For Your Consideration

This post could have also been titled "Yes, I bribe my child to perform."  Today's talent fee?  Mommy pulling out all the little Lego cars and building ramps for them. 

4 Years of Funtastic!

My sweet boy turned four today.  He is tender hearted, eager to learn, bright, generous, a tad bit tied to routine, and in love with trains, monsters, Spiderman, and simply being silly.  Just this morning he told me how to spell Stop, Go, Mommy and Daddy.  No idea how he figured that out.  I think he gets his engineer's temperment from his Grandpa Phillips, who was a chemical and mechanical engineer.  Pretty sure he gets the silly from his Dad and me.  Oh well.

 Henry, in his birthday crown, waits to be celebrated at school.

 Mrs. K dons the birthday boy with the birthday cape.

 Henry is in the center of "the cake".  The inner circle is the "candles", so of course, he "blew" them out at the end of the song.  So cute.

 Eating his munchkins and  Juice Bags that we brought in for his birthday snack with his classmates.

 After a birthday lunch at Chick-Fil-A with his bestie, A, who then came over for some cake, present opening, and a playdate. 

 My sweet son even let his best girl open a present for him. Sure hope she knows how lucky she is to be loved by him!

Lightning McQueen cars from Uncle Bill, Aunt Pam, and the Johnson cousins.

Daddy helps Henry put together his new Chuggington chug wash so Henry and A could play with his trains.

My darling, Henry, you've been a miracle since we first saw six cells through Dr. T's microscope.  The sound of your laughter is infectious.  I pray there is never a day when you doubt you are loved--by your family and by God. 

DC Travel Tips for families

1.  Take the Metro. It's super cheap and you don't have to worry about getting lost.  OK, you sort of have to worry about not taking the blue line and going to Arlington Cemetery when you mean to take the Orange line and go back to your hotel, but even then, it's no biggie. 
Plus, it is a train.  Which means your kid's head might explode from excitement from pressing multiple elevator buttons, riding escalators, being underground, and then HOLY COW riding a train. Do not be alarmed if your child starts chanting "STEP BACK DOORS ARE CLOSING" at random intervals.

Gracie saying, "Hey, don't you want to ride my train car?"

I'd read some Mommy blogs about taking the Metro with kids in tow.  They all talked about awful it was and how rude people were to them.  So I was prepped with ample comebacks if someone was rude about my kids on the Metro.  False.  I think those Moms must've been idiots.  Or tried to ride at rush hour.  Or didn't know what they were doing.  But my tube skills from my semester in London stepped in and I had our family riding like the celebrities we are.  (Because loads of famous people take public transportation!) 
But here are some key tips:  Look up on-line for any delays or construction.  You can also find out online which stations have broken elevators. Use the online trip planner to familiarize yourself with the route you'll be taking.
Make sure your stroller can fold easily if you need to take the escalator in a pinch.  (We borrowed a friend's slender folding double rather than taking our double wide jogger or stadium seating Phil and Teds.) 
It is kinda difficult to locate the elevators on the street because they are not next to the regular Metro station entrance.  In the stations, follow the clearly marked handicapped signs.  Be kind to the metro station workers, and they may just let you enter and exit freely without ever swiping your card.  Enter the train from the end cars, not the middle and DO NOT TRAVEL DURING RUSH HOUR. 

2.  Set the bar low and be flexible

Going on a spaceship!

Decide before you go on vacation what type of family you are.  Are you see everything  and learn lots kind of people?  Or are you going on vacation to have fun, get away from your daily routine, and spend time with your family kind of people?  We are the latter.  So we chose to do one activity a day.  The Air and Space Museum Saturday, the Zoo on Sunday, and Natural History on Monday.  We would've liked to see some monuments and the like, but the Lincoln Memorial is over a mile from the nearest Metro station so it didn't fit into our plans this time.  Nor did scaling the Washington Monument so my four year old and 18 month old could stare out a tiny window.  We had originally planned on doing the Natural History Museum on Sunday, but the weather report for Monday was for possible rain, so we literally switched gears en route and just kept riding the Metro onto the zoo.  It made for a long day so our plan to go out to dinner later was scratched and we just got take out and ate on our room's giant conference table and then watched the Storage Wars marathon.
3.  Scheduled downtime. 
Gracie needs a nap.  She just does.  She's flexible about when she takes it, but generally she needs to sleep from 2-4.  And Henry has running around needs.  So we tried to schedule time each day when the kids could just run around like crazy people.  We let them run around by the Gorillas in the zoo for about 30 minutes and then we spent some time playing chase on the National Mall.  We also packed some of Henry's trains and some special invisible ink coloring books for Henry to play with in our hotel room during Gracie's naptime.  It was also nice for us adults to slow down and loll about on our comfy king sized bed and read our books.

