A little winter self-talk

I think it started after Christmas when Todd started ripping up the floor in the room adjacent to our kitchen.  December was expectedly crazy, like every Christmas season in every mother’s life is.  I was hoping January could be a little lazy.  But Todd is up every morning about 6 or so, dressed in his Carhart coat and muck boots feeding the cows and checking the chickens.  He starts Avery’s van for her and makes us breakfast.  He leaves at 8, takes the kids to school, and comes home at 6:30.  We eat 6:30-7 and then he changes into his comfy clothes (a lot like Mr. Rogers would), takes care of the animals and works on the floor till about 10.  Saturday he worked all morning and and came home and worked on the floor all afternoon.  Which is great, he likes it, it’s fine.

But it makes me feel like a slug.

I talked to him outright about this and of course he’s totally fine with anything I want to do.  He’s happy that I clean the house and do the laundry and have meals every night.  He really is the easiest husband in the world.  So it’s got nothing to do with his expectations or disgruntlement; it’s me.

I had that conversation with myself again.  It’s pretty much the same one I have with Todd every year at this time when life is slower, work isn’t as busy, finances are tighter.  He reminds me it’s like this every year in January and February.  And I remember he’s right.  The winter months between the holidays and spring planting are just a little quieter especially coming off a high-speed summer followed by fall and the holidays.  (In my book it is heavenly.)  But this time of year sometimes makes me wonder if I’m pulling my weight, if I’m doing enough, if I should be looking for a job.

And I have.  Every now and then I peek to see what’s out there.  But I keep feeling not to commit.  Not now anyway.  Which is weird.  I have five kids; only three live at home.  They don’t need me for much.  Just dinners and groceries.  And to remind them to do their Saturday chores.  It’s a strange thing to be a stay-at-home-mom of no kids at home.  I feel like I’m retired, just taking it easy while the rest of my family is off working all day.

Case in point, I was talking with some ladies over Cafe Rio not long ago; we were celebrating a successful White Ribbon Week.  (I don't do this all the time, but it is an occasional indulgence.) Anyway, we covered all sorts of topics from autism to pornography, from what keeps us busy to why we do what we do.  As stay-at-home moms, I wonder if this group is typical. Because they’re rarely home.  Maybe it’s because our kids are older and all in school.  It just seems that these women have their fingers in all sorts of activities and a million things scheduled on their phones. And so we talked about that. Because theoretically we have a good seven hours a day of discretionary time every school day, plenty of time to do as we choose.  I was curious about what they filled their days with.  I already knew a lot of what they were involved with, but stringing it all together made me a little dizzy.  And so sleepy.  I’m in awe of what these ladies accomplish in a week.  I admitted as much and told them it might be easier to just go to work.  They have so much to juggle (I know that simply because scheduling an event with them sometimes takes weeks).  I guess it’s a throw-back to my comparison days and I wondered if I was making as much of my seven-hour-a-day-discretionary-time.

I’ve worked full-time, part-time, and not at all.  I’ll say hands down I prefer being able to stay home.  Not long ago my teenaged daughter came home early from school with a fever.  I was able to totally switch my plans around and come home to be with her.  I didn’t do much at all, she just rested on the couch.  But I was here, and my heart soared that I was able to be.  Another afternoon this week I just had my little 13 year old son home; everyone else was at work or with a friend.  So we cuddled under a huge blanket and watched The Secret Life of Pets.  I know there was work to be done, but I knew that I would remember that afternoon for the rest of my life.  I’ve lived long enough to know what’s important and what can wait.

So yeah, maybe you’d expect my house to be clean since I have all day to clean it—it’s not.  You may expect elaborate meals—don’t.  We have pizza, tacos, and spaghetti as often as everyone else.  You may think we’d live by cute colored chore charts and motivational sayings, not really.  At all. In fact, come the weekend, I have to think about what they need to do for their weekly chores.  You may think I do everyone’s laundry and change all the sheets in a systematic fashion—I don’t.  I do Todd’s and mine, but that’s it.  (I have no idea when anyone last changed their sheets.)  You may think I make a morning out of going to the gym—not my thing.  Or you may wonder why I don’t know my scriptures better than I do since I have all day to study them—I wonder that myself.

