stay home mother


Piggy Piggy, Huff and Puff
by Christine Louise Hohlbaum
Diary of a Mother

As I grow older, I have come to believe that the Three Little Pigs were not indeed swine that pranced through the forest avoiding the Big Bad Wolf. They did not play the fiddle, flute, and drum. Peering into the mirror and plucking away at my facial hairs with a pair of tweezers, I am convinced that the Three Little Pigs were actually stay-at-home moms in their mid-thirties.

Let’s face it: we all have a little more hair on our chinny-chin-chins these days. We have a bit more padding like the pigs in the fairytale. Our houses look as though a wolf huffed and puffed until he blew our house down. In short, we are the protagonists in the story who learn valuable life lessons with our interactions with the good, the bad, and the ugly.

There is something very fairytale-like about my existence as a stay-at-home mom. Much like the figures in my children’s storybooks, I am cast into a world of make-believe every day.

My daughter Sophia likes to pretend that she is Little Red Riding Hood. Never mind that the scarf around her head is not red; she is the little girl in the story who braves the forest on her own and disregards her mother’s advice not to tarry. Hmm…that sounds like real life to me.

My two-year-old son recently burned his hand on a hot stove burner. Much like the wolf burning his tushy in the house of bricks, my son yowled and cried and learned a brave lesson: don’t touch! He is an optimist, I’ve noticed. He kept showing us the hand that wasn’t adorned with puffy blisters. His fear of all things hot now is not to be overshadowed by his fear of the wolf. For months now, he has reminded me the wolf has to stay outside.

My husband is a bit of a Jolly Green Giant, even though the character belongs on the packages of frozen vegetables in the U.S. and not in any fairytale. My husband is not green, either, unless he’s had a recent bout of the stomach bug. There is something comforting about the giant that towers over the green fields in the frozen food section, smiling benevolently at all the grocery shoppers peering into the freezers. My husband has that same smile that says “Come on, trust me. It’s not easy being green…”

I suppose there are three kinds of people in the world – those who build their house of sticks, straw, or bricks. I’ve always been a bit of a sticks and brick person. Some days I go all out and take my time to do things right. I get down on my hands and knees and whisk away every speck of dirt that comes my way. Other days I whip a sponge across the table and watch the crumbs fall to the floor with impunity. Who cares? I think. I’ll clean it up later. I’d much rather play the drums with my kids, cuddle under the blanket and chant “Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf – not I!”

Christine Louise Hohlbaum, American author of Diary of a Mother: Parenting Stories and Other Stuff, has been published in hundreds of publications. When she isn’t writing, leading toddler playgroups or wiping up messes, she prefers to frolic in the Bavarian countryside near Munich where she lives with her husband and two children. Visit her Web site:

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stay home mother


stay home mother