Ballad of a Stay-at-home Mom

I am a Stay-at-home mom.

The laundry is always behind…and someone is always missing a sock.

I spend more time cleaning up after my two year old, than I do myself.

I can count the number of times that I have gone to the bathroom in private in the past two and a half years, on one hand.

The dishwasher, though I love him for doing the hard work for me, is my worst enemy. When they learn to empty themselves then-and only then, will I be content.

There are times when you will find more crumbs on the floor than on a plate. Those are the times that I wish we had a dog.

If I had a dollar for every time I refilled juice during the course of a 24 hour period, I could retire in Bora Bora.

If I had a quarter for every time I hear the word “Mama!” during the day, I could buy Bora Bora.

I listen to more crying, more screaming and more tantrums in a week than I care to even count.

When you come to my house, the decorative pillows that are supposed to be on my couch, will most likely be thrown somewhere on the floor. Because for whatever reason, the hinder my two year olds couch jumping techniques.

If you show up at my house before 11:00, you’ll find me still in my pajamas with my hair un-brushed. And most likely, there will be remnants of whatever my son has had for breakfast, somewhere on my clothes.

I wake up before the sun, and I’m usually the last one to fall asleep at night.

I don’t take vacations and there is no such thing as a sick day.

Most mornings I’m too tired to fool with making the bed, so I don’t. I figure it’s just one less step when it comes time to crawl into it at night.

I’m no gourmet chef. My cooking skills are limited beyond what you can do with Hamburger Meat, Chicken Breast and a package of Frozen Shrimp. I can whip up mad varieties of these dishes, but most nights at my house will feature one of the three in some form.

Sometimes, just the sound of my name coming from my sweet little guy’s mouth, reminds me of nails on a chalkboard—annoying and painful to my ears.

There are days where I feel like all I do is clean and put things back where they go.

A quiet bubble bath by myself, is one of life’s greatest luxuries.

I know ever word to the Toy Story trilogy, Cars, Finding Nemo, and Monster’s Inc. as well as a large variety of the Veggie Tales movies.

I find random objects such as coins, trains, race cars and Mr. Potato Head’s butt [that little flap that holds all of his pieces] in my bed, on my desk and in my refrigerator.

I’m a stay-at-home mom.

I fix boo-boo’s and hurt feelings with magic kisses.

I hear the voice of a tiny little angel call my name daily.

I get the hold, hug, kiss and snuggle with the most beautiful boy in the world.

My son and I? We understand each other. We have our own language. And I “get” things that other people (even his daddy) just do not understand.

I know where every toy, every stuffed animal, every racecar can be found—even when other’s seem to think they are lost forever.

I’m at a stay-at-home mom.

I don’t get vacations to Tahiti, a big fat paycheck and a raise every few months. I don’t get awards and letters of commendation for my work. I don’t slow down. I rarely relax; and I have always got someone else’s interest above mine.

But at the end of the day, I wouldn’t change it for anything.