4.  Pack and dress appropriately

This means if they are calling for hail storms and possible tornadoes and flooding, and you pack each of your children outfits for everyday for both hot and cold weather, and corresponding rain coats and fleeces, you, as the Mommy, MAY need more than a cardigan from Old Navy.  It sure would've been nice to have had a rain coat as we tromped from the Metro to the Air and Space in historic rain fall.  I have a friend whose parents have ponchos from pretty much every tourist place in America because they didn't adhere to this rule. 
BUT we did have two umbrellas.
Also, I was the dorky mom who dressed our family alike.  Yes, some people dress their kids alike so they can find them in a crowd.  But I know me and I wouldn't be able to remember what color the kids were wearing unless I was wearing it myself.  So on Saturday, we were the preppy pink and green team.  Sunday, the aqua and orange team, and Monday--the blue team. Also, should your son INSIST on wearing his Buzz Lightyear pajama shirt to the Air and Space museum (duh, he's a Space Ranger!), let him.  You probably forgot an undershirt anyhow.

5.  THE BACKPACK
Even if you've moved beyond the diaper bag stage, I recommend packing a diaper bag anyways.  We use a backpack rather than my purse so that you can truly be hands free and also Sloan doesn't feel like a tool rocking a Vera Bradley backpack-purse.  (Which, BTW, we saw a man on the Metro carrying a Vera Bradley purse.  We both agree that this is just wrong.  We're pretty sure our gay friends would agree.) I also packed a cooler full of sippy cups, water, apples, bananas, goldfish, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, cheese sticks, granola bars, and dum dums.  But in our diaper bag I had a change of clothes for each child in a zip lock with an extra bag should you have wet clothes (which we used because it was several blocks from the Smithsonian Metro to the NHM and Henry didn't make it), our camera, Purell wipes and purell, an umbrella, and more diapers than you think you could possibly ever need.  In a pinch, diapers can be opened and used to wick away moisture from a recently peed upon stroller.

6.  Extend grace
I'm pretty certain there were several times that I could have just lost it with Sloan.  Perhaps he wasn't listening to me or obeying me or I felt rushed or they ran out of Cinnamon Toast Crunch at the hotel.  But every time I wanted to yell at him, I thought, "We've only got three days here and I don't want to spend it fighting.  Let. It. Go."  And, to my surprise, the world did not end when I didn't constantly correct everyone at all times.  Perhaps the Holy Spirit doesn't need my help in pointing out everyone's flaws.  Hmmmm....  I wonder what this would look like in daily life. 

7.  Laugh Often
Things are going to go wrong.  They just are.  Remember, travelling with family is an adventure and on adventures, things rarely go as planned.  And you might even find yourself being embarrassed by your family members. 
So when you find yourself yelling across a room, "Hey, why don't you two boys hold each other for a picture?" It's okay to pee your pants a little.   But not too much because you didn't pack yourself a second outfit.
If your son should scream from the bathroom stall in the Natural History Museum "Hey, Mommy, come look at my poopy.  It's the biggest poopy I've ever done!"  Just laugh and be thankful he's pooping in the potty because he's already in his second pair of pants.
Also, should your husband insist of making fun of stroller strides Mommies as he pushes the double stroller--let him.  You're not having to push the stroller.  Who cares if he randomly, throughout the entire trip, will start doing stroller lunges or hips thrusts or high kicks saying things like "This is really going to rip my quads" or "Right now I'm jamming my glutes" or, my personal favorite, "I'm totally shredding my scrote right now." 

