Y’all, I’m white. And I’m not talking ethnicity. I mean, that’s true too. But down to my core, I’m white. As white as the day is long. I still say things like “fo rizzle” and “crack-a-lackin.” Nothing about me is on point, on fleek, or on anything else. I love Friends, I can’t jump, and I’ve competed in an ultimate frisbee competition. I am white.
So when I say things like, “Yeah, we had tacos for dinner last night. I made tortillas and…blah blah blah,” the response is always the same:
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As of the beginning of this writing, it is 10:30 AM on Monday morning and the laundry is completely finished. I am unstoppable. BRING IT ON, MONDAY!
Mondays are hard, aren’t they? Just waking up; it’s almost painful. It was for us this morning. Especially after I had a dream that my husband moved to Florida without me (RUDE). But my 24-year Monday survival rate is 100% so far, so I think I’m doing pretty good.
Let me tell you about our weekend. Friday night, we ate dinner, waited a couple of hours, then ran. (The Texas death heat forces us to run late in the evening, much to my dismay.) It was one of those runs where you literally want to die. We got home and decided to watch a movie (Bourne Legacy, so good!). All that to say, we ended up going to bed really late (we’re old souls that are in bed before 9:30 every night). So we’re laying there, and my husband had already fallen asleep. I was drifting off to sleep, when suddenly …
Y’all, I’m good at a lot of things: cooking, photography, eating tacos. I mean, I rock them. (Humility, maybe not so much.) One thing I’m not good at: SEWING.
My grandma, who is still an incredible seamstress, taught me a basic hand stitch when I was probably about seven years old. I thought I was going to revolutionize the world of sewing (I was a big dreamer). I don’t ever recall actually sewing anything, other than a few stitches here or there, but I thought I was awesome.
Fast forward 17 years, and here I am. Married. Wifing (it’s a thing). My husband was working with a friend of ours last week and came home with a nice rip in his jeans. Not a big hole, just an L-shaped rip on the front of the thigh. But these are his work jeans, and he likes them, so …
As a child, I dreamed. As a teen, I planned. And as a young adult, I completed years of college, all to achieve my dream job. I became a teacher. I earned my Bachelor’s degree in elementary education, and then I went a step farther and earned my Master’s in Instructional Technology. It was exactly what I had always dreamed of, but after 2 years in the profession, I quit to become a homemaker. As crazy as it seems, it was the perfect decision. Let me explain to you why I chose homemaking over my dream job.