Remind Me of This Tomorrow Morning

My friend Susannah once bemoaned (yes, bemoaned, because sometimes you’re just that tired) that staying at home with your children basically just means you’re always doing some form of cleaning up.  And she’s right: wiping tushies, cleaning counter tops, washing laundry–they’re all the tasks we do constantly.  All day long.  Every day.  But I realized something tonight:  my day is food.  Either preparing it or eating it, food rules (well, you know that already, but bear with me here.  I’m on a bit of a rant).  I breastfeed, then get breakfast together for the girls…then nurse some more, then get a snack for Saoirse…then it’s time for lunch, and another snack and dinner and…well, by the time I add in all the time I’m cooking or cleaning up, no wonder the laundry gets backed up. When I look at my day, my week (and my weekend, because if you’re at home you know there’s no difference between weekends and weekdays anymore), I am very aware of how much of my life is the minutiae…

Straddling the Line

Okay, so we all know that I when I had Saoirse, I went on a maternity leave that sort of stretched indefinitely into full-on stay-at-homehood.  David and I had always said that if we could do it, it was important to us to have one of us stay home once we had children–it didn’t matter which one of us did it, but since I was the one with the milk-producing boobs and he was the one with the bigger paycheck (did I mention that I was a teacher?), I drew the short straw (or is it long straw?  Whichever one is the awesome pick).  So a few months after our sweet oldest daughter was born, I packed up my binders upon binders of lesson ideas, walked away from my classroom with its incredible views of the Appalachian mountains and solemnly traded my high heels for cute but oh-so-practical Clarks (okay, actually they were Converse back then.  But I’m getting old).   It was a strange, strange transition for me.  I spent that first year at home feeling like I’d left a big ol’ chunk of my…

Santa, Could You Fit That Living Room Set in My Stocking?

So, David and I feel that it’s our responsibility as parents to try to raise our girls with faith and some solid core values.  We thought we were doing a decent enough job for this stage in the child-rearing game:  taking SK to mass, saying Grace before meals and prayers before bed, discussing some basics of God and Jesus, etc. here and there.  We thought, okay, we’re on the right track.  We’re raising these girls the way we should. But if our little foray into holiday preparations is telling me anything, we’re failing miserably.  Two little scenarios have occurred recently to make me think that we need to up the ante on the whole reason-for-the-Christmas-season conversations with our dear Saoirse.  The first clue was when, last week, Saoirse and I were eating lunch while paging through a new holiday catalog that had arrived that day.  At one point, Saoirse gestured at the catalog and asked me if “Santa Claus lives in there.”  Whoo, boy, I thought.  Thaaat’s not good.  Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  And he lives in Pottery Barn Kids…