The Balancing Act

Here is another long ago post that, well, never got posted.  I wrote this on August 2nd.  Maybe my New Year's resolution should be to actually post something I wrote when I wrote it!

I’ve been feeling a little sorry for myself lately.  Sorry that I’m working full time instead of enjoying the summer sun with my boy.  Day dreaming of lazy days filled with grass that tickles, breezes that caress the skin.  Shady patches of green under looming trees just ripe for a picnic blanket.  Getting lost in a good book as my boy rambles and explores out in the great wide open. 

I remember how I felt six months ago.  Working part time to help through the transition to motherhood and career woman.  How it felt to get out of the house and jump for joy at the chance to work.  To realize the worth and want of an executive desk in my very own office.  A career I love and have worked so hard to achieve.  To know I am good at this.  That I’m needed and wanted and missed. 

And then to be able to leave while the sun is still high in the sky.  To pick up my boy and have that lazy afternoon stretch before us.  To be able to keep up with our home while my boy slumbers in his swing.  To make progress on crafts and decorating flourishes.  To nourish my career, my home, my son and my creativity all at once. 

It’s easy to remember the good things.  To forget how difficult it was to manage a full time career while working part time hours.  How whenever I left the office I felt like there was still so much that needed my attention and time.

This balancing act of motherhood and work and home and family and life.  It’s not easy to be sure.  And most days I feel like I’m missing the mark.  Coming in way below where I ought to be.  And then I read mom-blogs and see that I’m not alone.  That this balancing act is a journey that lasts a lifetime.  There’s no easy fix. 

Some say to lower standards.  Ease up on the pressure to keep your home perfect.  Well, if that’s what works my house certainly follows suit.  It’s so difficult to lower expectations when mine have always been high flying.  Up in the clouds, completely unattainable even on a good day. 

My house is far from perfect.  The dishes are washed once a week instead of once a day.  There are crumbs on the floor.  The clean laundry mound grows by the day, a task half finished.  A daily plunge through the mountain searching for bibs and baby socks.  I only cook real food on weekends.  Making enough to last us a week so that precious evening hours aren’t spent laboring over sauces, veggies and dishes – even though I enjoy the chopping and sautéing and all it produces.

And then I read about the important things.  The time spent with my son.  Playing, reading, laughing, nurturing.  How that makes more of an impact than a clean kitchen floor, a bathroom that sparkles and a tidy bedroom where all the laundry is neatly folded and tucked away. 

It’s a daily battle needing constant reminders.  My boy IS more important.  He doesn’t care how clean the floor is.  What matters is having a Mommy and Daddy that love him and take time to play and focus on him.  That’s all he’s going to remember.  And that’s something worth striving for.