A couple of years back an aunt who was (still is) a full-time mom was asked by my cousin what she did for work. At that time, all her siblings were big bosses in different companies and she was the only one who wasn’t gainfully employed. She proudly answered, “I am the president of my home.” It figures, if the person who runs a company is called a president then a Mom who runs a household is also a president. The boss, the big kahuna, the big guy (or gal). That’s me!
Besides, I used to have this thing about growing up to be president someday. In 3rd grade I insisted on being called Madame President because I was convinced that I would be at the helm of some company in the future. In high school I was further convinced by my well-meaning Dad that I would become president of his company one day. He even bought me a book about some South African mining god who left his kingdom to his only daughter. And I had to read that in 3 days on a summer trip to the mine fields in faraway Palawan!
As I got older and eventually assumed the role that I had coveted, I realized that being president of a company wasn’t as glamorous as I thought it would be. Sure there are benefits and the added glamour that goes with the title. But at the end of the day the role I covet the most is one that doesn’t require a business card or a swanky corner office. The job I truly love requires me to be on my toes almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week and with no vacation leaves. It requires me to get my hands dirty and to dress in clothes that can get dirty. Anything designer is a complete no-no. My dream job means sleeping late and getting up early to be the pseudo bus-driver to 2 precocious little girls who can sometimes make me wish to tear my hair out. My dream job means having the patience to deal with an equally busy hubby who can sometimes be so cranky I want to tear his hair out.
My home is my company and I’m running it the best way I know how. You can call me anything but I’d rather be called, President Mama….go figure.