Groundhog Day

I swear to God if I wipe off the kitchen counter one more time I'm going to throw myself off a bridge. It seems I only just get the kitchen clean from breakfast and the counter is once again covered, this time, in ketchup and apple peel from lunch and the sink full of empty juice cups. The same goes for the bathroom. Didn't I just replace that toilet paper and wipe down the sink that was covered in violently pink princess toothpaste and shaving cream? And the floors - are my children pretending to eat their graham crackers and secretly crumbling them all over the floor in an effort to drive me insane? Never mind the dog hair - I think I've vacuumed enough miles to earn me a flight to Tahiti. This is my day, everyday. Remember that movie with Bill Murray, Groundhog Day? That's the story of my life.

This is the part no one tells you about being a stay-at-home mom, that your days begin to blend together in a series of vignettes including school drop-off, school pick-up, peanut butter and laundry. The work is seemingly endless and repetitive, like fighting the tide. The real kicker is, if you do your job well, no one notices. No one will notice that your house is clean, your kids are clothed and fed and not killing one another. That's how things should be, it's the status quo. No one but other moms know the blood, sweat and tears that go into creating such banality. I feel at the end of each day like I've run a marathon and know I only have to do it again tomorrow as each member of my family greets the day hungry and in need of clean underwear.

On my better days I realize that this treadmill of activity, this being here, is what bonds me to my kids. They are my work, and while no one else may notice, I know that today I helped my oldest learn to tie her shoes (almost) and that my middle one loves hand massages. I will be here when my chubby baby finally conquers his girth and rolls over for the first time. The drudgery is punctuated by these seemingly small events that rock my world. By being here I hope my children remember these things that we shared. Right now I am the center of their universe.

I know in my future is the question that I fear most. The day my daughters ask me, "But Mom, what do you do?" How belittling to list the million insignificant things that fill my day. How frustrating that they won't understand until they have children of their own. That time is far off for now and I am glad. My movie might be Groundhog Day for now, but at least to my children, I am the star.