For Justice

I’m taking a break from telling y’all about our trip to DC because I just need to encourage a friend.  And I need for her to see in a very public way how much she is loved.  My dear friend is staring down brokenness in a sad way and I want so much to have just the right words to take all of her pain away.
 

But I just can’t. 

I have no idea what she is feeling or going through.  And, unfortunately, my own experiences with brokenness tell me that much of life’s adversity is like the children’s book Going on a Bear Hunt—you can’t go over it, you can’t go under it, you just have to go through it.  At some point in all of our lives, if we’re lucky enough to love to the point we risk our hearts being shattered, we all must take our turn walking through the valley of the shadow of death. 

And so I offer to her, and to you, my dear reader, the only thing I know to be true:  there can be no resurrection without a crucifixion.  There is no way to get to the glory of Easter morning without first stopping in the bloody pain of Good Friday.

When I first entered the hospital with Henry, there were many doubts.  We didn’t know whether I would live to see the next day, whether Henry would make it, or would events unfold that left Sloan and I making difficult decisions when we were just emotionally raw and grasping at the faith we were struggling to maintain. 

For some reason, every time I tried to pray I found myself speechless.  Words simply could not come.  Instead, when I shut my eyes, I could hear a little voice inside me, randomly, asking me the first question of the Heidelberg Catechism-- Christian, what is your only comfort in life and in death?  That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ.  He has fully ­­­ paid for all my sins with his precious blood, and has set me free from the tyranny of the devil.  He also watches over me in such a way that not a hair can fall from my head without the will of my Father in heaven: in fact, all things must work together for my salvation.  Because I belong to him, Christ, by his Holy Spirit, assures me of eternal life and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for him. 

The simple fact that I could remember it verbatim was certainly not because I once memorized it in Seminary but Divine intervention.  (Seeing as I could NOT remember all of it on the day of my final exam.  Nor could I remember all of it now.   Thank you, Google.)  So instead of praying, I just over and over reminded myself that I belonged.  That I’d been set free.  That I was being watched over and that my and Henry’s seemingly being at death’s door was not because God had taken a nap or was too busy fretting over events in the Middle East. 

The next day, our Pastor came to visit us.  He asked me how he could specifically be praying for our family.  He didn’t seem to be saying, “How can I and the staff be praying for you,” rather he was just my spiritual leader gently asking what I thought I needed.  Sloan asked for wisdom, for healing, to make it through the weekend alive.  I asked that I’d be able to stay in the hospital for a good long while.  He confessed that was the first time he’d ever heard that request.  And then, quietly, almost as an afterthought, I asked him to pray that I wouldn’t believe the lies that were loitering about my heart and mind.

Right then and there, he took my hand and began to pray aloud.  He prayed that I would know that Jesus was for me.  That Jesus adored me.  That Henry and I were precious to God.  He prayed for God to give me the faith to trust in Him and the strength to not believe every lie coming at me.  He prayed for me to have a soft heart, a heart that would not become brittle or bitter from having suffered.  He prayed for me to believe that God was good despite all present evidence to the contrary.

So this, my darling friend, is what I pray for you.  For you to not believe the lies.  I trust that somewhere deep down you know what is true about yourself—that you are lovely, and strong, and smart, and funny, and a great friend, a great Mom, and a great writer.  But I also want you, as we enter into Easter, to believe what is true about God—He is for you and you are not facing this brokenness alone.

God is not foreign to being let down.  Just tonight Henry and I were talking about how when Jesus asked his best friends to pray for him and be with him because he was grieving and they took a nap.  (To which, Henry said, “They slept in a garden.  That’s so silly.”)  Jesus knows what it is like to be betrayed.  He knows the cost of a broken heart, of unrequited love.   It is for this very thing that Jesus died. 

You are loved.  You are cherished.  Your name is written on his hand.  

Upgrade

*This is the first in a series of posts chronicling our recent Family trip to Washington, DC. 

