Monday is my favorite. I have no regrets when it comes to my decision to stay at home all those years with my kids, but Monday used to feel like the opening credits to a bad 50’s movie. Black and white with horrible music and could the good stuff EVER START ALREADY. Then I would be saddled with a smothering guilt that I wasn’t Carpe friggin’ Diem. I didn’t want to work outside the home and I didn’t want to be a stay at home mom either. Some days I yelled a lot. Sometimes I cried. I definitely let them watch more tv than what the AAP recommended for their spongey little brains. I prayed that they would inherit my bad memory and wouldn’t remember much before age 5 anyway. I blogged about the good stuff and made it look like it was better than it was because I knew I was supposed to be grateful for those hard years.
I also hugged and kissed and fed and read and sang to them and tried my best and hoped one day I’d find a way to have meaningful work I could throw myself into without it complete taking away my presence- physically and emotionally. I loved them fiercely but wanted to find a way to be both Mother and Amanda Who Does Other Things.
That happened. Not by accident, but by stubborn refusal, faith, focus and design. Hang on, you. Some seasons are longer and harder than others.