The arrival of my high school and college alumni magazines seems to be an exercise in, or test of, the virtue Contentment. Confronted with a forum made for crowing one's achievements and material climb of the worldly ladder, the stay-at-home mom is left to ponder: What have I done?
I changed my month-old baby 225 times in fifteen days. (Yes I really kept track of such things with my first born.)
Or
I kept hundreds of diapers out of a landfill by using cloth diapers with my second toddler.
Or
I spot mopped the floor three times in one day due to various messy leavings on the floor.
Or
I got in and out of Target in twenty minutes accompanied by a four-year-old who would not sit in the cart.
B.C., Before Children, I had a job that earned me a half dozen framed awards and a statuette trophy, and I rose in the ranks of a martial art.
Now, A.D., After Diapers, I have walls with marker doodles and two walking, talking, growing statues that are liable to be tired, hungry, hide behind me, jump on me, wake me up in the middle of the night, or amp up the Cuteness and Charm factor for really important things like the roving ice cream truck or getting out of violin practice.
In the alumni magazines I read:
Someone has published a book.
So-and-so is regional manager of a bank.
Somebody went to Paris for their third wedding anniversary.
Someone else raised funds and built an orphanage, dug a well, wiped out a local pestilence, and will earn their second Ph.D. next month.
Meanwhile, I am listening to "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" for the hundredth-something time in three months with my four and six-year old Monkeys and getting kicked from the inside of my basketball belly by the third Monkey.
And the alumni magazine is in the recycle bin.
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