Wednesday, April 27, 2011

This Isn't What I Signed Up For

Do you ever have those moments? Those moments where you think to yourself this is not what I thought life was going to be like? I always knew I would be a stay at home mom. Yes, there was a brief time in college I aspired to be a great chemist, researcher, then a great humanitarian, then perhaps a botanist. Really, though, I knew those were only grand schemes in my mind, and that I had been called to raise a family. Still, in many moments of chaos, diapers, mud, and messiness, I've wondered about this calling.

I also can distinctly remember a time, early in my homeschooling years when I came huffing through our back door, slamming it rather heavily, all the while letting poor dh know there was a reason I NEVER considered elementary school teaching as a career. Still, I knew I was called to homeschool as well.

This morning I had another of those moments. It is important to remember this all happened while I was making my morning cup of coffee, and had not yet had a chance to drink said coffee. I had all the kids happily (after 10 minutes over bickering about who got the last of the sugary Easter cereal) eating breakfast. It was finally almost quiet. I poured the water into the coffee press, went to set the timer, then I heard a thud, a pretty loud thud. I wondered what had fallen, what mess there was to clean up. Then the girls tell me it came from the back door.

It turns out a poor little bird flew into our back sliding doors, then promptly fell on the back doormat. It heaved a few heavy breaths-- and died. DIED! Right there on the door mat. All six of my kids watching the poor thing...

After the shock wore off I realized the dog was going to have to go out. I also realized the dog, who had watched the bird, was already curious about the ball of feathers on the doorstep. It then hit me that I was going to have to dispose of the bird.

In my bathrobe, ugly shoes, unkempt hair, (when did I get so old?) I went outside. I found the snow shovel, walked around the house, past the school kids walking, waved to a neighbor praying she would not come to say hello, and made my way to the back door. By this time most of the kids had abandoned the cereal that had earlier seemed such a treasure, and now had their noses pressed to the back door.

As I attempted to get the poor creature onto my snow shovel (a task that should have been easier), I hear chanting from my girls indoors... "Be a man, Mom! Be a man!!" That, my friends, is certainly not my calling. Disposing of dead birds, or any dead creature, before coffee, or ever, is also not my calling.

1 comment:

Dove said...

Now that is a great story! Love those kids rooting for their "man"-mom!