I try to not complicate things or plug too much in; I like to have a loose framework for the week but I like to stay flexible for things that may come up. I never expected to have days like this, but it’s the dreamiest life I can imagine. I know I sound lazy.  Spoiled.  Pampered.  I know, I know.  Every now and then it hits me and I wonder what my purpose is, what I’m really supposed to be doing with my life at this junction.  Go back to school like so many of my friends? Volunteer more? Get a job? I know.  I have plenty of time, my kids are self-sufficient, heaven knows we could use the extra money.  And yet I hesitate.  I’d rather make food from scratch and wear jeans that are a few years old and do without if we don’t need me to work. Because I’m not convinced that what I’d be gaining would compensate for what I’d be giving up; I’d have to know for sure that switching things up would be best for our family at this moment.

And I always come back to this.  At least for a season or two longer I want to be the one who’s here if the kids get sick. Or are having a rough morning.  I want to be not only physically available, I want to be emotionally here and not completely wasted by the time I see them at the end of the day.  I want to be able to say yes when someone calls, I can help with that funeral, I can make a salad, I can come to that meeting, I can watch your baby, I can give you a ride, I can take you to the temple, I can host her birthday lunch.  I want to have the flexibility to meet needs spontaneously, to take care of my friends and my family, to have time to write when a friend or sister needs advice or to just talk, to just be available.  But at the same time, I almost feel like I need to explain myself, to prove that I’m using my time wisely.  I know Todd’s not asking it in that way at all when he asks how my day was, but sometimes I’m embarrassed to say I helped at the school and talked with a friend and had a bunch of kids over all afternoon, and that’s it. Doesn’t sound like anything much at all.  I guess it’s because none of what I do feels laborious or like real work; I feel satisfied, content, I enjoy where I am. I don't think everyone would like this slow-paced life though. And I feel a little guilty when the other members of my household work so hard all day.  And then come home and continue toiling—whether it’s with chemistry or the latest house project. And then I remind myself, Todd and I've done all their homework, we already went to school, it's ok that it's their turn. And I guess in a way I'm still working too, it just feels easier to do dishes and make them a treat and write a blog when they're trying to figure out genetics and the flooring puzzle.  (p.s. Just between you and me, I know he actually likes that kind of stuff; he would rather stick needles in his eyes than to write even the few paragraphs I’ve just written.)

But I’ve lived long enough to know the value of what we women do.  Those who have jobs, those who do the books for the family business, those who have babies and toddlers at home, those who are going to school, those who work at home, those who have a little of it all, and even women in my station in life whose kids are older and gone most of the time.  It sometimes feels like moms in my stage of life have nothing tangible to show or account for our days. But I am humbled by the privilege I have; honestly, I’m so very grateful for it.  I have so many options, so many choices as to how I spend my hours, and I know not every woman does. I cling to this scripture reminder, For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required and I try to make sure I’m making this time count.  It’s too valuable to just stay home and listen to my audio books and do puzzles all day (doesn’t that sound dreamy though? And so tempting???), although everyone gets a lunch break.

I love being a mom, I love taking care of our household and keeping things running smoothly, I love being a friend, I love keeping in touch with loved ones and being able to fill a need.  So while I wonder sometimes if it’s enough, if I should be doing more with my time, if I need a job to fill in the gaps, if I’m using this gift of time to its fullest, I’m grateful for dear friends a few years down the road who encourage me to enjoy this blessing, to of course use my time well, but to recognize the good we can do in this stage of life when we don’t have our little kids with us all day.  This is a chance to do different work, to contribute in other ways. I think it feels like I’m taking the easy way out because I enjoy it all so much.  But I think it’s great to be happy in whatever phase of life we’re in, and for now I really do feel immense peace right where I am.