The job is great. Working is another story.

Well, it's become abundantly clear that it is going to take longer than we
expected to get used to this "new normal."

{It is 10:30pm and Davis is crying in his crib. He has developed a bit of a habit during these weeks of congestion and sickness. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, he wants to be held and rocked back to sleep. Those who know me know that I am not the "rock them to sleep" type.

But lately, missing him like crazy and feeling grateful that he still wants me, I have been a little too happy to oblige. So, I hate to hear him cry but I know he'll remember that he can put himself back to sleep. Besides, I don't want to feed another guilt-driven new habit.}

I digress...

So, I got my new mini-van and am loving it. It's a gold 2004 Honda Odyssey. Although there's definitely a sense of, "I finally get a mini-van and now I have no time to take my kids anywhere..." I have enjoyed piling five Recruiters in it to make rounds at the community hospitals. It's funny when one yells from the third row, "Momma, can we get some air back here?"

The return to work has reminded me how hard it is to find size 12-Wide women's dress shoes. I forget how much you actually NEED to have on hand in order to go to work every day. It requires different shoes, different undergarments, more makeup, a real purse, and it's really been a long time since I squeezed myself into pantyhose. Then there's the whole casual Friday issue. Great. I need "dressy jeans."

Once again, like I do every time I start a new job, I have considered ordering five Methodist Healthcare shirts and just rotating them every week. I really would if I didn't feel so frumpy in them.

{Side note: I decided to go in to make sure Jeff wasn't waiting up on my account and he's rocking Davis in the recliner. Jeff is smiling and so is the baby. We're totally creating a monster.}

I just don't remember working being THIS hard last time I did it. I don't remember time being THIS short or me being THIS tired. Well, it wasn't and I wasn't. What is so strikingly different this time around is that I have a kiddo in school. Oh yeah, and a second kiddo. BIG difference.

The hardest thing about working is the pace we are required to keep. When I pick them up at 6:00 pm (in heels, hose, and blazer) they are absolutely exhausted, starving, and filthy. Davis has been in daycare for eleven hours and hasn't had a snack since 2:00pm. Jack has been learning and obeying for 7 hours, then bused to daycare for 3 1/2 more. I juggle an antsy toddler, his paper report telling me that he didn't eat much and had trouble napping, the fundraiser packet, picture order form, plastic bag with wet clothes from "trying to use a big-boy cup" and reminder card that he's out of wipes and needs a replacement outfit. I buckle them in and pray that I remembered to bring them a snack to eat in the car.

I unload the van and in about two minutes the sofa is covered in my purse, work papers, two hoodies, daycare papers, Jack's backpack, the diaper bag, and four shoes are flying onto the carpet as they head to the kitchen to ask what's for dinner. I hate that the first thing they hear when we get home is, "Where do your shoes go? Is that where your backpack goes? Keep your brother out of the kitchen while I try to get dinner ready."

The rest of the evening (1.5 hours total before 8 pm bedtime) looks a little like a three-ring circus and I am the exhausted ringmaster. Daddy gets home right when they have finished eating and they head to the tub. We bathe them side by side and while he gets Davis' pajamas on, he prompts Jack, "Did you brush your teeth? Did you clear the table? Don't forget to go potty one more time." This is usually when I finally change out of my work clothes. As Davis drinks his milk and Jack brushes his teeth, Jeff clears the kids' dinner dishes and changes clothes. I put Davis to bed and Jeff tucks Jack in. At about 8:15 or 8:20 we look at each other like, "we did it" and start to make dinner for ourselves. After we eat, he unpacks Jack's lunchbox, I review homework and permission slips, etc. He puts dishes away (again) while I review the daycare menu and pack egg-free alternatives for Davis' snacks and meals for the next day. We label the paper sack with a Sharpie and can finally sit down at about 10pm.

It all starts again the next morning when the alarm clock rings at 5:55am.

I certainly do not record this in a plea for sympathy or to vent and complain. I realize that millions of Moms do this every single day, year after year. I also realize that their children turn out fine. I just want to remember what this time was like. I know that "this too shall pass" and I hear that someday I will wish for these days back. The thing is, I already want these days back.

{It's 11:50pm and Davis is crying again and Jeff can't get him to sleep. I will have to finish this post another time... there's a little stuffed up blondie in footed pajamas who smells like lotion who needs his Momma.}

After writing about all of this, his Momma needs him too.