SAHM Day

I work part-time. Don't know if I've ever mentioned that.

*wink*

Sometimes, the middle of the week gets hectic and I get caught up in the schedule, which means the only places I take T Junior to are errands (i.e. Walmart or Safeway). Sometimes, we're so busy just getting through Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, we don't get time for fun kid activities.

Sometimes, I have to just stop what I'm doing, lay down on the floor and let T Junior pretend to wrestle with me, so we at least have some real mom-son play time. I squeal. He squeals. And, I vow to do this more often.

Sometimes, I wish I was a Stay-At-Home-Mom. Full time.

Don't get me wrong. I love being a copywriter. I love my job. And, I love that it's only twice a week. It's perfect. I'm lucky.

But it's still making lunch the night before. Not getting to see T Junior in the morning. Being gone all day. Coming home to a sink full of dishes and T Junior's stale uneaten Eggo on a plastic plate. Rushing to get some exercise. Hurrying dinner.

I am in-between. Part working mom. Part SAHM. I struggle to find a happy medium.

But today was all SAHM.

After breakfast, I tried to keep T Junior awake in his carseat while we drove to a nearby farm for a play date. Somehow, I was early. In fact, the farm hadn't even set out it's parking signs yet.

I drove down a dirt driveway that wound past what I didn't recognize as a pasture. I got a little nervous as I bumped by a tilted, rusted trailer and a wooden a-frame ladder displaying accomplishments: rows and rows of empty blue Bush Light cans. I was turning around behind the homeowner's carport (which was protecting an unidentifiable shell of a car up on cement blocks), when I noticed that a very angry looking pale, scruffy man with a mostly unbottoned khaki shirt was walking toward me with purpose.

"What the hell is goin' on here?" He threw his arms up in the air.

The passenger side window was already down in our midnight blue Odyssey. "I'm so sorry, sir. I'm very lost." (I did my best to sound very pathetic and upset.) "Really, sir. I'm so, so sorry. I'm trying to go to the farm. Do you know where the parking is?"

He kept walking around his driveway. He looked panicked. (Now that I think about it, I wonder if he was hiding something back there. Yikes.) But he answered. "In their pasture."

"Thank you, sir. Right up there? Okay. Thank you. Again, so sorry."

But now I was stuck because another early mom (that'll teach us) had followed me in her sedan thinking I knew where I was going, and she was blocking my exit.

The man looked like he couldn't believe these two idiots.

Parking situation aside, the farm was great. There were horses, rabbits, chickens, ducks and a peacock who seemed quite docile in his cage (I've always been a little scared of them since one tried to attack my sister when she was little). And, there were goats and a little pony and donkey that we could pet.

Plus, there were tractors. Kids John Deere tractors. You know, the kind that kids can "pretend" to drive with faux gas pedals, steering wheels and everything. T Junior spent a good portion toddling after the older children as they drove them all around the big lawn at the farm.

Afterward, we had lunch with our playdatees (is that a word?) and played at a Gymboree class. Then, I had to keep T Junior awake again on the car ride home so he could get a good nap in his own bed.

I didn't get him in the BOB for a run until almost 4 and then we still had to go to the grocery store. Finally, we returned, I plopped him in his highchair, gave him some of my Jimmy Mac's Roadhouse leftovers from the other night, and I put groceries away while he ate. Clean up. Bath. Books. Bed. Feed dogs. Dishes. Laundry. Eat. Blog.

Do I work tomorrow?

I need to rest.