A Few Words on Gratitude

I believe it's time to discard the pumpkins when they catch their first snow. But, a certain little man refused to go to bed last night, so before we move those pumpkins to the compost bin and ourselves onto the Christmas season, humor me as I take a few minutes to write what I meant to post last night.

During the Thanksgiving season, I can't help but notice all the preparations happening around me (or by me and the members of my own household): the stocked carts of groceries; the composing of wish lists and lines of souls, braver than I, lined up outside of stores on the eve of Black Friday; cars being serviced and prepped for snow (okay, I haven't seen this done at our house, but I have thought about it). Thanksgiving, at times, also allows us to delight in abundance as we stuff ourselves with too much turkey and multiple desserts that look too good to pass us, and give thanks for those "scrapbook moments" - the new baby, that award at work, or family traveling from far and wide to be in the same room at once.

But, last night, during our last few hours of November, I found myself curled up on the couch with a sleepless boy and and ball of yarn, thinking about pizza sauce. Yes, pizza sauce. Monday night, I had planned on making a dish we call Tamale Pie. But somewhere along the way, I got this crazy notion that I might take a shower. I took both kids and a small pile of toys into the bathroom and told them they could play while I showered. I thought things were going swimmingly. In fact, if I had the ability to whistle what-so-ever, I would have been, right out of the shower and across the bathroom floor until I opened the closet door. Where I found Audrey, sprawled out on a pile of clothes, as if she had just raked them up into a huge jumping pile. Every shelf on Jason's side of the closet was clear, knocked to the floor. Ties, hats, shorts, and out-grown baby clothes that I had organized by size (well, somewhat) amassed from one corner to another. I was still refolding and sorting the mess when Jason let me know he was on his way home and asked about my plans for dinner. I told him that I planned to start making it after I finished reordering the closet. He offered to stop off for pizza on his drive home.

By the time he got home, that side of the closet was more organized than it's been in months (or since I began using those shelves for baby clothes storage). Jason dropped the pizza box onto the counter and I opened it to start plating dinner. That's when I saw the container of pizza sauce. The pizza usually comes with a container of garlic sauce, which I don't like. But I do like to eat my crusts and breadsticks with pizza sauce. Jason prefers cheese sauce. But there it was in the corner of the box, the garlic sauce swapped out for pizza sauce - a little moment of thoughtfulness. You won't see a picture of pizza sauce in my scrapbook (if I ever got around to finishing or beginning a scrapbook, that is), but perhaps, you should. Those little containers, and the thoughtfulness they stand for, make me smile every time. It's not quite the same as the blessing of a new baby. I'll grant you that. When everyone goes around the Thanksgiving table saying what they're thankful for, you're not going to get the same reaction from "pizza sauce" as you would for saying, "Aunt Rita being able to travel 1000 miles to be with us." (That is, if you have an Aunt Rita, if not, you might be better off saying pizza sauce, the looks you get will be just as odd). But sometimes, while calming a restless baby or preparing to enter a season known for joyous chaos, it's just as good to remember the little blessings. After all, what is life but a sum of all its little parts? So here's to pizza sauce and a season of Thanks followed by one of Joy. And, here's to you, and those little things that make you smile (even if it's the garlic sauce).

A Shout Out to my Working Mama Friends

I received a very sweet message of encouragement from a working mama friend yesterday about what I try to do here on the blog. (Thanks, Angie!). Today, I want to return the favor by giving a little shout out to all my working mama friends, many who have been so supportive and encouraging of my efforts here.

My worker mama friends and I are not all that different. Our days look a little different and take shape in different ways - they each have their unique set of challenges. But our goals are the same. We want to raise loving, well-adjusted children who look back fondly on their childhoods; we want to be a connected wife whom our spouse is excited to see at the end of the day; we want our families (including ourselves) to be healthy; we want an organized house that is a haven to come home to rather than one more obstacle in the way of peace; we want to grow as people; and at the end of the day, we want to have something left.

I was given the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom and jumped at it (not to say that it wasn't an adjustment not getting a paycheck to help my family financially, or that it wasn't hard to read and hear the message being sent out in magazine articles and talk shows at that time that by making this choice I was choosing to become a penniless spinster as the only result of such a decision would be my husband dying or leaving me for a younger model - I decided to take my chances). But I have seen my working mama friends in action and heard their stories. They do what they can to excel at their jobs. Then they come home hoping to provide a healthy dinner for their families, a helping hand with the kids' homework, spend quality time with the kids, quality time with their husband, clean the house, workout, oh, and somehow have something left over that is all their own. In the 5 or 6 hours allotted between work and bedtime. What ends up happening is this: they scrap the workout and put off that project they've been meaning to start for a month, or they go to the gym or finally begin that project and end the day feeling just a little guilty that they weren't somewhere else. They crawl into bed, the next day's to-do list already forming in their heads. I want to head in the direction of the library self-help aisle just thinking about it. My days are full, but by staying home I've tried to limit my focus a bit. The dog has a shot at being walked and the laundry a 50/50 chance of being done.

So to my worker mama friends, I want to say this (feel free to take it with a grain of "she has no idea what she's talking about" - my feet are not wearing your shoes):

Some days I feel as though I've spent the day well. But other days, when I allow the other obligations I've created for myself or the voice that says "this house must be the dirtiest one in America" to take over, I end the day guilt-ridden. Try to cut yourself some slack. Think about the Cheerios moment:

Back when I made time to watch tv, I saw an episode of Oprah where she discussed some shows that had made the biggest impact on her. She mentioned a girl named Kate. Kate's mother had died of cancer. Her diagnosis known a year before her death, Kate's family spent her mother's last year traveling and spending time together as a family. But when asked what her favorite moment from that year was, Kate answered that she had asked her mother to wake her if she got up at night to eat a bowl of Cheerios. Her mother did wake her at 2am that night and they shared a bowl of Cheerios. That was Kate's moment. When I know I have a day ahead that's less then Audrey-focused, I try to remember Kate. I tell myself that Audrey doesn't need me to make a big production to show that I care. Any moment can be special simply because I'm present with her in it. Then I use the time I have. I dawdle for two minutes in front of the lobster tank at the grocery store or let Audrey sprinkle the toppings on our morning oatmeal, because you never know, one of those just might be her moment.

Here's to you worker mamas. Here's to finding your moment.