From mom, to teacher to crafter, to wife.  Some days its hard to switch hats.  I think I should have a uniform  for each role.  I’d have my apron and oven mits, my first aid kit in the pocket with my timer.  Then I’d have my denim jumper, pony tail, pencils in the hair holding my pony in  bun, and flaschards in my pocket. I could have a cute little winter shirt, with sparkles – a bottle of embossing powder in my pocket and marker ink on my fingers.  I suppose I could have a bag full of lipstick and eyeliner, a curling iron and a beautiful feminine top and a crock pot full of mexican chicken in my pocket. 

The hard part is not having the phone booth to whip in and out of to change roles – with just a bathroom with boys knocking and dogs tossing their ball at the base – you end up timed in the bathroom in old jeans and a pony tail, glitter in your hair and half done eyeliner with lipstick in the car and a piece of meat in the fridge thawing while waiting its turn to go in the pot . . . . . .