When I Grow Up...

Those of you who read this blog with any frequency know that I am constantly struggling with the whole working mom thing. Or maybe you didn't know that, but you do now. I don't care how far we've supposedly come--it is still a "thing" when you are a mom who works full-time. No one has ever asked my husband whether or not he works, but it's a question I get all the time. I'd even wager to say life is (in some ways at least) harder for women than it was in the 1950s because now I'm expected to be able to juggle this career with playdates and homemade cookies and classroom volunteerism and work on the PTA. Thanks for that, Martha Stewart. Though I suppose if I can keep from going to jail in the process, I can skip the homemade pancakes and make mine from the box mix.

Yesterday, Sadie brought home the most precious little preschool scrapbook, which details her experience from beginning to end. On the last page, she answers a question about what she wants to be when she grows up. She says:

"I want to be an editor when I grow up just like my mom. I will make books like my mom. I will make books about dogs."

It's a little thing, but it got me. Sure, I'm away from home all day, but I never stopped to think what they are getting *instead* (aside from the money I bring in for vacations and gymnastics and food). It never occurred to me that there was value in the job that I do, that it's something my girls admire and find interesting. Sometimes I forget that they are watching everything. The running I feel so guilty about somehow filters through their little brains, and I hear them bragging to their friends that their mom runs (and also spilling my Hannah Montanna secret, but whatever). I feel guilty about working, but now both of them have claimed (away from my influence) that they want to be editors when they grow up (though Ella, who is terrified of cats, is now claiming she wants to be a vet, which should be interesting). It's something. It's a start. I suppose it is dawning on me that there is value in them seeing me live a life that is sometimes apart from them.

The funny part is that I *have* made a book about dogs, but I don't think Sadie realizes it. I suppose I should bring a copy home for her.