When a woman says she’s a “stay-at-home” mom or a fulltime homemaker, what automatic judgments do you make? If you’re anything like me, you think soccer mom, homemade cookies and frumpy clothes. It sounds ridiculous for a homemaker like myself to admit such things. But truthfully, it’s what I think. Or rather, it’s what I used to think.

My previous notions about women and motherhood are being twisted and turned in their definitions. It’s not that I ever consciously thought negatively about this position; in fact, I have wanted to become a mother for my entire life and I greatly valued the things mothers accomplished. Well, sometimes I valued them. Other times I assumed (and we know what assuming does right?) that stay-at-home moms had easy lives. After all, how hard can measly chores like washing the laundry and the dishes be? And really, we all know that moms drop the kids off at school, then eat ice cream and watch television all day long. Right?

Um, no. Big N-O. Life as a homemaker is nothing like that.

I am far from a financial planner. It takes all my strength and energy to plan a budget and figure out savings accounts. However, all the talk recently about the future of Social Security made me realize that I am foregoing my Social Security benefits by being a stay-at-home mom. As in, I’m building up NOTHING for my future retirement (for a moment, forget the possible perils of future benefits for everyone, not just me) while working at home to raise children. Somehow this doesn’t seem fair!

If I paid someone else to watch my daughter during the day, then worked as an early childhood teacher in a daycare or as a housekeeper for a cleaning service or as a professional drycleaner or as a lawn care worker for a yard service, then I’d be deemed worthy of Social Security. If money exchanged hands, I could show that I was contributing to society in a measurable fashion. If I hired someone to do the tasks I’m expected to complete by being at home (feeding, bathing, diapering, teaching my child; doing the laundry; cleaning the house; caring for the yard; shoveling walkways), then the paid worker would receive Social Security. But wait…! Isn’t the rearing of children, those responsible for paying for the future retirement of us all, isn’t that something important on a national level?

Food for thought. Chew it over. Respond with your ideas.

I’ve been taking pictures for an upcoming capital campaign project for Zion. Most of my photos should be trashed as they turned out quite grainy and without great focal points. My excuse is that I have never taken a photography class and that I haven’t even read through the owner’s manual for my camera. Nonetheless, I love taking pictures and plan to improve my skills as time goes by. My favorite subjects are children (especially the ones that belong to me and my friends!), which explains this photo here. I tried to be impartial while snapping shots of our three year olds Sunday School class, but I couldn’t help but take extra photos of my favorite boys, Nathan and Andrew. And though this photograph is by no means extraordinary, the subject is! Nathan is captured at his mischievous best, proudly displaying his work for the camera.

It’s the end of an era. No more Horn Creek for PYA.

v. en·joyed, en·joy·ing, en·joys

1. To receive pleasure or satisfaction from.
2. To have the use or benefit of

• Online Read: Upon This Rock
• On DVD: Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Complete Third Season (Slim Set)
• During spare moments: The Price of Motherhood: Why the Most Important Job in the World Is Still the Least Valued
• For V-Day: Date Night

She’s asleep. Under the pastel crocheted baby blanket I made several years ago. It may not make it through these teething days, where she vigorously pulls its threads over her shiny new baby tiger teeth. But for now it’s doing its job, keeping her warm as she drifts off to Dreamland for her afternoon nap.

He’s asleep, too. Under the queen-size sheet from Penneys, under the navy blue down comforter, under another crocheted blanket, made many moons ago. I really haven’t made that many blankets. It just so happens that my two favorite people are being covered by them now. (What a nice feeling.) Poor guy—he’s sick. Recovering actually, from two days of fever and body aches.

And I wonder, why am I not sleeping?

Before long she’ll be awake again and our familiar cycle, sleep/wake/eat/play, will continue and I’ll curse the precious moments I wiled away in the face of the iMac. No fever, few body aches, but I’ve got a cold raising cain in my sinuses. At 3:30am I thought someone had the bones of my face in a vise-grip, threatening me with a long painful death-by-congestion. Three pillows, two Sudafed, one extra-strength Tylenol and one hour later I was sleeping like a log, awakened only by the baby voice across the hall at 7:45.

It’s been an interesting experiment, caring for a baby while feeling sick—and caring for an even sicker husband. And that’s why I’m still staring down the computer screen, luxuriating in personal emails and random articles. In an hour I may be hanging my head in exhaustion while pushing bitefuls of chicken and peas in Livia’s direction, but at least I will have had this. This me-time. This exposure to the outside world. I will have had you and you will have had me and I will have felt like a part of society again.

God bless the internet.

The Many Faces of Andrew, 2004-2005

After becoming a mother I find myself paying more attention to strangers. Though sometimes I am more suspicious of them (like the man at Russ’s grocery store who smiled at Livia and me one too many times) but overall I find myself, how can I say this?, bonding with them. The mothers, that is.

Livia had her nine month checkup with our pediatrician today. (If I haven’t said this before, let me say it now: I LOVE our pediatrician.) Sitting in the waiting room, a fellow mother struck up a conversation and before you know it, we’ve compared notes on babies chewing food, babies climbing on furniture and babies excessively wearing pink clothes. Instant bond. Our nine month old daughters, sitting peacefully in our laps, hardly looked at each other, but the moms? Well, we had a lot to talk about. Fast forward forty minutes, we’re walking down the office corridor, pass by another mama and child and Hello’s are exchanged. Warm, smiley, gracious and understanding hellos. Nice Hello’s.

A brotherhood of mothers exists. Sure, we may disagree on how to get your baby to sleep, what and when to feed your infant, and whether or not your wee one should sit through the church service with you, but still one thing in common holds us together: we are mothers. We understand what it’s like to clean up bodily fluids from the floor, high chair, and every shirt worn everyday. We know what it means to put someone else’s needs and desires above your own. We are used to cleaning the dishes, running the laundry and sending email as fast as possible during a two hour nap. And we know how disappointing it can be when the two hour nap morphs into one that’s only 45 minutes long!

No one told me about this brotherhood, but I continue to discover its importance with each passing day. Those who have mothered before me offer gracious advice and wisdom honed from years of experience. Those who mother alongside me give listening ears, shoulders to cry on and the confidence to continue on in my calling. Thank you, Mom, and thank you, moms. I do appreciate you.

A man that take a vacation day to allow his wife to SLEEP IN while he feeds and plays with the baby.

I love you, Jeremy Tredway.

At 5:55pm on a Wednesday afternoon, Livia can get anything her little heart desires. Right now she’s sitting on the computer desk, facing me and giving me a good dose of saliva by munching away at my Medic Alert necklace. What ever you want, child… Whatever you want. Daddy will be home soon.

Some days…