My Job is Harder Than Your Job

            Sometimes I have entire days where I am unshakably preoccupied with how hard my job is.  I wake up (at some ungodly hour, after a tear-inducing insignificant amount of sleep) and think about how hard the day is going to be: breakfast, diapers, clothes, 3 kids out the door, 3 loads of laundry, yesterday's laundry still unfinished, diapers, cleaning, breaking up fights, diapers, nursing, 3 kids in the door, more fights, more nursing, dinner, dishes, baths, homework, reading, praying, bedtime.  It makes me tired just writing it.  Of course in my little litany here I forgot to add nurturing, teaching, laughing, loving, playing and laughing some more.  Why is it so hard to wake up and think of those things?

            And these kinds of days never end well either, because while I spend the day thinking about how hard my day is I also like to consider how much harder  it is than my husband's.  This is monumentally unfair of course since he has to spend his whole day with other people's children, mostly middle school aged children and he has to deal with their parents and  he is required by law and contract to teach them something, and then of course enrich their lives with his selflessness and creativity, going above and beyond his pay grade to make an eternal difference in their lives.  I haven't asked, but something tells me he doesn't wake up thinking of the latter either!

             I notice we sometimes fall into this temptation of self pity, or at least I do, where I am certain that I am giving more, doing more, sacrificing more and he has no idea what my day is like.  What a load of crap.  Granted I am better at all this domestic stuff, and I do endure more crying and poop and snot than he does; I can multi-task better and get more done in a day around the house but none of that means I work harder.  Oh and by the way I chose this job and last I checked I didn't have all 6 kids at one time.  It's a different kind of work and I get to do mine in yoga pants with out a principal checking in on me.  He could just as easily say I have no idea what his day is like, nor do I know the pressure and weight he feels as the sole provider of our home. I can't relate with how hard it is to switch gears when he comes home from a hard day of work and can't even enjoy a quiet ride home because three of the children come and go with him.  I can go an entire day without talking to another adult; he can go an entire day bombarded with adults he'd rather avoid.  

               Bottom line, it does neither of us any good to compare work loads.  It isn't always 50/50.  And wouldn't the devil be so pleased if he could distract me with all this self-pity nonsense just long enough for me to miss the beauty of this vocation and the amazing love that inspires my husband to go to work every day.  Plus, if you aren't in the fox hole with your husband get out now!  None of this is worth it if we can't at the very least appreciate each other, and find solace in our mutual suffering, sacrifice and lack of sleep.  The majority of our kids are small and it will be years before they appreciate what we're doing for them and we don't resent them one bit (well maybe a teensy bit when we're cleaning up their poop, or serving another dinner to thankless groans), because we know they aren't finished yet.  Lately, when I feel the temptation to compare notes on whose day was harder, I stop and think of at least three things I am thankful my husband does for me.  I can always think of more than three, but I'm not finished yet either, so it's good for me to force myself to start small.   It's easy to appreciate the joys of parenting together: the smiles, the I-love-you's, the good report cards and soccer goals.   It takes real effort, prayer and grace to appreciate the thankless side of parenting and be able to wake up each morning glad you're being under appreciated together!