Sometimes I'll be plodding along, just making my way from sunup to sunset wondering what on Earth the reason could be for doing the things I do. If I finish laundry, they'll be more by nightfall. If I get one meeting all arranged, there's another lurking around the corner, and you can bet it will involve more people with even more hectic schedules which will never coincide with each other. If I clean the house--heh-if I clean the house, Hubby wonders who is coming for a visit.

I'm a working mother. I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in the pan, and if I forget to remind Hubby he's a man, that means I forgot to put him on my list. (Now I'll have that old commercial running through my head all day!)

I realize I'm just one among ump-teen thousand/million women out there who are in the same boat. There are magazines, tv shows, even web sites for women like us. (Was there any doubt?) There are at least two schools of thought about working mothers and putting children in daycare. I am not here to debate anything. I think we have to choose what is right and/or necessary for our own families. I choose to work. I enjoy the work I do and the people I work with very much. Our daughter is in a wonderful daycare center, and I couldn't be more confident that she is learning the social and educational skills she needs.

However, there are days when my heart is on the hill across the street. I can see this hill from my office window. This is the hill where the kids from the daycare center play (with teacher supervision, of course). My desk doesn't face the window, but sometimes the kid's laughter drifts up to me, or I hear the semi-trucks honk their horns and know that there are about a dozen toddlers out there cranking their arms up and down, signaling to the trucks to honk for them.

Our Punkin is one of these toddlers. She runs up and down the hill with all of her friends and she laughs. I have about a dozen pictures of her on my desk, and a few on the windowsills behind me. On days like this I take time to daydream about being in "Mommyland" with her, playing, painting, watching Blue's Clues, exploring our neighborhood and always reading. She loves to read and for people to read to her. Wouldn't that be grand?

On the other hand, there's this work thang. I have wanted to be a secretary/assistant for quite a long time. I had high hopes of one day assisting the president of a company. That was 15 (or thereabouts) years ago. I've accomplished that goal, and the view from here is nice. I'm (usually) proud of the work I do. I've made friends here. I'm comfortable, yet still somewhat challenged by my ever-changing responsibilities.

Recently, I haven't felt as focused at work as I would have liked, and began to doubt the quality of the things I've accomplished here. That is, until yesterday. My annual review was yesterday. Being an optimist, I expected the worst (heh). My boss sat me down and handed me the review he had written. As I read each paragraph, I was pleasantly surprised to see that I am my own worst critic. He is (and others are) very appreciative of the work I do, and while there is always room for improvement, I received a lovely raise. Certainly higher than I felt I deserved. Did I give it back? Are you kidding? Hell, no, but I did realize that I am contributing here. I may not be in the thick of things, but I am here and what I do does mean something.

I left work yesterday feeling pleased with myself and went over to collect our daughter from daycare. From her spot on the playground she saw me pull into the parking lot and called "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" at the top of her voice while jumping up and down, her little fingers curled around the chain-link fencing. I can't help but smile and laugh along with her. I realize that my working a full-time job allows me to better appreciate the time I spend with this Punkin, and that being a Mom is among the accomplishments I am the most proud of.

Ah yes, I remember now why I do the things I do.

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