Inspired

I was recently inspired by someone I've known for a long time. I knew her in high school and when she thinks of me, she probably thinks of me by my maiden name and never by my married name. I'd call her a no-nonsense kind of gal, the kind of person where you never have to worry where you stand. Probably both honest and loyal to a fault. Like me.

Traits I can appreciate.

I admire her ability to set a goal and then freakin' do it. Her ability to make a list, take charge of things and then get it done? I want that. I think she'd make a great accountability partner. Now I don't want to be a control freak, just someone who can control herself.

Reading her latest post inspired me even more. Check it out: It's Okay To Put Yourself First

I am inspired and encouraged.

Daddy's The Rock Star; I Just Work Here

For reasons that can't be explained, or at least I'm too simple to understand them, Brian is the rock star around here. Every.single.kid. in this house prefers him over me. For everything.

I mean, of course, I'll do, in the event he's not here. They do seem to prefer me, well, to strangers. Sometimes. And I guess occasionally, it works out to my benefit. The kids wake him up in the middle of the night and slither their cold body parts onto his side of the bed. But I'm the one who takes them to the multitude of doctor's appointments. I'm the one who takes children to the ER at all hours. I'm the one who stays with them in the hospital, trying not to cry, too, as nurses restart IVs that have infiltrated and little babies are taken back to surgery and a girl sits patiently through yet another breathing treatment. I make sure their clothes and shoes fit. I successfully suction the noses of fighting, thrashing kids to help them breathe better. I can administer medications to those who'd rather pass.

I take them to dance and make sure there is money for classes and costumes. I sign folders and send cheese cubes to school and arrange play dates.

But that stuff is only important to mamas, I guess. Not kids. Kids like piggy back rides and being tickled mercilessly and being thrown up in the air. They don't like actually having to use soap when they wash their hands, or do a decent job of brushing their teeth. They definitely don't like going to bed or taking a nap or that I don't let them watch TV from can to cain't. They cry when Brian has to go to work and beg him to come pick them up, instead of me.

I know I shouldn't care. But I do. I know I should tell myself that they're "just kids" and don't know any better, but it's hard. For once, I'd like to be the hero. The rock star.

On Monday, I had 4 children home sick. Tuesday, I had 2 sick children. Today, it's 3. It's definitely the price you pay when you have several kids. I get that. I'm not asking for or expecting sympathy because my kids are sick this week. And last week. And last month. I just want my own kids to think I'm a hero. I'd just like a crumb or two, if possible. Something to keep from feeling so discouraged. To stop feeling like I am obviously in the wrong line of work.

I'd love to wallow a little longer, but the washer just stopped and the kitchen beckons. Life goes on when you just work here.