More Than the Macaroni and Cheese Maker

There are days when I get these really deep thoughts while I’m making macaroni and cheese.

Sadly, that didn’t happen this week. Not while I was making the macaroni and cheese. Not while I was serving up the macaroni and cheese. Not even while I was cleaning the macaroni and cheese off of the kitchen floor. {Is there anything more frustrating than trying to sweep up macaroni and cheese?}

I guess some weeks are just not deep thought kind of weeks. And that scares me. It scares me when my deepest thought of the week is if I have served enough vegetables or if I’ve let my children watch too much television.

Because I want to do big things.

And I know that motherhood is a big thing. Actually, it’s a huge thing. It’s a fabulously, exhausting, heart-filling, heart-wrenching, worth every stretch mark and scar kind of experience. It is worth every dream given up or put on hold. I love being a mom.

There are days, however, when something deep inside me is desperate for someone to see behind the mom mask. I long to be more than the macaroni and cheese maker. And I fear that it is taboo in Christian circles to admit such things. It is as if moms who long to be seen are, somehow, being ungrateful for the gift of motherhood. As if dreaming is unbecoming to someone knee deep in dirty laundry.

Well, let me just tell you, I’m still a dreamer. And a mom. I’m a mom who dreams.

I have things I long to do.

Words I long to write.

Stories I long to tell.

I dream big things while feeding little people. I think big thoughts while scrubbing the bathroom floor. I write poetry while peeling potatoes and I mentally outline my debut novel while showering. And none of that means that I do this mothering thing begrudgingly.

Whatever this Saturday evening {It is Saturday, right? Honestly, I’m just guessing.} finds you doing, it is okay if you are dreaming while doing it.