April 5, 2011

Why Am I Here?

Spending long hours in front of the computer entering tax information has led me to ponder the big questions in life, but my addled brain hasn’t been giving me any reliable answers. Mainly I’ve been wondering what I’m doing here. What am I here for? My daughter thinks it’s to wait on her—to get her cups of milk and make her hair look nice and, if I don’t do one of these tasks quickly, then it’s my job to apologize and do better. My sons think I’m here to buy them things—mainly electronic things, or to come up with chores they can do that pay really, really well so they can buy these things themselves. They think that mowing the lawn is worth fifty dollars and dusting is worth at least twenty dollars—per room. A reality check is coming, but hopefully they’ll be far away from me in college when that happens.


All I know is that I hope I’m not here to do tax returns and my family’s bidding. But it feels like that’s why I’m here. I’m pretty sure most moms feel this way. There’s something about the fact that our kids arrive as chubby, soft babies who smell really good that lures us into becoming their wait-staff. I’m just not sure how to get out of it now that I’ve set this dangerous precedent.

It’s not that I don’t want to help my husband or children, it’s just that there’s only so much time in a day and I’m tired of being left with a deficit at the end of it. I used to have dreams and goals and the time to work toward them. Now I’m busy using my free time putting together a science fair project.

I’m sure there’s an intelligent answer to this predicament. And I plan on figuring it out—just as soon as I have some time to myself.

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