When we first decided to take a mini-Spring Break trip to Washington, DC, we decided to cash in some of Sloan’s hotel points from all his hard working time on the road so that we’d have a free hotel stay.  There were some parameters we would have to follow to use the points.  And we had some requirements as well—it had to be an interior room hotel, within walking (with a double stroller) distance to a Metro station, and a two room suite (so we didn’t have to go to bed at 7:30).  Sloan explained all of this to the points person on the phone who set up our reservation about a month ago, and Sloan had called earlier in the week (at my request) to see if the suite included a refrigerator.  We seemed good to go staying at a hotel in College Park, MD.  When I asked last week if the hotel had an indoor pool, Sloan seemed like I was not appreciating the free hotel he had booked for us and may or may not have accused me of being a snob while simultaneously giving me a lecture about the grossness of business hotel indoor pools.

We bullied our way through DC traffic and rolled into College Park around 4:30.  As we pulled into the hotel’s parking lot, we both filled with dread.  Sloan also received an urgent call from work at the same time.  And when I say urgent, I mean the entire reason he got a promotion was to woo a certain client to increase their business.  This call, at a 4:30 on a Friday, was the client saying they wanted to increase their business by an insane amount by the next day.  A joyous logistical nightmare. 

But nothing compared to the nightmare I was living through in the passenger side of the car.  Let me describe to you our motel.  That’s right—motel. Picture the motel from Momento but in the parking lot place several men in wife beaters and jhorts just milling around.  I can only assume they were either dealing drugs or protecting their investments in the various hotel rooms between Johns.  And then envision a high school lacrosse team from New Jersey getting out of their school vans and hear them complaining about the dump they are having to stay in.

My internal monologue went something like this—OK, Elizabeth.  Don’t say anything.  Just pray Sloan can see that there is no way in hell we are staying here.  It’s okay, Elizabeth, it’s okay.  Please don’t cry.  Please don’t cry.  You’re an adult, act like it.  I swear if Sloan doesn’t pull out a can of whip ass on the points concierge I’m going to take the kids and leave him to be molested by the men in jhorts.  And, oh my gosh, are you kidding me?  The kids’ movie is over?  This is not happening to me.  Everything is ruined and it is all because my husband is an idiot.  Please, dear Lord, help me to love this idiot.

Pic of the "suite" from the hotel website. 
This looks much nicer and brighter and cleaner than what we saw.

Thankfully, I said none of those things.  I just prayed over and over for Sloan to be able to see that we weren’t staying here and that I could be a loving wife regardless.  But he was knee deep with trying to figure out the stuff for his client.  It was too much.  He asked to see a room.  We parked in front of the room and as he opened the door to our “suite”, his face fell.  It was not a suite.  I was just a room with a pull out couch, a hot plate, and a mini-fridge.  He looked at me and said, “We can’t stay here.  We’ll get murdered.  And that’s if we’re lucky.  But I don’t know what to do.”  I could tell he was on the verge of losing it.  His phone kept dinging from texts and emails while Henry was yelling to us that he was hungry and the movie was over. 

Something in me took over.  What I wanted to do was curl up in the fetal position in the back of my Suburban and feel sorry for myself.  Instead, I put on my big girl panties.  I said, “Here’s what we’re going to do.  Go inside and cancel our reservation.  We’re not staying here.  Then give me your hotel points card and I’ll figure out where we are staying.  You figure out how to help your client.  We’re on an adventure, and on adventures, things rarely go as planned.  You work, I got this.  It’s okay.” 

I swear, it was like I was suddenly possessed by a completely sane person.  It was a new feeling for me. 

I passed out snacks for the kids and put on a new movie.  I started hunting down a new hotel on my phone and then called the points people.  I explained to them our predicament.  I was kind and patient.  Very unlike me.  Very.  I think it helped that each person I spoke to was gracious, understanding, and sorry.  All women and most likely mothers, they understand our requests for a 2 room suite.  I think Sloan had spoken to a man who was just not getting how much we needed a 2 room suite, not just a larger room with a pull out couch.  We pulled out back into DC traffic at 5 o'clock headed away from certain death toward (hopefully!) another hotel in Arlington.

The living room of our studio one bedroom apartment. 
Yes, that's a conference sized dining room table. 
Henry slept in his sleeping bag on the couch
and we put G's pack n play in the corner.

