Mommies do lots of things, I'm finding.
Among other things, I am:
Kisser of Boo-Boos
Singer of Songs
Spinner of Stories
Tickler of Ribs
Captain of the Anti-Furniture-Climbing Squad
Chief Cook (and Veggie Hider)
All 3 branches of the government--I can create a law, enforce it, and sentence the guilty in under 1 minute
Professor of English (and Math, and Science, and Ethics, and Everything Else)
Family Photographer and Historian
Guardian of the Remote Controls (and anything else with BUTTONS!)
Human Jungle Gym
Head of Purchasing
Dispenser of Marshmallows
And sometimes I even sit down.
At times it is wearying. (Okay, daily.) For example: I dream my lamplit visions of a Christmas morning of perfection, of smiles and hugs and cuddles. Of my children graciously eating their food (without throwing any on the floor). And then I come to the reality that there will be plenty of screaming and squabbles and tantrums and time-outs, just like any other day.
But if Christmas will be just like any other day, then any other day is just like Christmas. While I don't see the sort of linear progress or payback that might seem logical, there are other bonuses. Like the fact that I lose track of how many sweet smiles, hugs, and kisses I get all the time. And that I get applauded for opening the garage door (no kidding--they are THRILLED!). Even turning on a faucet is pretty much magical. So even if the days can be long and ordinary, and even if my ideas of what make a day special don't quite happen... well, at least I should get couple kisses if I happen to bang my knee. And even if my efforts at Christmasy-ness seem to go unnnoticed by my wee ones... well, I'm sure they'll give me applause for flushing the toilet!