‘Tis the season for birthdays at our house.
Yesterday evening we celebrated our eldest’s birthday (three down, two more to go…until the fall).
We don’t go crazy on birthdays in our family. We try to make it special for our children, of course, but we’re not over the top. Favorite homemade glazed muffins for breakfast, usually a lunch outing with dad, favorite mom-cooked(mostly) meal for dinner, gift opening, and cake.
Our main goal is to focus on the birthday child, helping them feel like a valued and important member of our family and pouring on a little extra love.
Still, the day of the birthday almost always feels like a scene out of one of those 90’s family movies where 80% of the film is a series of calamities that ultimately leads to a cohesive and cheerful ending with people hugging (i.e. 120 minutes of torture for someone on the cusp of an official OCD diagnosis).
There was one particular moment last night that was especially apt and comical. As cake was being served and our little tornado was somehow on the loose instead of in his highchair, my husband…my wonderful, steady, uncommonly patient husband…declared with audible exasperation, “We have too many kiiids!!!”
It’s true:).
Most of the time we wonder how they are all still alive.
I’m sure somebody reading this will now call CPS.
Really though, it often does indeed feel like, in the sentiment of Jim Gaffigan, we’re literally drowning and someone has just thrown us another baby. And while thinking of this reality through the voice of our favorite comedian lessens the impact, we still feel it rather acutely.
Every. Day.
And sometimes I complain about it. I do. I vocalize far too frequently to Seth as we fall asleep just how fatiguing my life is right now, as the one who is physically caring for our menagerie the majority of the time. He always listens and consoles and offers an appropriate amount of commiseration, as well as humbly accepting whatever new…requests I’ve asked of him to prevent a major mental breakdown the next time I discover another appliance left on the counter help life run a little more smoothly .
Not too long ago during one such venting session, I expressed a somewhat new feeling of dismay over our vastly different daytime lives and the roles associated therewith. For some reason on this night I became intensely bothered by the fact that while I am at home wiping bums, cleaning mystery goop off floors, and sharing toilet and shower time with seriously underage groupies, he gets to interact and intelligently converse with a host of interesting and talented adults whom I have never even met!
There is an entire world out there of which he is a part and I am not. He basically lives a double life, if you think about it. I mean, who are these people he tells me about? What does he do all day there? What does he eat for lunch when he doesn’t come home? It’s fascinating really. But also, in moments of self-pity, a little discouraging. And it was during such a moment the other night, as I whined about my lot as the live-in/maid/cook/chauffeur/workhorse, that Seth said something that caused those selfish thoughts to halt in their tracks.
“Honey, do we need to think about getting you a job?”
Suddenly I realized what exactly I was doing lying there in my mother-misery. President Thomas S. Monson taught us “choose your love, love your choice.” While he referenced marriage in this advice, I believe it applies perfectly to motherhood as well. I chose this life. I wanted this role. I could have chosen something much different. But I didn’t.
When I went back to school at BYU as a single mother of three little boys, I chose to pursue a degree in Family Life. A decade previous I had been a Near Eastern Studies Major. I loved the course work for that major and still had a craving for the academic satiety it provided. And so, for a brief period I attempted to maintain an NES minor. I soon discovered that the one course in my schedule devoted to my minor was consuming the majority of my time, thus undermining my sole purpose in choosing the major that I did: to maximize my time at home with my children. And so, after one semester of self indulgent research and delicious writing composition, I decided…I made the choice…to drop that minor, and with it my personal dream (more like fantasy) of pursuing religious scholarship at some point in the future.
I recognize that there are highly capable, talented, and organized women who can and do perform a stellar job at both an academic career and caring well for a family, but I’m not one of them. I chose, instead, to focus on my family. To be the mom I wanted my boys to have, the mom they needed at the time.
Soon after Seth and I got married I made another choice. With a BS in Family Life from BYU, I could have pursued a career or worked on a Master’s degree. My youngest child at that time was almost in Kindergarten. I thought about the freedom of having all my kids in school and the time it would allow me to begin a sort of new life with my amazing husband. The possibilities felt rather grand and exciting. But they didn’t feel right.
After much pondering and many prayers, we decided to have a baby. Though not at all glamorous, that choice felt right.
And so too did the subsequent choice to be the one to care for him all day.
And for the next one.
And the next one.
So yes. We have a ton of kids. And so much of the time I feel completely overwhelmed by the laborious task of it all. But this was my career choice.
As my husband’s words seared themselves into my brain that night, they also burned into my heart.
“Honey, do we need to think about getting you a job?”
“What?”
Pause.
Thinking. Connecting…
“No. I have a job, thank you,” I finally answered rather emphatically.
I thought about that exchange the next day as I awoke and began to care for my children. I realized that my job was indeed in need of a change.
I needed a change in heart. A tweak in perspective. A reminder of what I am really doing.
Nope, I don’t get daily praise or validation or even recognition sometimes for my work. It is often mundane, miniscule, and messy. But I know that there is nothing more important in the world than loving, teaching, and caring for my children as their mother. And I actually, truly, deeply love my job.
And…honestly?
I’m pretty sure I can say with complete confidence…my coworkers are way cuter than his.
