Christmas vacation ended yesterday*. Which meant that today, it was back to alarm clocks ringing at 5:45 a.m., packed lunches, clothes laid out in advance and all the other accoutrements of Life With School. At 7 a.m., the Supermodel and our 7-year-old daughter headed out, the former to help Special Ed kids catch up to their peers, the latter to once again make a mockery of the requirements for second-graders in our district. (She’s so far ahead of the rest of her class that it’s not even funny anymore.) And I have to be as awake as I can be for when my almost-5-year-old son gets up.
If I had been given Mr. Mom duty, say, five years ago, I would have gone completely meshuggeh. Back then I had to be in control of things, had to prove myself in the marketplace, had to fill what I perceived to be the “man’s role” in the household (i.e., go out, kill the wildebeest and drag it home for my woman to cook). God has had to teach me a LOT about letting go and accepting His will for each moment, and while I’ve usually learned the hard way, I have in fact learned a little. It’s okay now. Not spectacular, but I can deal with it.
Candidly, I wouldn’t mind having a 40-hour-a-week job again. Partly that’s because I’d like to make a bigger contribution to the family (specifically, the family finances). Partly, it’s because I’m a little bored. My son is possibly the lowest-maintenance preschooler in the Western world — mellow, content, self-entertaining. He likes having me around for company, and for doing things that he can’t quite manage yet (start a DVD, make a peanut butter sandwich, wipe the poop off his rear, drive a car, that sort of thing). But I have the sneaking suspicion that if I left him in the house unsupervised for three hours, I could come back, he’d look up, smile as if to say, “oh, there you are” and go back to playing with his stuffed animals. And there wouldn’t even be much of a mess to clean up. Not that I would EVER do that, but you get the idea.
So it’s not the height of excitement. And yet there’s some joy there too, just being able to watch him and relax, knowing that God does all things well in His time — in my son’s life, in mine. I know that with my will surrendered to God, everything will happen when it needs to. My resume is up on the major headhunting sites, and the temp agencies have my number — when the time comes for them to fill a position, I’m ready to be filler. In the meantime, I change training pants, read stories, run chauffeur duty to the mall, wrestle, wash dishes, cook meals (they were raving about my pasta tonight!) and whatever else comes my way. Whatever my hands find to do, I’ll do it with all my heart and soul, for it is the Lord Christ I am serving.
Even when He’s disguised as a toddler, and I’m serving Him a peanut butter sandwich. Maybe especially then.
(* Clarifying note: The Supermodel works at, and my daughter attends, the same charter school, which is largely Christian-run. So they have “Christmas vacation” instead of “winter break.” Point for our side. ;-D)