Folks, I am now the master of all hotel booking for the Phillips family.  I got us the hook up!  We went from dumpo slumpo in Maryland to quite possibly the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in other than on my honeymoon in Arlington.  Within site of the Metro station and loads of restaurants, all of which we could be driven to by the hotel’s free shuttle.  And our suite was actually what the hotel calls “a one bedroom apartment suite”.  It’s normally not available for points people, but because I was so understanding, they felt obliged to get it for us.  And upon checking in, when I casually mentioned to the manager at the front desk that my kids had watched the entire movie The Princess and the Frog while the hotel points people got this all sorted out, she threw in daily parking for free. 

The amazing part of all of this was that I didn’t roll over and feel sorry for myself.  Or make Sloan take care of everything so I could then blame him if something went wrong.  We were a team.  I didn’t yell at him or blame him or suddenly tell him that he ALWAYS does the wrong things or NEVER does the right thing (not that I’ve ever done that before or anything).  I am so very thankful for the inconvenience.  I was able to serve my family.  God showed up and gave me patience and self-control.  Please don’t think I’m saying this tongue in cheek.  I’m really passive-aggressive.  Just the next morning I was shouting about a family who bumped us off the Metro shuttle while we were folding up our stroller and I was handing Grace to Sloan.  Literally, took our seats and we had to get Henry off the bus.  So I just began saying to Henry, “Henry, I’m sorry, but we can’t ride the shuttle now because that rude family took our seats even though we’d been waiting for over 20 minutes.  Never mind that their kids are in middle school and can walk themselves to the Metro.  It’s okay, Henry, don’t whine.  You are blessed with parents who are teaching you manners and aren’t total jerkoffs.”  Riiiiiiiiiiight.  Apparently, the lessons of God’s provision and going with the flow from the previous night didn’t stick. Ah well.

Over the weekend, we laughed about the murder motel in Maryland that we almost stayed in.  We looked it up on Yelp and laughed at the reviews that talked about cockroaches and robberies.  I am not joking.  We've now decided that we will no longer travel to places we've never been without consulting Yelp reviews beforehand.    No matter if it is free of not.  Yes, a family vacation IS an we  adventure and adventures rarely go as planned, but that is no reason to sleep on an uncomfy bed. 

When God has Bigger plans…

On Monday, sweet little T went to live with her forever family.  Though Henry will miss her and asked about her yesterday when she could not be there for our usual Tuesday lunch date to the Chick-Fil-A and mall playground, I cannot tell you what joy this brings me.  And many others.   Her foster Mom, my darling friend Tracy, in an effort to send T off to her new family with something that could help them bond as a family, solicited friends to raise money to purchase the family season passes to an amusement park near T’s new hometown.  On facebook, she briefly explained that to give T’s new family passes that included T’s new siblings, parents, and parking would cost $320.  She asked friends to donate whatever they could to raise the money.  The posting was on FB for less than two hours. 

Within minutes of posting the request, comments promising donations began rolling in.  She was hoping to raise $320.  She raised around $1600.  What an awesome picture of God’s people acting in accordance to what we are:  FAMILY.

Yesterday, I received the following in my Facebook inbox…

I'm writing each of you because you gave financially to make last night an incredible night for not only T and the kids, but her parents as well, and in turn, for us. I gave them a box and called it "layers of blessings". Every time they pulled back the tissue paper, there was another gift. First a $100 chickfila gift card (for a family of 7, that's probs only 4 dinners or so!), and then a $100 Target gift card, and then a photo book that I made of T's time with us (including some pictures of them meeting her for the first time. I know they treasure that book). Next, the amusement park passes. They were absolutely speechless. And then I told them that there was one more layer...that was an envelope full of bills. A lot of bills. I'm tearing up as I recall the looks on their faces. He was just smiling HUGE, but she was crying. So overwhelmed that strangers did this for them.

 I told them that I had this plan to get the passes, and was just hoping we could raise enough. Well, apparently, God thought I was thinking too small. Money came in from 31 different people and 6 different states. I was and still am blown away by the generosity of so many. You loved us so well, by loving T and loving this incredible family. What a picture of sacrificial love- on their part and on yours, too!

So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I know they will share their story of how people they don't even know were so touched by their daughter that they gave to make this an incredible summer for them. To give gifts to their biological children, as well as to T. I wish all of you could have been there to share in that time, but hopefully my description helps. I truly, thank you.

