I wonder sometimes how working mothers cope with life.  Children, personal relationships, home, work, and “me” time can’t possibly get equal attention.  Still, though, I know that on some level I admire and envy these women who dare to have it all.  I’m not lamenting my position as a stay-at home mom….not really.  I made the conscious decision to do this for my family.  It’s a sacrifice and I can’t guarantee that there is any real benefit to all of this except that I am a constant here in this house.  That’s really the only guarantee….I’m always here.

It’s not an easy thing to do, stay at home all day, tending to the home and being kept only by a toddler as company.  Kids don’t say “thank you” very often….neither do some husbands for that matter.  It’s easy to overlook the fact that clothes have been cleaned and put away and that the floors are clean and that dinner is on the table right on time.  It’s easy to overlook the isolation and distance from “real people” the mommy feels.  It’s not easy.  Now I get why moms are so good at guilt trips. 

Having your days full of toddler-hood are a challenge in and of themselves.  There are good days and then there are days when you think to yourself, “Goodness, I wish it weren’t frowned upon to punch kids in the face.”  There’s no reasoning with a toddler.  There’s no apologies coming from a toddler.  It can be difficult.  They scream and have meltdowns over the smallest things.  They embarrass you in public.  They slam their faces into the bars on shopping carts in a rage and then scream the entire time you’re in the store.  They come up and hit you when you tell them “no” and they act like your mere presence is an annoyance.  They get happy when the working parent comes home and turn into delightful little people who are full of giggles and happiness…unless you try to join in on the family fun…then it’s screaming again because that pain in the ass mommy person is moving or making noise.  That’s when the urge to punch them comes in.  Daddy is the hero and you aren’t supposed to exist when Daddy gets home.  I think I could maybe stand it a bit more if it were only Lukas who acted like that.  But the fact the everybody in my life treats Jessie like a gift from God and me like the scourge of all humanity drives me crazy.  I try to be there for the ones I love.  I try to listen to the problems talked about in my ear.  I try to ignore the fact that, no, I AM NEVER complimented….by anybody.  It’s not easy.  I don’t have thick skin. 

But then there are those rare days…those days that keep me going where Lukas is affectionate.  The days when he kisses me when I ask him to.  The days when he hugs my legs as he walks by me.  The days when even after Daddy gets home he just wants to be held my Mommy and play with my glasses.  On those days, he comes up to me and reaches up to me to pick him up and says “Momma,” and I think to myself, “Dear God let me never forget this moment.  Let me remember his sweet voice and the way he looks right now reaching up to me.  Please, please, please never let me lose this moment.”  I can live on those moments forever and although this is hard and I am often left feeling stranded and unsupported, I still have them.  I still hug him every morning, even though he sometimes squirms away from me.  I still kiss him after he’s eaten all his breakfast even though he screams and pushes me away.  I still take him everywhere with me even though he screams and embarrasses me…because he’s mine.  All mine. 

It’s easy to feel sorry for myself sometimes.  It’s easy to get mad at those around me who make no attempt to understand me or my feelings.  It’s easy to feel rejected by those I love.  It’s nothing more than stubborn resolve that keeps my mouth shut and still there for people whether they care or not.  And oh, when I am old and no longer give a shit about all of this, how I will rub noses in the dirt.  I look forward to my crotchety senior years.

I’m so tired of moving.  I was tired of moving four years ago, yet I am still forced to move from my comfortable home to another place so that I can try to make it home, only to pack it all up and relocate yet again.  I don’t like that. 

I’m a little more pissed off about moving this time because I am taking Lukas out of the only home he has ever known.  He won’t even remember this place.  This is where we brought him after he left the hospital.  This is where he first smiled at me.  This is where he first ate off of a spoon.  This is where he started crawling.  This is where we celebrated his first birthday.  This is where he took his first step.  This is where he spoke his first words.  It’s sad.  I hate that we had to bring him home to a rental and not have a permanent place for him back then. 

On the same note, I am also excited at the new prospects the future holds for me and my little family.  A new location close to loved ones.  A new job.  Will Jessie and I finally be able to fulfill the one dream we have left, which is to buy a home and not worry about moving for at least the next 20 years?  Boy oh boy I hope so. 

I spend a lot of time looking on real estate web sites and looking at inventory.  Honestly, we won’t be able to afford our dream house, but we can do one better.  We can afford to buy a god-awful ugly house with great bones and work slowly to make it our dream home.  Something that Jessie and I have missed since we have become full-time renters is that we miss being able to do renovations on a home.  I miss being able to switch out an ugly light fixture that I hate or a kitchen faucet that is impossible to clean.  I miss being able to just paint a wall and not have to worry about changing it back when we move out.  I miss being able to change anything that pleases me. 

Oh yeah, I’d also like very much to have a yard.  I’d like to let Lukas go outside and play in a safe yard.  I’d like to have a small garden.  Maybe a pool someday.

So in between shoving all of my shit in boxes wrapped in newspaper and bubble wrap, I get to daydream about what the future holds for us.  I hope it’s not a crap shoot.  I hope it’s not what it was like when we first moved out here when we lived in a ghetto where there was gang violence and we were broke and had to eat beans and wieners only for nearly three months.  Where I could hear the guy upstairs get up in the morning and take a leak quite clearly.  Ahh, memories.  I hope we’ve paid our dues…but I guess we have.  This townhouse is really nice.  It’s a great place and it’s honestly the nicest place Jessie and I have ever lived in our whole lives.  I guess I’m just hoping that it doesn’t go down from here and I have to look back on this place as the pinnacle of our living situation.

As I’ve written out on SMP, we went to a new seafood place for dinner tonight.  It was next to a small strip mall and as we were getting ready to pack into the car, I noticed a sign for an “International Deli” in the strip mall that was advertising “European Food” and I had to see what was inside.  We skipped (literally, I was skipping like an idiot) over to the deli and walked in.  Immediately I noticed that the food packaging was in another language…..an unfamiliar language.  At first I thought maybe it was a slavic language or maybe Russian.  As I went to the meat case and saw all of the smoked fish, I became more certain that this place was Russian.  Then, as we were walking out, right next to the door was a giant painting of Lenin.  I don’t know why, but I busted out laughing and walked out of that tiny place guffawing like a moron.  I just immediately thought of those tacky Italian restaurants that have giant paintings of the Pope and Frank Sinatra hanging on the walls.  It then occured to me that it was lucky that this place was in Seattle and not WV where some super patriotic redneck might get violent and stupid over a place of business showing off a painting of the leader of the Bolshevik Revolution and, more famously, a COMMUNIST leader.  But then again, since this painting was not labeled and I am a huge nerd for knowing Lenin’s face, maybe I am giving those crazy rednecks too much credit.  Seriously, they wouldn’t recognize his face.  Maybe they would assume that the blond man behind the counter was simply hanging a painting of a father or grandfather? 

I dunno, I just wanted to share that.  It was really funny.  I just keep picturing pictures of the Pope next to Lenin and it cracks me up every time. 

It’s the kind of idiotic laugh I let out every time I see a preview for the movie Bruno and they tell him to salute with his right hand and he does a Nazi Heil and they freak out and shove his arm back to his sides.  That kind of laugh.