A Fork in the Road and A Stain in the Carpet

I stand at a fork in the road. In reality, I stand in my dining room staring at the stains in the carpet (curiously they form a 'purple dot road' which my toddler seems to take with every sippy he is given).



Metaphorically, I stand at a fork in the road. I have a business idea. I think I have a market. I am only contracted to work 20 hours a week, leaving the other 20 to build my own business. So, one lane of the road is towards committing to building a business while simultaneously not tearing down my family, sanity and life. The other lane is to go get a 'normal' job. You know the kind with health benefits, a regular schedule and mind numbing routine.



Either way will be fine. Either road will have benefits and deficits. For the first time in my life, I get to choose. There is no super urgency (aside from the dwindled financial resources) for me to choose one over the other. However, I have to choose.



I have been so far out of the 'rat race' that I don't want to go back. Most days I don't even get dressed beyond the stay at home mom uniform of comfies and some type of fleece. I like not knowing where my makeup is most days. I like not buying panty hose.



However, there is a restlessness starting to emerge. As I have recovered and been redeemed from the clutches of depression and PPD (see earlier posts), a new strength and 'go get 'em' has emerged. Can I still be the mother I want to be and be a woman with a business?



Feminism taught us one thing. It was only about one thing. Get out and make your mark on the world. They forgot to teach us how to mother in the midst of making our marks.



I can make no greater mark on this world than to raise the next generation to be the men God created them to be. Men of character, heart and strength (who by the way love their mother!). Men who will be good husbands, friends, and brothers.

However, is part of that mark, a piece of it, just my own? Can I really do this?

I have to decide which direction to take in the fork in the road. But first, gonna get out the stainbuster carpet scrubby thingy, these stains are crazy!









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The Grandparent Circus

Once upon a time, there was a mother, a father and various children. There were two sets of Grandparents. All formed a familial community in which to raise and nurture the next generations.

Enter feminism, post-war consumerism, and the sixties. Now we have mothers raising children alone while fathers date/marry/divorce new 'mommies' half their age. Grandparents are no longer married, deciding after 20+ years that it's time to be done. And the familial community is no more.

It is into this reality that we are navigating. Today my father-in-law and one of his "special friends" (the non-commital euphemism I use when describing whoever the grandparent is dating at the time-seeking to ascribe no special status as they may never show up again), took my first born to the circus. In another city, for the entire afternoon. Without us.

We are trying to navigate the uncharted waters of complicated and complex grandparent relationships. We support their right to time, access and relationship with each of our sons. We get it. Yet, it's still tough.

The 'special friend' isn't very friendly to us, preferring to use passive agressive comments in lieu of mature relationship building. We get it. You are the girlfriend du jour.

So, when he called to take our sweetie to his first circus, it was with trepidation. If the special friend doesn't respect mommy and daddy, what comments would be made to our little? Could we trust him to really care for a curious, talkative, energetic little fella?

We let him go, because he needs to know his grandfather. He needs to build memories with him that he will share with his own kids. He needs it. Pap Pap needs our little too. No amount of passive aggressive relationship messiness deniest the genuine love and pride he has for 'his boys'.

My five year old just called. He recounted how he saw 'real' lions, tigers and monkeys. And how this lady shot out of a cannon. And how these guys did the most dangerous thing of all-they hung upswide down by their feeties. And a dog trainer. And an elephant ride (that was stinky). And....and....and...."daddy, I can't tell her everything now. I'll finish when we get home."

My sweetie didn't remember any passive aggressive silliness. He'll remember the silly clowns. He won't remember his mommy checking the clock every minute to see when he would be back. He will remember every minute of the magic of his first circus. His face will be sticky with cotton candy and smiling at the guy who "ran on da rings faster and faster when we clapped faster and faster and then swower and swower when we clapped swower". He didn't have to face the complicated, Grandparent circus. That's our job. Is it too late to turn in our tickets?





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