I don’t work.
The other morning I was telling Molly we couldn’t see a friend of hers because the friend’s mom was at work. She laughed and said to me, “Mommy’s don’t work!” I told her how some Mommy’s do work (meaning outside of the home). She said, “Mommy’s do not work. They just stay home.” I chose not to go into a liturgy about all the work a mom does, all the hours we put in, the mounds of laundry we conquer, the number of meals we serve, and how we never “clock-out.”
Then, this morning Josh was getting ready to leave. We are all sad when he leaves each morning because we miss him so much. I told Molly, “Daddy has to go to work.” She said, “But you don’t have to go to work.” I told her, “No, Mama’s work is here.” She laughed at me again and said, “This isn’t your work. This is your home.” Oh dear….I held back again and just told her I was so glad I didn’t have to work, and that I was so glad to just stay at home and play with her.
In actuality, Josh was going to play golf today. He played yesterday, too. He hasn’t played in at least 8 months; there just happened to be two tournaments that his boss signed them up for back to back. Ruby was funny about it and said, “Daddy, why are you playing golf each day?”
Yeah, Josh just plays golf all day, each day and I just sit around the house playing with kids. We don’t work. This is the life.