Little Lightbulbs

Sometimes, I wonder just how my grandmothers did it. Just how did they raise three children each, keep a home, manage their crops and cook everything FROM SCRATCH? I wouldn't say either had overly involved husbands. They were typical husbands of that era – caring but pretty much uninvolved with the daily operations of things. They went to work, came home, ate dinner, hugged the kids and read the newspaper.  This leads me to wonder why women of today complain as we do. Single mothers excluded, those of us with husbands willing to pitch in in the smallest way should be rejoicing, shouldn't we? Or maybe I have that wrong. Perhaps, this is the way it was meant to be all along. Either way, I can arguably say that as the basic running of a home goes, today's mother has it way easier than my grandparents did.  For instance, take my paternal grandmother. She's a one-woman freak of nature. At 86 years old, she still mows her property (over 100 acres), skins deer, goes fishing an

I wanted to cry all day today. But, the tears just wouldn't come. After waking up my sluggish 5-year-old, I fought with him for over an hour about everything, essentially making me a drill sergeant, thus launching my sour mood and feelings of utter failure as a mother. I walked around with this heaviness all day, questioning myself and my choice to stay home with my children.  As I've stated before, I get no greater delight than that which comes from the laughter of my young ones. I'm every day aware that this time, while occasionally challenging, is all too fleeting. Still, there are days when the prevailing question is "Why do I bother?"  I should mention that some of my feelings are left over from last night's dinner, which I loved, but J.T. hated (which he announced before even taking a bite). That caused another argument, only exacerbated when Dan came home and decided to eat cereal instead of the dinner I had slaved over for an hour with him in mind.  Si

There are things about this motherhood gig I do not, nor will I ever, understand. For instance, why is it that children refuse to go to bed on time, yet also refuse to let you sleep in the next morning? It is as if they have some stockpile of energy they plug into at every possible interval. But, do we parents get even a hit of this elusive magic potion? No. Take, for instance, my oldest. A new kindergartner, he is eager to start each day (at least until it is actually time for him to drag his tired carcass from beneath his sheets).  Each night, it's the same routine. Shower, brush teeth, read books, bed. Then in 10 minute intervals for the following hour, he putters down the hall for another hug, another question, another complaint, another demand. Which usually means he hits the actual sack around 8:30 instead of 7:30 as intended. That makes it all the more boggling that I felt his morning breath on my face at 4 a.m., startling me awake as he, whispering, asked, "Mommy, when