So we were filling out some official documents the other day (an RESP for Aili, if you must know) and someone wrote down my occupation as being ‘homemaker’.
At first I was actually kind of bothered by that, because I’d really rather see ‘Project Manager’ in that slot. But then I got to thinking about it. Homemaker. A person who makes a home. A person who makes a house a home.
My mom was a ‘homemaker’, and our home was a lovely, warm, delightful place that I loved to be – and still do. She had excellent taste, was great to talk to, was a gracious hostess, worked hard and never complained, and made everyone feel welcome the moment they stepped through the door. What’s the shame in spending my days creating a place like that? Why should I be bothered by that job description – especially when the best ‘homemaker’ I knew was also one of the most exceptional people I’ve ever known?
So now, as my days are spent washing bottles and folding spit-up cloths, I reflect on being a ‘homemaker’, and am starting to reframe that in my mind. I’m taking it more seriously too, and the house is feeling cleaner and more organized. And I’m still a Project Manager, with the biggest and most important project there ever was.
Incidentally, tomorrow is the second anniversary of my mom’s death. I’ll be thinking of her, and I’m pretty sure she’d be ok that I’m a ‘homemaker’ too.
Yes, she has her arm stuck in a Kleenex box.