On Staying Home

How do you do it?
That is a question I get a lot when I am at the grocery store with two little boys who want to be anywhere but the grocery store.  Why do I do it?  Because I wanted to be the one going crazy in the grocery store with the two little boys who didn't want to be there.  My stay home days are numbered.  Some are better than others, but they all count and will all be the best days when I look back on my time as a stay home mom.  I read this today and realized it wasn't all the milestones that I stayed home to see it was all the stuff in between.

After 15 years at home, the reasons why I think it's so important to be at home are not what you think. I hear and read, "I want to be there for their first steps. Or their first word. To see all the milestones."

That sounds all nice and warm and fuzzy, but to tell the truth, I can't remember any of those...I'm sure it's marked in baby books somewhere. I DO know the last two took their first steps to Grandma and Dad respectively. Traitors.

The times when I have been so thankful that I made the decision to stay home and thought, "Oh God, what if I wasn't here? What if the daycare, the nanny, the sitter was here instead?" ...those are the times that have cemented any doubt in my mind that home is the best place to be.

I remember one time especially. Due to the graphic nature of this paragraph, no names will be mentioned. I had a sweet little guy, maybe 3 at the time, who very suddenly had a terrible stomachache. He was a shy one, and very private and modest. I quickly gave my advice: sit on the toilet and things might get better. But they didn't...they got worse. MUCH worse. He started crying and I rushed in to sit with him. Soon he was in serious panic. A calm, good-natured boy, this was quite out of character. He was hysterical and just in incredible pain. Things were stopped up. Coming out, but stuck. Get the picture??? My heart was beating fast and I was squashing my panic down as we all do when our children are in pain. He needed help and quickly. And I helped. Do you get it? It wasn't pretty. It was stressful and one of those moments you think, "Did I ever think I was going to be doing THIS?" He was crying and sore and so sweet and tender. He sat on our couch wrapped in a warm blanket for a couple hours, with a snack and little movie. And I seriously cried. I felt so sorry for him. And the next place my mind went was all the little guys this or things like this have happened to, that didn't have their moms around to do these sort of things for them. I thought of the day care center where I worked in college...supposedly the best in the city...miserably busy and chaotic and yucky...I didn't last long. I thought of my nanny jobs...how the kids just waited all day, no matter how much fun we had, till their mommies came home. I thought of a story I heard this past weekend, of a mother who just went back to work this summer and found a "great home daycare" situation. Her husband had recently suprised the caregiver after a couple months and found his little son crying alone with a caked poopy diaper and chaos all around, other babies crying...10 little ones for one caregiver. What was happening those months before he discovered this? It brings tears to my eyes.

This last week or so has been another time when I think, "Thank God it's me." Patrick has been SO difficult. He's such a sweet, happy fellow, but this week....I'll tell you...I don't know if it's teeth, or the kids being gone at school, or just a new little stage, but he wants ME almost every minute. He's 30 pounds and it's not easy lugging this kid around. If he happens to be settled and busy it just means he's up to no good. He'll find a pen or a pencil laying around-my walls his canvas...or he stands on his tippy toes and fishes one out of the drawer and just writes everywhere before I even get a chance to stop him. He's hurt me, physically, 10 times this week. Slammed a door shut on my ankle, given me serious love bites, head butted me (the kind that make your teeth click!), all on accident of course. He's smooshed my lipstick, dumped bags of cereal when given a second. Crinkled my new magazine, ran his stroller into my ankles. When we went on walks, they were as far from enjoyable as you could get. Down every one'sdriveway, in the street constantly, in and out of the stroller every minute, mad as heck when he didn't get his way and we headed home. Tons of whining. Tons.

Do you get the picture? Tested every ounce of my patience. Very unlikeable, but I love him.

That's not to say a break, a fresh set of hands, is not welcome once in awhile. But if I left him all day with someone, they would seriously dislike this usually sweet good-natured boy. No doubt in my mind.

It's the little things like this...the things that come up once in awhile, the bouts of colic, the annoying stages, the private bathroom dilemmas, the runny noses, just a bad days (or weeks)...those are REALLY the reasons I stay home. The hard stuff. The "no fun" stuff.

I want ME to be the one that takes care of all those things. I trust myself. I'm his mother. Who loves him more? I love having never to doubt he's getting the best care every day no matter how impossible he's being. I don't think anyone can do it better than me. I'm not conceited. I'm not bragging. I'm not patient all the time. I am not full of myself. But I do think only me and their Dad LOVE these kids more than anyone else on earth. And not LOVE, the typical meaning that comes to mind.

But LOVE...the hard way. 
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