Yesterday the kids had dentist appointments, and I stopped at the ATM machine on the way there, hoping to avoid having to use the credit card. It was a hot, humid day, and I’d spent the day feeding Ainsley, reading to Kyra, making lunches, planning dinner, changing diapers, working on my writing, taking the boys to swim camp and back… the usual. When I got back in the car after getting money, Shay asked “mom, where do you get money from?” So I started to explain that daddy gets a paycheck every two weeks, and some of that money is deposited into the bank, and from there we can go to the ATM, and so on. He interrupted me to ask “no, I mean, where do you get money? What do you do?”
It’s the worst part of being a stay-at-home-mom. The very people for whom you work, the people to whom you devote your days, have absolutely no clue that you’re doing anything at all. They never see their dad during the day, but they know (and are proud of the fact) that he’s a sort of policeman, so in their minds he is spending his days chasing bad guys and shooting people in the eyeballs. But me? I just seem to stand in the kitchen all day, cutting bell peppers into dinosaurs.
If only someone would pay me for those bell pepper dinosaurs… It wouldn’t be nearly so cool as getting paid to shoot people in the eyeballs, but they’d still probably think it was cool.