…have dark circles under them no concealer can hide.

…are coated in yesterday’s smudged mascara.

…haven’t had a brow wax in 4 months.

…are getting wrinkles, but we’ll call them laugh-lines.

…are on the back of her head.

…brim with pride at first steps.

…and brim with tears at first boo boos.

…can see in the dark.

…have seen the same episode of Yo Gabba Gabba a zillionty times.

…read the same bedtime story over and over.

…are hard to pry open after sleepless nights.

…cry tears of frustration.

…cry tears of joy.

…smile more than they frown.

…are full of love for her children.

Happy Valentine’s Day, whoever your Valentine may be.

I had a MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH this week. It is epic. Truly life-changing. I actually cannot believe it took me this long to get here, because now it seems so totally obvious. Are you ready to hear about it? Are you super excited?

OK, here goes…

I am a homemaker.

I KNOW, RIGHT?

I’m serious though. In 6 1/2 years of marriage (the last 2 1/2 of which I have not had an outside job) I have never thought of myself as someone who is in charge of a home. I thought of all the stuff that keeps this place running – cleaning and laundry and cooking and dishes – as CHORES, chores I hated, chores I tried to avoid. I spent a lot of time and energy being pissed off that I was expected to do these things. It’s because I’m a WOMAN. It’s so SEXIST and UNFAIR and DAMN THE MAN for pushing me into this gender stereotype!

Until I realized wait a minute…I wasn’t pushed into a role I was unhappy with. I wanted this. Yes it’s true that the other option – me working and E staying home – wasn’t ever really on the table (the Navy doesn’t exactly let you quit just because your wife is tired of doing the dishes) but his job stability and paycheck was part of why I signed up for this marriage. Wait, that sounds bad. What I mean is knowing E could provide for me and our future children was one of the things I liked about him from the start. Wait, that still sounds bad. Before we even GOT married we decided I would stay home once we had kids. We just forgot to negotiate out what “staying home” included.

(If you still think the previous paragraph makes me sound like a gold-digger, let me assure you, there is no gold to dig. There is maybe a frappuchino or two and possibly a new toilet seat – SO SEXY – to replace the broken one. But no gold.)

My “ah-ha” moment came the other night while I was trying to make dinner. I say “trying” because it is difficult to cook while a toddler throws his entire weight against the back of your knees and screams for more milk. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but you’re much more likely to cut off a finger and I kind of like having a nice even number. So, in a conscious act of gentle patient parenting (something I am working on SO HARD with mixed success and/or results) I got down on Little Evan’s level and said, “Honey, Mommy needs you to go play in the family room. Mommy is making dinner right now, which is part of her job. You know how I watch you during the day while daddy works? Well, right now I need Daddy to watch you while Mommy works.”

It was like a light bulb went off in my head. MY JOB. Making dinner is my job. Housekeeping is my job. I should have work hours and a lunch break. I should be allowed to do my job without the toddler climbing up my butt. People DO get paid for these things – a cook, a housekeeper – so why shouldn’t I value my work?

(Of course, none of that applies to motherhood. Kids don’t give a crap about my stupid “job” theory, especially when they need something something right now NOW I WANT IT NOW MAMA SOMETHING FOR ME NOOOOOOW. That also means parenting duties during hours we are both home are still 50/50. I’m not some kind of June Cleaveresque mommy martyr.)

So while E is off doing…nuclear Navy stuff, I am here doing the house stuff. There’s stuff that needs to be done every day, stuff I hate to do, stuff that has to be done a zillion times a day, and stuff that only needs to be done every once in a while. So I made a list. Actually, I made three lists:

Do these every day
– Laundry
– Dinner
– Empty and clean sink (my tribute to the FlyLady method and the ONLY part of her plan I’m adopting)
– Put all the toys in the toy box
– Feed animals
– Scoop cat box

Do one of these each day
– Clean a bathroom
– Sweep/mop downstairs
– Vacuum upstairs
– Dust
– Clean out fridge
– Declutter flat surfaces

Do these as needed
– Menu plan
– Grocery shop
– Buy bulk items (toilet paper, diapers, etc)

Yesterday I scrubbed down the powder room and it felt AWESOME. Today I straightened up the dining room and feel FANTASTIC. If someone were to stop by for an impromptu dinner I could not only feed them, I could serve it to them on a clean table. The best part is I am no longer overwhelmed and angry about all this housework. When I’m not spending all my time putting it off and sending E angry glares for not helping it doesn’t really take that long to load a dishwasher. Of course, on the weekends there WILL be helping. And when I am sick/need a scheduled day off (and there WILL be scheduled days off) I’ll have a concrete to-do list E can follow. It’s not fancy and it’s not worthy of a book deal (or even an Excel spreadsheet) but I do feel like this is a major change for the better.

