cookies baked by the mrs, gloriously decorated by the misses
A while back, there was a television program - I think it was called "Secret Life of a Soccer Mom." I could be wrong on the title, but here's a synopsis: they take a stay-at-home mom, find out what her dream life/career would have been had she not chosen the life at home, put her in it and see how it works. At the end, they would offer her a chance to keep a part of that dream.
My kids asked me what I would choose to do.
I used to want to be a spy. I used to want to be a teacher.
But for as long as I can remember, all I really wanted to be was a mom at home.
That's what I told them. "My dream was to be a mom and be at home." That probably wouldn't make the show very exciting, but I don't need documentation-I'm living my dream.
Then I started thinking--why? Why? Why is what I've always wanted? It's certainly not glamorous and there's little if no external validation.
If my mom is reading this, she's going to go down the guilt road--it's all her fault, guilt, guilt, guilt.
Stop now, please, mom.
You were the best for me and my choices were made independant of the choices you made.
I love you.
My choice was made all because of a sugar cookie.
A sugar cookie at a Valentine party in third or fourth grade. Mark's mom made it.
The heart shaped cookie was thick and soft. The frosting was light pink and beautiful.
The edge of the heart had a flowing white scallop and written on the inside was my name.
And there wasn't just a cookie for me. There was one for every child in that class.
I was going to do that someday. I would be that mom.
Now ask me-have you ever made those cookies for your children & classmates?
Answer-look at the photo-I can bake, but I lack the decorating skills, besides, at all the elementaries we've attended, you have to practically knock other women over to get to the sign in sheet to be room mom & call the shots about treats and parties & all that (not that I am complaining). I'm just not into fighting other moms.
(We are blessed.)
And yes, I am that mom.
I care. I love. I'm there.
(Well, not at every class party, but you know what I mean.)
Thank you, Mark's mom from a very, very long time ago in a classroom at Theresa Bunker Elementary.
Thank you, my mom.
Thank you, my mr. Children don't make themselves.
Thank you, miss h, miss s, little mr. b, little mr. j for helping me eat all those cookies this weekend.
And thank you dear sugar cookie for getting me to where I am today.