A Domestic Fairy Tale

I was looking around my house tonight and realized I'm living a life I had never dreamed I would. When you're a kid, you dream about fantastic adventures in far off lands. You dream about the fulfilling work you'll do changing the world. You dream about a glamorous and exciting life.

You do not dream of playrooms overflowing into your hall or of doing laundry and dishes and cleaning bathrooms at 1:30 am. You don't dream about dirty sippy cups and crayon scribbles on walls. You don't dream about the inevitable clutter of a busy life.

But, it wouldn't be so bad if you did. Because, I must say, despite it's decidedly unglamorous nature this is an incredibly fulfilling life. It is not the jet-set life of a writer I had envisioned for myself and some people who used to know me think I've settled for less or taken an easier path. But, this is anything but easy and I can't help but think when I look into my daughters' eyes that this is by no means settling for less. (Though, I'll admit, before I had my girls I would have felt that way about others in this position.)

I don't think I am noble or righteous for choosing motherhood. I don't think women who pursue a career are less admirable than those who pursue a family. I think this is the right choice for me. And I think women have the right (and the responsibility) to determine what a fairy tale is on their terms. I guess right now, for me, my fairy tale is chasing preschoolers around and stepping on discarded toys on my way to the kitchen. And I fully intend to cherish every minute of it.