Secret bonus part of my new “job?” I get paid in impromptu shopping trips to Target for new black flats and bright colored tights, guilt free.

Now excuse me, I have to go shine my sink.

Wednesday.

Win: Caroline went to bed at 11 and slept until almost 5 (then snacked and went back to sleep). I felt very well rested.

Lose: I was so sore from Stroller Strides on Tuesday I couldn’t straighten my legs properly. It feels like tiny gnomes are stabbing me in the calves with knitting needles.

Win: Evan let me change and dress him without kicking me in the face.

Lose: Evan refused to eat anything for breakfast, choosing instead to sob into the open refrigerator demanding more more more…something. I packed extra goldfish in my diaper bag.

Win: We make it to Stroller Strides (again!) on time.

Lose: I still cannot do one single sit-up during the abs part of class. Not. Even. One.

Win: Gymboree is having a FANTASTIC sale and I had a 20% off coupon. Little Evan will be sporting some absolutely fantastic plaid pants in a couple months.

Lose: Caroline thought Gymboree sucked and expressed her displeasure by screeching like a rabid hyena.

Win: I found a comfy semi-private spot in the play area to nurse the baby while Little Evan played on the slide.

Lose: Little Evan got bored with the slide after about 20 seconds and took off running into the mall. I managed to flash at least eight people, squirt milk all over my shirt, almost drop Caroline, trip on the stroller and lose a breast pad while trying to chase him down.

Win: A nice mom grabbed him and brought him back because she felt bad for me. Or maybe she was just tired of looking at my boob.

Lose: I had to wrangle TWO screaming children into their coats, into the stroller and through the mall wearing a soaking wet t-shirt. Even a deaf person could have heard us.

Win: Little Evan was so exhausted from our morning he willing ate tuna fish for lunch and then slept for 3 hours.

Double win: Caroline and I napped on the couch.

Lose: It’s 9:30 and I am SO EXHAUSTED I want to cry, but there is no way I’m going to get to bed until 11 and I’ll be up again at 5. For at least the next SIX MONTHS.

I need a vacation.

I feel like I’ve been involved in a lot of conversations recently about choosing – or not choosing – to have a second child. On the one hand, first babies are a big deal and nothing changes your life more than having one. Going from childless to being parent may be the biggest adjustment a person can make. I mean, it’s not like you get to try dating a bunch of babies to find the right one or do a trial run by living together first before you decide to make it permanent. Even if you stole rented borrowed a baby from someone else it’s totally different when you know they’re yours to keep. You gotta make sure you don’t screw those suckers up because you’re the one who’s going to be dealing with the aftermath for the next 60+ years.

So in the grand scheme of things, adding another baby shouldn’t be such a big deal. You’ve already got the stuff. You’ve got a little hands-on experience. You’ve figured out what works for you and what doesn’t. And yet somehow adding 1 new baby to 1 toddler-sized baby = 5x as much laundry. 5x as much crying. 5x as many sleepless nights. 5x as many bad days. It takes 5x as much time to leave the house or take a shower or make dinner. Things you really enjoyed with one baby – like grocery shopping – are suddenly impossible. With a toddler in the seat, where does the baby go?! Do you take them out of the bucket and wear them? Even if they’re sleeping at it’s 4 degrees outside and it means standing next to the car shoving them into the Moby while the toddler screeches? Do you put the bucket in the cart and only buy as many groceries as you can fit around them and then face the wrath of the bagger at checkout? (So far, my solution is to only shop when I can take one kid – or no kids – but that’s not going to last forever.)

Of course, you also get 5x as much love, which totally makes up for that other stuff. Most days.

