by Joanne Smith

Created on: May 26, 2010   Last Updated: May 31, 2010

Today the wind was knocked out of me as the reality of attending college for the second time caught up to me.  For the last few weeks I have relished in the idea of being free from the constant demands made of my children, the hollers for drinks and the cries for my help.  I would not be the one making breakfast, lunch and dinner and doing all of the clean up.  I would have time to myself that had nothing to do with my family.  I laughed to myself as I bought a backpack and new binder in preparation for my new journey.  At my age, 31years old!  Still I could not suppress the bubbling excitement at taking some time that focused simply on me.  I would have scheduled breaks, something that even a napping two year old could not guarantee.  I would ride in the car listening to the music as loudly as I wanted.  I could open the windows and allow the hot summer air to breeze though my hair without a small little voice shouting, “Mommy, I’m cold!”  I would have a name again, not just Mommy or Baby as my husband call me.  I would not be identified by my role with my children. I was creating a new identity.  For the past almost seven years I have poured my life into making the best life possible for my children.  I have woke up to their cries and jumped to their needs all for all of those years.  I have exhausted searches for new things to do that would enrich my children’s lives.  My two years spent studying Early Childhood Education gave me a guideline to what kind of mother I wanted to be, and I continue to strive to be the best possible co-parent I can be for my three wonderful children.

Somewhere along the road of hearing another chorus of arguing between my boys that ended with a screaming cry and a constant stream of chaos following behind my daughter I ran out of steam.  I had all but forgotten what an afternoon off felt like.  I had given up on watching television shows geared to adults.  I had quit my role as a support worker years ago to allow my husband to pursue his career.  That scrapped much of my identity away.  I was no longer someone with six years experience with a manager who raved about my ideas and praised my work. I was at home with boys eighteen months apart.  The money I spent was no longer money I had a hand in earning, it was money given to me in one way or another. I desperately missed the independent me. 

When

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