's words.)      
• going to our small town's annual parade and hearing all my students yell my name and chuck a ton of candy our way.  Someday the girls will appreciate how my near-celebrity status affects their candy supply.  :)  
• small town sports and the "magic" in the air during a Friday night football game.  
• that the people I work with feel like family and they've become extended aunts and uncles to my girls.
• that I know the names of all the kids in my school and that the girls know everyone at theirs.  
• being friends on FB with Sassy's teacher and parents from my school (well, most of the time. . . .  Note to self: don't let anyone tag me on Girls Night Out . . .)  
• that this is where our girls will spend their childhood years.  

I know my dad gets offended that none of us have moved "home" to raise our families. But I hope he realizes that several of us live in small towns just like the one in which we grew up--and there's a reason for that.  Ironically enough, I had to leave to see how green the grass was.  I admit--there are days when I wonder why we bought this house.  When the pressure tanks in the basement are thumping and we know they'll go out at any moment.  When I vacuum and get annoyed that our not-even-ten-year-old carpet has wrinkled.  When the list of projects around here is longer than the ones we've crossed off.  But then I remember everything we have--and I'm SO grateful for my own green grass.  All five acres of it.  (Well, actually it's about five acres of brush, timber and rocks.  But never fear, trying to get grass to grow here is on The List!)