What It Means To Be A Woman.

The alarm clock was going off. Deadly images of beating that scrap of screaming metal against the wall, and other such scenarios flashed through my mind. I attempted to ignore the sound, but who can ignore that noise when it grates on your head and makes your ears pulse with every bleat? With a groan that sounded more like I was getting my leg chopped off then waking up, I rolled over and sat up on the bed. I turned off the alarm clock, not very nicely I might add, and rubbed my eyes. I glared grumpily at the floor for a moment before finally convincing myself out of bed. I headed to the shower, stomping my bare feet against the cold hardwood the entire way. You might have guessed that I’m not a morning person.1

After finishing my shower I was a bit more awake. Wearing only my undergarments beneath my fuzzy pink robe, and a giant pink turban on my head, I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. Already the little urchins I call my children were screaming in the living room and smashing toys against the wall much the same way as I had imagined doing to the alarm clock. I tried to ignore this sound to, and did a little better at it as I scrambled eggs and flipped pancakes.2

“Breakfast!” I called after I had set filled plates onto the dining table. At this point the noise reaches a roar as the kids come scrambling for the food as if they believe they’ll have to fight over it and there won’t be enough to feed everyone. Then there is a moment of calm, like the eye of a storm, as they all quiet down to eat. With a sigh I help my two year old son into his high chair and give him his plate. 3

Do I settle down for breakfast? No. At this point I head to my bathroom again and begin the process of preparing my hair and make up and picking out an outfit that I actually look good in but won’t make it nearly impossible to chase after four kids with. By the time I’m done with that the kids are done eating and have thoroughly destroyed the dining room. I ignore that as I attempt to get them all dressed and they scramble about trying to avoid clothes like I’m reaching out to them with the plague held in my hands. Finally they are dressed. We all pile into the car and I take the older three to school.4

Here is a quiet pause. I am driving to the store to pick up groceries and the little toddler in the back seat is quietly playing with a toy. Let me take this chance to tell you about my family. My name is Heather and I’m a thirty-six year old stay at home mom of four kids. The first is a nine year old girl named Jennifer, but of course we all call her Jenny. She’s out going and has a bit of a temper and is probably my biggest problem child. Second born is Amber, my seven year old daughter. She is musically gifted and loves to play the piano. She’s calm and easy going and probably my least problematic child. Third in line is Nathan, my five year old son who just entered preschool. He is shy and is having trouble getting along well with the other children at school. He also gets his feelings hurt easily and cries a lot, but he’s a very sweet boy. Last, but not least, is Thomas, or as we call him Tommy. This little toddler is a hellion who just discovered the word no. He also likes to throw things and prefers that everything is on the floor, including his food. He’s a quick learner and also a very nice boy.5

I’m sure you don’t want to hear in great detail the rest of how my day goes so I will try to make a quick summary. I run a few errands before returning home and putting the groceries away. I clean up the disaster from breakfast and begin working on the rest of the house. In between this time Tommy manages to follow behind me and mess everything up again, and so I am continually going back and redoing what I just did. I also make room for learning time and play time with Tommy. Once he goes down for a nap there is time to do the house again and it will actually stay clean for a whole two hours. Around the end of his nap it’s time for me to pick up the kids from school and drop them off at various activities. Jenny and Nathan play soccer and Amber goes to piano lessons. After that all three of them go to karate. You may think I am stretching my kids a little thin, but none of these activities were my idea, it is all theirs and I figure I shouldn’t discourage them.6

When we get home I make snacks for everyone and begin dinner before my husband gets home from work. When my husband gets home he kicks off his shoes, says hello, and starts to play with the kids until dinner time. After dinner they do their homework, and then I get my first real break. My husband, Jerry, gives the kids a bath and I allow myself to sit down and read a book for a moment. Then suddenly the kids are running through the house covered in soap and water and screaming, butt naked. They have escaped from my husband and are tracking water every where. By this point they are very riled up and start throwing things around before I’ve had the chance to flinch. Finally, we regroup and finish the baths. After they get into their jammies we read them a story, and then turn out the lights.7

Now I attempt to clean again in between the whines coming from the bedroom with various excuses as to why they shouldn’t have to go to bed. First they are cold, and then they are hot. They are thirsty, and then they are hungry. They’re mad at each other and fighting, then laughing and playing. Of course this is all left up to me because whenever Jerry goes in there he seems to only get them more riled up. He has a tendency to want to play. So he sits on the couch and watches television, ignoring the chaos surrounding him.8

Finally feeling overwhelmed I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the toilet panting. At this point I am feeling sorry that I ever had such awful thoughts for the alarm clock and that it would really be great to have only that as my family member. With my head in my hands I begin to cry. I had carried the phone with me and now I dial my mom’s number.9

“Mom,” I tell her after our hellos, “I’m starting to feel like this whole family thing isn’t worth it. What is the point? Where are the rewards?”10

“It’s a thankless job, being a woman,” she says.11

“Well that isn’t exactly the words of encouragement and wisdom I was looking for,” I reply.12

“Just listen to me. If you really think about it, you are amazing. You face the world head on and you throw everything you’ve got at it. You take good care of your kids and your husband and you clean your house and cook their food. Yet no one appreciates it. In fact, they expect it of you. That makes it a thankless job. There are rewards, though, and there is definitely a point. Think about the unconditional love you have for you children, and they for you. Think about the hugs and the kisses. Remember the sense of pride you get when they accomplish something. And also remember the feeling of accomplishment you get at the end of the day when you can say that you gave everything your best. Remember the love and devotion your husband has for you because of what you do, and how lost he’d be without you, even if he isn’t very good at showing it sometimes. The point is knowing that you have raised well rounded children and put them out into the world to make it a better place. The point is at the end of your life you can say you did your best, just like you do at the end of each day, and have a sense of accomplishment.13

“The rewards are different, and the point in life is different, for every woman. In the end though, it all comes down to the same thing. Being a woman is about that inner strength inside you that makes you keep going even though things are tough, and not only that but you will throw everything you’ve got at it and then some. Being a woman is a thankless job sometimes, but it is also empowering. When things are tough just remember that you are strong, and be glad of who you are and what you have.”14

For a long time after she finished I was silent. Then, with new tears slipping down my cheeks I smiled. “Thank you, Mom.”15

I could tell there was a smile on her face as well, and perhaps tears sliding down her own cheeks, as she said “Your welcome, honey. I love you.”16

“I love you too,” I replied. Then we hung up. I sat there in silence a moment longer, then got up to face whatever new challenges the night might throw me, and the challenges of the rest of my life. My mom was right, I’m amazing, and I love my life and feel it is completely worth it.17