"AM-BEE-DAHH!"
The Mommy Choice

"Ambeedah!" For a while this was a normal word at our house. My youngest coined the phrase as soon as she could babble. The following two and a half years, she passionately yelled it at anyone. She'd chant it. She'd sing it. And of course as her mom I got the questions, or the questioning looks. "What does that mean?"
Thing is, we never knew what it meant. Our best guess was that it was the toddler equivalent of "Whatever!" Still, it became a normal part of our family's vocabulary. Eventually, we were all saying it. It was funny to us, regardless of how strange or odd it sounded to others.

 Children are like butterflies

This drove home a lesson. It is possible to become so accustomed to "your crazy" that normal seems insane. Life is strange in that way. 

When I first became an at home mom, I had no idea what that would look like. I imagined some motherly looking, domestic lady, decked out in an aproned floral dress, enjoying activities like sewing, baking and such. I feared that. I knew I could never be her, and I didn't want to be. I'd rather be wielding a power tool, or clearing some logs. And, I'll trade you that apron for moisture wicking joggers. 

I struggled a bit to find my footing in this role. For a few years I was clueless. Sure I cooked, cleaned and did the errands, but it was a bit bland for my taste. Truth is, I wasted a lot of time. I deeply regret that. When my eldest went to school I wrestled even more with filling my day. It wasn't so much I lacked things to do, it was more deciding what I needed to do. Focus, time management and motivation were major hurdles. I continue to clumsily navigate my way around, and over these things.

There was also the outside expectations. When people asked "What do you do?" I'd cringe.  The question seemed more like a qualifier than an honest inquiry. One asked to size people up, and place them on some sort of value scale. 

"Wow, a doctor? That's nice." 

"A cashier." 

"Cashier. Now that sounds interesting. I couldn't be a cashier. I'd spend my entire paycheck."
The answers to the question garnered the appropriate sized-up response. They range from impressed to patronizing. But instinctively I always knew who the "low man on that totem pole" was. The cashier is deemed less significant.
That is, until it's my turn to answer.

"Oh a housewife? I don't know how you do it. My kids would drive me crazy." And those are among the best of the polite replies. I have thoughts on comments such as these. Thankfully, I've mostly managed to keep them to myself. The point is, I didn't like this question, not because I cared what people think, but more because I struggled in the role. I wasn't confident in the answer. 

What was 

Then came the decision to homeschool. It only made these interactions worst. With the phrase, "I homeschool." I could bring the liveliest of conversations to a screeching halt. It should really be a super power or something. It's like walking around with a head made of bologna, and spaghetti noodles for hair. You're just asking for weird interactions.
Oddly enough, homeschooling has been a gift to me. Doing it well, doesn't allow enough time to be bored. With the addition of a second child, our place seemed more like a zoo most days. In fact, I'm convinced that homeschooling with a toddler should be considered an Olympic event.
On any given day someone was yelling. Sometimes out of excitement. Sometimes out of anger, and through tears. Sometimes we are just too lazy to go to the other room and speak to each other. But mostly because there is a lot of goofing off going on. My husband, the ringleader, is a giant child. 

Things have changed so dramatically in the last several years. I don't mind the questions so much, and I don't inner cringe when I answer. In fact, I'm starting to love them. I no longer feel the need to explain either. I enjoy what I do. It's the hardest most rewarding job I've EVER had. I'm fortunate enough to spend as much time with my people as I want, and I would not trade it for the appropriate, respectable job title. "Mom" works for me.
At any minute of the day I'm wearing many hats. I am a nurse, a teacher, a gardener, a chef, a mediator, a chauffeur, a coach, a maid, a painter, a judge. The list is long, and this position has grown and matured me like nothing else has.
Through the years I've transitioned from chasing a one year old yelling "Am-bee-dah!" whatever that means, and listening to the dramatic life of an 11yr old, to more recently graduating one, and sending her off the college. The "baby" can no longer be easily carried, but cuddle time is still in high demand. Playtime is still preferred to all else, and I know way more about My Little Pony than I care to admit. But the reality that these days won't last forever has hit my home in a very literal sense. I soak these moments in. They are not for everyone, but they are perfectly for me. It's my crazy. I'm living it and loving it by the grace of God.

My new normal

Perhaps your crazy is carting kids to school and a bazillion other activities as you work, and pay bills. You don't owe me or anyone else any explanations. I trust that in wisdom you've made the best choice for your family. I'd only ask for a similar respect. The mommy job is a tough one. I honor anyone committed to doing it well. Whether you work in the home, or away from home, it matters not. Most important is that we do our part in working to show the people in our lives we love them. Everyone else can have a silent sandwich. I'm not saying their opinions don't matter. I'm simply saying, I no longer care. 

Ambeedah!