I walked into the kitchen mid-surprise. 

"Get outta here, Mom!" my son, Henrik, yelled. "I'm making something to go with dinner, and I want it to be a surprise!" 

He sat at the table slicing a banana with a plastic knife. I saw the basket of grapes in front of him and assumed it was safe enough to leave again. For a six-year-old, Henrik is quite the budding chef. Seriously. His secret addition to our banana bread recipe made it legendary. And he's managed to come up with sandwiches that actually taste good to me and delight his little sister, Greta. So he's in charge of lunch at least one day a week.

Anyway, not wanting to stifle his creativity or his sense of surprise, I left him to his banana. 

When he called me back 10 minutes later, I found he had indeed whipped up one beautiful fruit salad (he had added some soft pears and frozen berries—which he found in the freezer and defrosted in the microwave—to the mix) and made a pitcher full of my favorite peach tea mix along with, of course, one giant mess. After thanking him for his contributions to the dinner and admiring his work, I reminded him it was the chef's responsibility to clean up after himself. 

Suddenly it was all Hard Knock Life for Little Orphan Henrik. "MOM!" he yelled. "Why do I have to do EVERYTHING around here?" And he stomped over to grab some paper towels. 

I didn't know what I liked less: his tone or that he basically quoted me. While I didn't realize I said those words out loud very often, I admit I think them probably 10 times a day. In fact, I can't remember a day since becoming a mom when Why do I have to do everything around here? hasn't flown through my mind as I prepared food, cleaned up, negotiated battles over toys, got up during the night, wiped tears, kissed owies, filled out forms, carpooled. And that's just the start of what I do for the kids. It doesn't include the list for my husband, the dog, the bunny, the fish, and it certainly doesn't include what I do for myself. 

The truth is, I really do think I do everything around here. In my crazy life spent "balancing" the nurturing of my kids and loving my husband with editing a website and writing blog posts, magazine articles, and a book, many days spent with (at least what others tell me is) the "best of both worlds" feels more like the weight of all worlds! Let's just say being a martyr has become one of my more marked characteristics. And it's not a good one. 

This martyr attitude of mine wreaks more havoc than simply having a son who mimics it. For one, my attitude leaves little space for appreciating my husband—who in fact does a lot around here, from taking days off work to watch the kids so I can make a meeting or meet a deadline to spending a Saturday catching up on laundry. Secondly, my bad attitude makes the kids and the work I do (that is, the writing and editing, not the house stuff!) seem like burdens and chores, which they aren't—usually. Thirdly, the attitude makes me seem and feel like an ungrateful, whiney, well, *****. 

When I fall into the trap of becoming the Hard Knock Life Mom, I'm forgetting that I actually chose this life and worked hard to make it happen. I LOVE my life, wouldn't change my working/mothering arrangement for the world, and am nothing if not blessed that I can be home with my kids. It's a thrill and privilege to be able to continue using my non-mom gifts in my writing and editing career—something that's every bit as a part of who I am as being a mom and a wife. 

The upside of this "hybrid mom" life is fulfillment, joy, extra money, and setting an example for my kids that you can make family a priority without sacrificing every ounce of who you are. But the downside is that sense of doing everything. But I figure this is for a season, one that is going quickly. Someday, when things are back to "easy," when I no longer need to juggle kid-care with my husband, when I can meet a friend for lunch on a moment's notice, and when I can actually get some sleep, I'm sure I'll miss this crazy life. 

In the meantime, I need to lose the Hard Knock Life attitude. It looked silly on my son, and it looks even sillier on me.