I was in the bathroom the other morning when I heard a domestic disturbance begin one door down, in the boys room. Recognizing that the last task I asked them to do was pick up their clothing, I felt the need to monitor slightly, even just to ensure the completion of the chore. As I enter the room Micah (8) pops his head up from his top bunk. Owen (5) is standing on the ladder to the bunk and the argument is in full swing. I ask what’s going on.
“Mom! Micah has more land than me!”
“What are you talking about?” I’m patient and puzzled.
“No I don’t, Owen!” Micah has a gnarly scowl in place
“Owen, your bed is the exact same size as Micah’s bed…they are the same bed…just one is on the top and one is on the bottom…” I’m curious as to how this became an issue to begin with, but then I remember what they are supposed to be doing and I realize that they would rather be doing anything than actually picking up their dirty laundry…so we’ll call this one of their completely irrational, out of thin air arguments.
As I reason with Owen, while he stands above me…looking down from the bunk bed ladder, he hangs his head and exclaims,
“But Mom! He does have more land than me!”
“What do you mean? ‘He has more land’?”
His hand are holding onto the ladder…”He gets to have this ladder…”
Micah will not sit idly by while Owen poses an illogical argument…”I need the ladder to get up here!”
This could have gone on for hours if I didn’t direct it otherwise. I made sure that Owen knew that he may hang out on the ladder and I made sure Micah knew that the ladder was not part of his “land”.
Sometimes I’m positive that I am a smart, talented, and even efficient human woman…it just so happens that most of my time is taken up settling disputes of rightful land ownership. Or chicken nugget ownership. Or silky gym short ownership. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like very important work. I actually have to write a blog post to remind myself that the work that I’m doing here is sacred work. It’s work that most women would choose not to do. Some days I just want a career. I want a clock to punch and a piece of paper at the end of a long week with a dollar amount printed on it that accurately communicates to me my worth within a company or business. For now, I just get to vent to my husband and listen to him tell me that he knows it’s hard to be a low level referee for the town lunatics. He will tell me that even if no one else appreciates what I do here, he does. And that needs to be enough. And it is. I am enough.
And someday, this blog will be here… waiting for our five kids…and they will take a sober glance into the secret, special thought life of their mother and they will know…that they had surely driven her to madness!