Today, we all received a thank you message from T’s adoptive Daddy.  He wrote about how we blessed their family, but in truth, each of us was touched by watching T evolve from a shy, scared girl to a daughter who always wore pink pearls and a tiara, singing along to the music from Tangled. Simply put, we were seeing the Easter story unfold before our very eyes:  God was making all things new in T.  He was and is making everything sad in her life untrue! 

It is true that there is brokenness at every turn—in our world, our politics, our neighborhoods, our families, and our marriages.  To quote one of my favorite prayers from the Book of Common Prayer--“we have left undone those things which we ought to have done, and we have done those things which we ought not to have done. There is no health in us.”  But what is also true, in fact, what is MORE true, is that this is not as good as it gets.  Our stories are not yet finished.  The Author of Life is still bringing forth his image in us, not content until at last, we all settle into His forever family. 

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.*

-CS Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

*And I think it's safe to assume that Spring in heaven will be pollen free.

The Henry Phillips Express

Today we had Henry's 4th birthday party.  Originally we always said that we'd only do big parties on the odd numbered years, but...

In my defense, we had it at home.  I got the invites from Etsy and printed them at home.  It was from 2-4, so we only had to serve cake.  And I made the party favors.  And there was a pinata. 

And 16 4 years olds.

It was a BLAST.  A noisy, tiring, sugar filled blast!  I'd originally planned to have it all outside, but with cloudy skies and temps barely pushing 60, we pulled everything indoors which turned out for the best.

And here are the pictures that prove it.

The invite...

(And yes, this is the pic of the one I ordered.  We got it personalized with our info.)

From Anders Ruff.  Check out their store on Etsy. 

The cake...

Henry helped me to make it.  Chocolate Devil's Food Cake with buttercream icing.  The kids all wanted some of the marshmallow bumpers (the things that look like alligator eyeballs), so I just got the bag of Marshmallows from the pantry and passed them out.

Wooden Island of Sodor trains in the sunroom.  Wonderfully set up for maximum playing and minimum need for sharing by my excellent husband.

Lego Island of Sodor in the family room.  (Please disregard the child picking his nose on the couch.  The kid has allergies, OK?  And sometimes his Mommy forgets to Neosporin his nose at night.)

The kiddos in their train birthday shirts one of the teacher's at Henry's school made for them.

A little birthday love.

The herd of cats about to sing!

Blowing out the candles.  (With a little help from T.  Who, by the way, goes to live with her awesome forever family on Monday.  Playdates have been promised for the fall, but I know we will all miss her dearly.)

Pinata time.  Every got to hit it four times.  It still didn't break.  So then we pulled the toddler friendly strings.  But I filled it with too much candy so it didn't fall out.  (It called for 2 lbs of candy.  Um, I filled it with close to 10 lbs of candy.  Can't you tell my dad's a dentist?!)

Then it was time to pass out the party favors and play with them.  Each kid got their own train box made by yours truly.

 They were a hit. 

 A big hit.

 Even Gracie loved them, despite her hating them when I was making them.

Hey, Nathan.  You can't have three.  My Mommy made ones for each of your sisters, so just wait until you get home to make a train tower. 

We couldn't find Henry for awhile.  He and his girlfriend, Aimee, snuck off to eat the ENTIRE contents of the bags they filled up from the pinata.  Tonight, before going to bed he said, "I need to bwush my teeth.  And then I need to poop because I've got too much candy in my tummy."  Nice.

And nothing rounds out a good time like extra cuddles and tickles from Aunt Sonya. 

Happy (early) birthday my sweet boy! 

You have and continue to make our lives extraordinary!

Proud Momma

Henry is the little boy above the P in Preschool.  And he is wearing a purple polo shirt and puts a box of pasta in a bag.  Then he picks his nose.  Classic.  I'm also proud of his school.  He now prays for his "friends" that are hungry in addition to saving his happy meal toys (his choice!) for Operation Shoe Box.

Working Moms are Winning!

I don't know how you do it. 

