My Occupation? What do YOU think?

I love it when tax time rolls around. Not because I get a thrill out of funding government projects I barely understand. Because I get to sign my name on the line markes "spouse" and then I write in my occupation: MOM. That's right--not homemaker, not unemployed--MOM (with capitals, thank you).









I'm a mom--a stay-at-home, hanging-laundry-on-the-line, dust-mopping, child-rearing Mom. By choice. My job starts the minute I wake up--whether that's three a.m. or ten (oh how I dream!) a.m.--and ends when the blessed bundles of energy and creative destruction fall asleep. I get no overtime pay, no government-mandated lunch break, and OSHA should see this place.









I'm a mom. I'm creating the people of tomorrow, today. I'm a teacher, a motivational speaker, a first-aid specialist, a child psychologist, and an entertainer wrapped up in one person. (The fact that there's so much wrapped up in one person explains the weight issue--there are just too many roles for me to be 125 pounds. I'll stick with that one, at least until the diet works.)






I'm a mom. Iwake up with high expectations, and do my best to meet them by eleven p.m. I try to remain cheerful and optimistic in the face of melted crayons in the laundry. I have space in the budget for emergencies--and it's usually taken up be accute peanut butter shortages around the 20th of each month.

I'm a mom, and I love my job. Most of the time. Sometimes I get grouchy around lunchtime. I've considered picketing, but one woman carrying a sign isn't a strike so much as free entertainment for the neighborhood.

I'm a mom, and if the IRS wants to quibble about my choice of terms for filling in the "occupation" line, I've got their proof right here.