You get to see how big and smart and grown up your older baby is and you can’t believe it. All those milestones that you breezed by months ago are suddenly seem new again – the walking, the talking, the feeding himself. The presence of a brand new baby lump makes everything a toddler does so much MORE. More fun, more amazing, more exciting, more louder (I know it’s not a word, but it is MORE LOUDER).  He’s not a baby anymore and yet he is YOUR baby and you want him to stay small and grow up all at the same time because the growing is so much fun to watch and experience but how can you stand the thought that one day he won’t need you at all??

Then there’s the baby, the teeny tiny fresh baked baby to nurse and change and rock and nurse and change and rock again. There are no socks on the planet tiny and stretchy enough to stay on her feet. She doesn’t smile at you or laugh at you yet but she sleeps best tucked into your armpit and the warmth of her body is practically the same as hearing her say “I love you mama”. You get to look forward to all the milestones again and you can’t wait for them to get here but you also want her to stay a tiny lump forever because all the growing is just too much for your heart to handle and maybe too much for your body to handle too. What happens when they can BOTH run away?

Because now she’s crying from the bedroom and you have shampoo in your hair and the toddler just pulled off his diaper and the washing machine is buzzing and you forgot to buy milk and oh no does that mean you HAVE to take them both to the grocery store? Hurry hurry better get going no time to slow down grab some breakfast throw some peanut butter at the toddler and oh crap the baby needs to be fed.

So you sit down and relax and snuggle the little baby and start to enjoy the moment. Then the bigger baby wiggles up next to you and lays his head on your shoulder and sighs and your heart EXPLODES into a million zillion pieces you stop wondering how you’re going to handle two babies and wonder instead how you ever lived without them.

Thank you to everyone for the kind words last week after I vomited emotions all over the place. I promise next time I’ll try to find a  bucket or something instead. It’s so great to have a support system that will both sympathize with me and remind me that I’m an awesome mom doing a great job when I’m having a bad day. I was planning to write thoughtful, personal replies to each one of you, well, I didn’t. Please feel free to send me hate email. I could even cry a little if you want, I’m in that kind of place these days.

The thing is though…I’m not really an awesome mom and I don’t think I’m doing a great job. I don’t mean that in a cute “OMG I’m so fat!” fishing for compliments sort of way – I mean I am impatient and frustrated and uninvolved and feel like I struggle with good parenting more than anyone else around me. I raise my voice far more than I should, and I often let it get beyond just voice-raising to yelling. I swat Little Evan’s hands instead of firmly redirecting his attention. I spend a LOT of time online – something that’s gotten totally out of control since I’ve become a recluse who never leaves her house – instead of letting him interact with other kids and burn off his energy. Sometimes when he’s crying for no reason I give up trying to comfort him a lot sooner than I should. I make a lot of excuses not to sit on the floor and play with him (I’m too busy! I’m too pregnant! I’m too tired! I’m too sick!) but get annoyed when he tries to climb on me on the couch. And poor baby Caroline had to throw a huge fit for the past two days to get me to hold her for longer than it took to nurse. It’s just so much easier to put her in a swing and let her sleep all day while I deal with Little Evan instead of give her the attention and cuddles she deserves.

Sometimes I imagine there’s are secret Dr. Phil Family-style cameras in my house watching me spend the day parenting and more days than not I would be embarrassed to let anyone see the video. I can just picture myself sitting across from Dr. Phil himself and all he’s doing is shaking his head in disappointment. I’m being imaginary shamed by a fake TV doctor and he’s RIGHT.

SO. Instead of resolving to make dinner every night or finish two loads of laundry a day or always wear make-up or lose weight, my goal for 2011 is to be a better mom. More patient, more involved, more fun, more cuddly, and more like the mom my kids deserve. Part of that resolution includes taking better care of myself (no more ignoring symptoms and putting off appointments) because it’s so so much harder to be calm and rational in the face of a screaming toddler when your head feels like it’s going to explode and you can barely sit up. But the ultimate goal is for all of us – the whole family of four – to be happier, calmer and more loving. Because I DO love my kids and I never ever want them to doubt it for even a second. 2011 is the year I become the awesome mom I know I can be.

And then I’m going to punch imaginary Dr. Phil in his face.