I hear y'all venting that you can't seem to fit it all in--being a good employee, being a good spouse, being a good Mom, but then I see your pictures on Facebook.  The ones with you and the hubs on a date night.  The ones where you bake cakes that look like Grilled Cheese for April's Fools day.  I read your blogs and status updates of you filing contracts, having power lunches, and being stuck in traffic.

I used to envy you.  The daily opportunity for adult conversation.  The snappy shoes with pretty pointed toes.  The beautiful leather attaches with important papers inside.  The eating lunch at places with tablecloths, or really, just eating lunch anywhere other than a kitchen island or Chick-fil-A.  The lack of food on your clothing.  The reason for bathing.   The recognition for your accomplishments.  The esteem of your peers. The being an actual taxpayer for something other than interest on your savings account.  The paycheck.  The paycheck.  Did I mention the paycheck?

Well, folks, I "worked" on Tuesday.  By work, I mean that I had a business meeting for Bethany in Fairfax, VA.  I woke up at 6:30.  Bathed, fixed my hair, put on make-up, put on decidedly inappropriate clothes for a business meeting (a navy dress from Target and a cardigan) and sensible shoes.  I drove 2 and half hours.  Spent 20 minutes just driving around the business complex trying to find the darned building.  Had a meeting with lawyers and accountants and social workers and public relations people and proffesional fundraiser people for two hours.  Ate lunch with aforementioned people who were dressed better than me.  Drove home.

Folks, I no longer envy the working Mom.  I applaud her.  I am in awe of her. 

But I don't want to be her.  I had fully planned to come home and take over the kiddos for Sloan who had been watching them all day while working from home.  I was going to do laundry and kiss babies and read books. 

False. 

It was all I could do to take my shoes off before lolling on the couch and demanding a beverage.  I was wiped out.  I felt schizophrenic hopping from one world to another.  I was still reeling from discovering only after 30 minutes of listening that I agreed with Glenn Beck about something.  (In my defense, he was going on about how crazy and deplorable those Westboro Baptist folks are.  I think everybody thinks they're yucky.  I just didn't recongnize his voice and was happy to be listening to talk radio again like an adult who needs to know the weather and traffic every ten minutes.) 

I also do not think I could wear sensible shoes everyday.  I just can't.  Yuck.  However, I have decided I should at least purchase some pants that my mother would call "slacks".  (But without pleats.)  I have Mommy wardrobe (which we've already decided is Ellen Degeneres-chic) and then really fancy.   Neither jeans and Vans nor spaghetti strapped cocktail dresses are appropriate for rooms that have names--boardrooms, conference rooms, heck, not even break rooms.  So I will be getting some black pants before I head up to Michigan for my three day Bethany Conference in May.  I'm going to try and put together an "Ellen goes to the VMAs" look.  Something that says, "Yeah, I'm a stay at home artsy type, but I can still get 'er done."  (Do you think I should whip out my glasses to complete the look?)

My husband thinks staying at home with the kids is harder than his job.  And I think I'd rather shoot myself in the foot and watch it bleed than call on clients, go to business lunches and sit in meetings all day.  That is MUCH MUCH harder.  Even if you do get to eat at Outback.

I require large amounts of just sitting around staring into the distance time.  And People Magazine time.  And Facebook time.  And nap time.  And arts and crafts time.  Going to work would totally interfere with that.  I can at least do my job in my jammies.  And sometimes I even get Little Einsteins to pinch hit for me.  I dare say judges would frown upon Attorneys showing up in their best Nick and Nora and bosses would not accept the phrase "Pat-clap-pat-clap" as the best way to solve a problem. 

So to all you working moms who wear sensible shoes, uncomfortable pants, bathe on a daily basis, bring home bacon and then cook up that bacon, whose houses are cleaner than mine, who still find time to scrapbook your kids' lives, make homeade cookies, and read People magazine--I commend you. 

I think you've got a little more magic than you realize.  You're a freakin' rockstar.  You're winning.  Heck, you might just even be a warlock assasin. I can't hang with you, my bones would melt like wax.*

*If I worked, I wouldn't be able to follow Charlie Sheen on twitter.  I know he's so crazy he's sad, but I've literally wet my pants with some of the crazy gold that shoots from the end of his saber, I mean, comes out of his mouth.