Two Weeks Notice

It’s official. It is actually happening. My resignation has been submitted. In two weeks, I will finally be a stay-at-home mom.

 This new role is so much more to me than a job. This is the culmination of a lifetime of day-dreaming, planning and preparation. See, I’ve known from a very young age that I wanted to be a mom. But not any mom, I wanted to be my mom.

 I have such vivid memories growing up, in a house where there was always a warm energy. It would make sense that the reason for this energy was the fact that I had four siblings, but I believe it was the result of my incredible mother. We moved constantly growing up, changing houses, cities, states, countries, and continents. But our houses always felt the same, like home. She was the constant.

 She was always there and always engaged with us in one way or another. We had her undivided attention and love, which must have been a challenge with so many of us. She always planned ahead, thinking of ways to make even the most grueling tasks enjoyable. We tease her now, as some of these tactics have lost effectiveness with our ages. (“Cmon guys! Let’s collect all the dead leaves and broken branches in the yard and make a big pile in the driveway! It’ll be fun!”…)

Everything was fun. When we ran errands, she would crank up the Raffi, and we’d sing along while we worked on our sticker books. If we were well-behaved, we got to stop by the “little store” on our way home and pick out an ice cream or a bag of “alligator chips.” When we traveled, we had to give her our empty backpacks the night before our flights. In the morning, they were stuffed full with new toys, games, books and activities, but we weren’t allowed to look until we were in our airplane seats with our seat belts on. There was always enough in there to entertain us for days. I remember several separate instances of fellow travelers, especially on those long international flights, complimenting her on her “well-behaved children”. I could not completely understand their compliment, until now.

Holidays were always spectacular, no matter how big or small. For a few years in the late 90’s, we traveled every year for Christmas, each time to a country we had never been – Kenya, Tanzania, Italy, Israel, etc. But my mom made sure that wherever we were, Santa found us. One year for Christmas, we had Christmas morning around a Christmas tree in the lobby of our London hotel; it was the only tree around, so Santa left all of our gifts there. Hotel guests stopped to watch us open and play with our gifts, there in our jammies, as they passed by. Another year, Santa left our gifts outside our Tanzanian bungalow, where my parents spent most of the time retrieving gifts that the monkeys had stolen. But perhaps my favorite holiday was Valentines Day. At dinner that night, there was a little gift bag on each of our plates with, no doubt, well thought-out items inside.

 Dinners were something special at our house. Every night, same time, same place. The TV was never on (we weren’t allowed to watch TV on weekdays anyway) and our attention was on each other. This was the time we learned what was happening in each other’s lives. My mom always prompted the HIGH-LOW game, where we had to go around the table and tell everyone what the high and low of our day had been. A seemingly small, insignificant task, but the information we learned was invaluable. Some of my most favorite memories occurred at the dinner table. Like the time a particular favorite song of my mom’s came on the stereo while were eating, and my dad quietly stood up, walked over to my mom at the other end of the table, put out his hand, and led her to an open area a few feet from the table where they quietly danced. The only sounds were the squeaky, muffled giggles and “ewwww’s” coming from the dinner table. This memory is what happiness looks like, and it still brings tears to my eyes to this day.

 It was no surprise that our house was the gathering spot for all of our friends. Anyone who came over was always warmly greeted and welcomed by my mom. Even unexpected visitors, which were most of them, walked right in and took part in whatever activity we had going on. On any given day, at any given moment, there was always at least one extra child there hanging out. But the Mama Bear never skipped a beat. One more after school snack, one more place setting at the dinner table was seamlessly added.

 I remember about 15 years ago, when I was in middle school, a sweet girl named Jennifer stopped by our house to use the phone on her walk home from school one day. She was the older sister of one of my best friends, by about 4 years. We didn’t spend much time with her, and none of us knew her well. I don’t remember the purpose of the phone call, but my Mom was there to help, chatting with her about her day at school. Maybe it was a conversation she didn’t get to have at home, or perhaps it was just having someone to listen, but every day after that, when I arrived home from school, there was Jennifer, perched on a bar stool in the kitchen, telling my mom about her day.

I could literally go on forever about the ways in which my mom enriched our lives, and the time she spent focused entirely on our family. We were so fortunate to have her all to ourselves, and she made the absolute most of every minute. I will forever be indebted to her for the most extraordinary training I could have received. (And to my wonderful Dad for making it all possible) This is the life I want for my own children. This is the gift I want, so badly, to give them. Now I can.

 I feel so blessed, and so incredibly fortunate, to have a front row seat to my children's' lives. But most importantly, I feel lucky beyond comprehension to have a man who understands the value of it, and who wholeheartedly believes in my capabilities as a mother. And, of course, who works endlessly to make it possible.

 For the first time in my life, I feel like I am exactly where I should be. This feeling is indescribable.

My life is about to begin.

 NOTE: I understand that not everyone agrees with my viewpoints on this issue. I know that some people aren’t able to stay home with their children, and some choose not to. I believe that no matter what their parents do, kids can have wonderful, happy, full upbringings.