Yes, that would be the one and only Miss Martha Stewart, my friends. I've always secretly wanted to be like her. Um, not the unlawful activity and jail part. I have about decided that staying home will provide me with the opportunity to hone my skills (or at lease scrape together one cognizable skill) related to domestic divahood, but recent events at the Avery household lead me to believe I've got one long road to walk.
I've never claimed to be crafty. DIY is one dirty acronym in my book. Occasionally, I try my hand at something remotely crafty, but the craftiest of the crafty people I know would probably laugh at my projects being called crafty. And with that, I will make every effort to not use the word "crafty" again in this post.
So, as I began to prepare for Mother's Day recently, I decided that I needed to get something cool for my kids to give their grandmothers, Gran and Granny. I decided that we would make stepping stones with their footprints and write Happy Mother's Day 2011 on them. Nevermind that I have ZERO experience with concrete. Probably never even seen it poured. So I bought the little kit at Walmart for $10 (that should tell you something right there) and yesterday afternoon, I broke that puppy out and set out to make some lasting memories.
Things began to unravel rather quickly. Matthew graciously held Miller, the squirming and fussy 9 week old, while Deacon asked me about 400 times in a row if he could pour the water in the concrete mix. No. No. No. No. You get the picture. So I mixed and smoothed and mixed and smoothed. Apparently I mixed and smoothed so much that stuff got too hard to even make a dent in it with a jackhammer, much less a toddler's foot (who knew?!) I am not sure if I have ever felt so defeated in my life. I had nothing for the grandmas for Mother's Day. My $10 concrete memory maker was destroyed by my incompetence. It was too late to go get something else or try to start over before we would present them with Mother's Day gifts.
Unfortunately, this whole little episode caused me to question to my very core whether I was ever going to be able to get closer to "Marthahood." Just as I was thinking this very thought, Deacon wanted to wash off his foot that got "concrety" in my failed mission. As I took him over to the hose, I sat down and began to cry. Of course, as sweet hearted as my first born is, I got no sympathy, only a "momma, get it off NOW!" I guess there is no sense crying over hardened-too-soon concrete. I am sure that is not what Miss Martha would do.
This blog is the story of my journey from lawyer to stay-at-home mommy. After finding out I was pregnant with baby #2, we decided that we would give it a go for awhile with me staying home with the kids. I worked after having our first child Deacon, so this experience will be a new one for me. I decided to blog mainly so that I would have a memorialization of the process since those first few months with a new baby are a fog anyway. But years from now, whether I never made it back or whether I am spending my days in suits and heels, I want to be able to look back and see what God is teaching me in these days of going from the courtroom to the playroom.