A minor mistake

Today was one of those mornings where I found myself wondering, Am I really qualified to do this? And the answer was a resounding absolutely-freaking-not. My lack of qualifications for raising children came to my attention as I pryed Owen's mouth tooth by tooth off of Josie's leg. I was screaming at both of them and seriously considering locking myself in my room for the rest of the day. Staying at home with a one and two year old is basically like running small in-home day care. Based on today, I should probably lose my license.

I started to think about how educated I am. About how much time, energy and resources my parents devoted to making me the articulate, capable and intelligent woman I am. I reminisced about all of the amazing summer programs, the language camps, the sports camps, the internships, and my career in health care marketing. I thought about all of that while I scraped day-old, star-shaped pasta off the floor under my kitchen table.

I can't ignore the fact that I have always wanted to be a mom as much if not more than anything else. And yet in all the time I spent trying to develop a career path and I never once thought to educate myself on how to develop a child.

At Stanford, I majored in English. That was an obvious choice. I love to read and write. I never understood the people banging their heads against the library table trying to figure out an algorithm as I sat in a comfy chair next to them reading Shakespeare. I wouldn't change my major for anything. But my minor. Maybe that's where I went wrong.

I minored in Spanish. The only Spanish I use on a regular basis is with our cleaning lady, Maria. As I talk to Maria, I can hear the voice of my 8th grade Spanish teacher correcting every other word I use and gasping as I try shamelessly to conjugate verbs. Mastering another language can never be a bad thing, but maybe learning how to deal with biting one year olds and two year olds who won't share would have been more useful.