I tell her that my work requires me to be the manager of our household – the one responsible for the day-to-day operations. I schedule and plan – most everything. I pay bills. I make sure the homework gets done and the books are read and the alphabet is sung and the teeth are brushed.
I tell her I don’t have to worry about job security because there is ALWAYS work for me to do. And that most days, my overwhelmed brain cannot comprehend just how much of it there is. I manage. I protect. I nourish. I teach. I maintain.
But I also tell her it’s not all bad. Because my work requires me to give kisses and hugs, fix boo-boos and wipe away tears. I tell her it’s my job to become a tickle monster, and hold kitchen dance parties, and decide when we get to have ice cream for breakfast; that it’s my job bring light to the people I share a home with.
I tell her it’s not just my job to give, but to also receive. The bedtime hugs, the sloppy kisses, the dandelion bouquets and glittery handmade declarations of love.
But mostly I tell her that my work is in loving. It’s my job to love and sometimes that’s the hardest work of all. Because loving is displayed through action, and the actions I am called to take often go unseen and unappreciated. But I do it all anyway, no matter what, because as a mother it’s what I’ve been called to do.
Loving is at once the easiest and hardest job of all.
I tell her I don’t go to work because I’m already there, here at home. And right now, it’s the job in which I am most needed – the one in which my greatest work is being accomplished.
It’s not much by the world’s standards, but I tell her it’s beautiful. And it’s worth it.
Because it is.
This post was originally published here. Be sure to follow Jenny on Facebook for more on her incomplete family and imperfect parenting.
