Little one snuggled up for an extra long goodnight hug, and sighed, her lip blooming into a little pout.
"What is it?" I asked
LO: "Mommy...why is it? Why is it you and daddy has always to work so much? All the time?! Why is you always taking care of the house, and cleaning the things, and folding stuff and all those things? Why does you have to work so much?"
C: "Well, Little One, because that's my job right now. To take care of you and Missy and take care of the house. I have to try to work hard at my jobs."
LO: "But whaa-hyyyyy? You don't need take care of the house! Its fine! You should do other stuff!"
C: "Oh. What do you think I should do instead?"
LO: "Sleep! Sleep and rest! And color, draw pictures. And play."
C: "You think I need more playing time."
LO: "Yes! Stop washing all the stuff mama. You and daddy work too much."
Later, when we'd said our goodnights, I thought about what she'd said. My first impulse was to feel terribly guilty, jump on the sappy-mom-blog post all us moms have seen a hundred iterations of, and throw down the mop. Let the dust bunnies collect and organize and start a union, and dedicate each of my darling babies' waking hours to coloring fields of flowers, being ordered about in endless games of pretend, and mixing mud pies.
I wanted to, I really did. For a minute.
And then I remembered that I do all of those things. I do them all! Just not constantly.
And here's the thing about that. Part of being a good mom is actually taking care of my kids. Not taking care to cherish them, not taking care to fulfill their every emotional need- taking actual, physical care of them. Part of that includes making sure that they have healthy meals, clean clothes, and a hygienic environment in which we can all find things and feel at peace. When did it really become fashionable to let children live in a sty and eat take-out so that mom has more time to play dress-up? And who does that really sound like it benefits?
There's another reason I think I'll hang onto that mop, after all. While I could try to do it all, play with the children all day and then madly rush to get every chore done while they sleep, I don't actually want them to think that the laundry washes itself and the toothpaste on the counter evaporates overnight. I want them to know that having a nice life takes work. I want them to know about work.
I want them to see me work, and know that J has a job and works hard and I have a job and work hard, because that is what grown-ups do. It's certainly what I expect my kids to do, when they are grown up. And rather than spring that lovely little reality on them all at once around college age, as I've seen done many times, I personally would rather break it to them gradually. In a way that it becomes a part of the background, the fabric of living, taken for granted that in life you grow up, and you work hard.
So that you can have what you need, so that you can contribute to the greater good of your choice, so that you make goals and meet them, and know what it means to achieve and be productive. And so that when you have children to provide for, with your job or by personally scrubbing the aftermath of an afternoon of mud pies in the garden, you can do a good job for them.
I know my kids wish I spent all my time revolving around them like tiny suns, letting the rest of the universe take care of itself. Sometimes, to tell the truth, that's what I dream of too. Building a duplo city is a lot more appealing than picking up the dog poo in the yard. But I'm not going to hide behind the "cool moms don't care about chores" trend when I'd rather play. I'm going to get my stuff done, so we don't all step in it.
And so my kids learn that although they are the center of the little universe inside my heart, always, they are not the actual center of the literal universe, all the time. Sometimes. We have to be with ourselves. Or play with our siblings and friends, even if they are less likely to take directives. Or to wait. And sometimes, actually a lot of times, we have to work. Hard. I want my kids to learn that everything is not about them.
And then, when they grow up, if they know how to set goals and persist until they achieve them, how to get along with others and how to be alone sometimes, and how to do their own laundry for Pete's sake; if they look back over a childhood that felt organized and smelled like coconut curry instead of stale laundry, then. Then I hope they will see that actually, it was all about them, after all.
"What is it?" I asked
LO: "Mommy...why is it? Why is it you and daddy has always to work so much? All the time?! Why is you always taking care of the house, and cleaning the things, and folding stuff and all those things? Why does you have to work so much?"
C: "Well, Little One, because that's my job right now. To take care of you and Missy and take care of the house. I have to try to work hard at my jobs."
LO: "But whaa-hyyyyy? You don't need take care of the house! Its fine! You should do other stuff!"
C: "Oh. What do you think I should do instead?"
LO: "Sleep! Sleep and rest! And color, draw pictures. And play."
C: "You think I need more playing time."
LO: "Yes! Stop washing all the stuff mama. You and daddy work too much."
Later, when we'd said our goodnights, I thought about what she'd said. My first impulse was to feel terribly guilty, jump on the sappy-mom-blog post all us moms have seen a hundred iterations of, and throw down the mop. Let the dust bunnies collect and organize and start a union, and dedicate each of my darling babies' waking hours to coloring fields of flowers, being ordered about in endless games of pretend, and mixing mud pies.
I wanted to, I really did. For a minute.
And then I remembered that I do all of those things. I do them all! Just not constantly.
And here's the thing about that. Part of being a good mom is actually taking care of my kids. Not taking care to cherish them, not taking care to fulfill their every emotional need- taking actual, physical care of them. Part of that includes making sure that they have healthy meals, clean clothes, and a hygienic environment in which we can all find things and feel at peace. When did it really become fashionable to let children live in a sty and eat take-out so that mom has more time to play dress-up? And who does that really sound like it benefits?
There's another reason I think I'll hang onto that mop, after all. While I could try to do it all, play with the children all day and then madly rush to get every chore done while they sleep, I don't actually want them to think that the laundry washes itself and the toothpaste on the counter evaporates overnight. I want them to know that having a nice life takes work. I want them to know about work.
I want them to see me work, and know that J has a job and works hard and I have a job and work hard, because that is what grown-ups do. It's certainly what I expect my kids to do, when they are grown up. And rather than spring that lovely little reality on them all at once around college age, as I've seen done many times, I personally would rather break it to them gradually. In a way that it becomes a part of the background, the fabric of living, taken for granted that in life you grow up, and you work hard.
So that you can have what you need, so that you can contribute to the greater good of your choice, so that you make goals and meet them, and know what it means to achieve and be productive. And so that when you have children to provide for, with your job or by personally scrubbing the aftermath of an afternoon of mud pies in the garden, you can do a good job for them.
I know my kids wish I spent all my time revolving around them like tiny suns, letting the rest of the universe take care of itself. Sometimes, to tell the truth, that's what I dream of too. Building a duplo city is a lot more appealing than picking up the dog poo in the yard. But I'm not going to hide behind the "cool moms don't care about chores" trend when I'd rather play. I'm going to get my stuff done, so we don't all step in it.
And so my kids learn that although they are the center of the little universe inside my heart, always, they are not the actual center of the literal universe, all the time. Sometimes. We have to be with ourselves. Or play with our siblings and friends, even if they are less likely to take directives. Or to wait. And sometimes, actually a lot of times, we have to work. Hard. I want my kids to learn that everything is not about them.
And then, when they grow up, if they know how to set goals and persist until they achieve them, how to get along with others and how to be alone sometimes, and how to do their own laundry for Pete's sake; if they look back over a childhood that felt organized and smelled like coconut curry instead of stale laundry, then. Then I hope they will see that actually, it was all about them, after all.
AMEN!
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