“What a waste.”  I thought.  I’m ashamed to say it now that I know better, but back then, that’s what I truly believed.  My sister had a degree from the esteemed University of Virginia and she had chosen to stay home to raise her children instead of juggle both a career and her role as a mother.

I thought about this, recently, as Aurora vocalized her desire to be a baker with “Big Harper” (my friend, not her sister) when she grows up.  Back then, I would have encouraged her to set her sights higher- a doctor, a veterinarian, an astronaut and while we still discuss those opportunities, I embrace her current decision as a 5 year-old to be a baker.  Because you know what?  We need bakers.  And cashiers.  And trainers.  And trash collectors.  And salesmen.  And custodians.  And waitresses.  And hairstylists.  And teachers.  And mommies who “just” want to be mommies.

When did this job become not enough?  And not enough as in “income- earning” but as in “you got a degree what did you do with it?”  I have a B.A. in English and a M.Ed in teaching Pk-6.  What am I doing with it?

I’m raising the next generation.

I’m surrounding them with books.  I’m sharing my knowledge.  I’m using my critical thinking skills to figure out how I can raise my children with the perfect balance of exposure to the arts and experiences while still living “simply”.  I’m using my psychology classes to deal with epic emotional meltdowns on a face-to-face, you-matter basis.  I’m using my anthropology minor to teach my children about people around the world and what that looks and feel like.  I’m providing them the tools to discover their roles now and later.

Ignorance makes it easy to judge but once we know better, we do better.

So this is a long-overdue apology to my sister.  She’s raised three beautiful children- now teenagers, soon to enter adulthood where they will be faced with their decision of what they will do when they grow up.

I hope they follow their heart because whatever their role is, wherever their “place” is, we definitely need one of them.

Is it in inches?  Accomplishments?  Pounds?  Number of children?  Years married?  Diet choices?  Miles ran?  Miles traveled?  Degrees accomplished?  Job title?  Devotion to God?  Cheeks turned?  Concerts witnessed?  Art exhibits encountered?  Tribulations overcome?

How do you measure yourself?

As a young child, we compared ourselves to the fastest, the most popular, the smartest.

As an adolescent, the coolest- however, we defined that.

As a teenager, those we found our identity with- those with common values.

As a young adult- we struggled.  Was it our friends from the past?  Faith?  Parents? Partners?  The parents of our partners?  Our co-workers?

As a young parent- our parents?  Family?  Other young parents?  Other experienced parents?

As an older adult- Our God.  Our partner.  Our loved ones.  Ourselves.

We grow, we evolve and the ways in which we measure ourselves change, if only we allow it to be so.

We no longer look to the fastest, smartest and coolest- the skinniest, the most devout, or the most traveled.

We look inside ourselves to find the essence of our unique us.

We seek acceptance.  At first, by others but over time, by ourselves.

And in that, we find our place and happiness.

Cheers to what makes you, uniquely, you.

“Take a day, babe.  Get out of the house because I can’t do anything with them when you’re around.  They only want you when they see you.”

My husband was right but where would I go?  After a week of very little sleep, I’m exhausted.   And to be honest, all I really want to do is stay home.

But with a high of 40 degrees and a 1, 3 and 5 year-old in tow, kicking my husband out of the house left him with limited options.

“I’ve got some errands to run- I’ll take them with me.”

Music to my ears, but how long would I have?  I didn’t care.  I parked my rear on the recliner and watched a tv show for 30 minutes before starting dinner and calling my mom.

She lives only five minutes away and comes over to play with the kids twice a week but we spoke for over an hour- because we could without distraction.  It. Was. Amazing.

I folded a gargantuan pile of laundry, chatted with a few friends and sat down to write this article.  Not an incredibly momentous day, but after 3 hours alone, I felt renewed.

In my heart of hearts, I am a homebody.  These days, however, I never get to be home alone.  I miss the one-bedroom apartment I had to myself on the third floor of a 100 year-old house right after college.  I ate, slept and woke when I wanted and after years of roommates throughout boarding school and college, I finally didn’t have to share a thing.

My husband returned with a screaming three-year-old in tow.  She was mad he was returning a movie we rented- in other words, the world had just ended.  For a moment, it felt like the afternoon was a wash, but once we had her tucked in to bed, I reflected on my afternoon with gratitude.

A break from the daily chaos in the comfort of my own home.  Silence.  Solitude.

I sure do miss that old apartment.

But never enough to trade it for this house full of noise and love.