Ok, so you know the movie. It’s a Wonderful Life. Jimmy Stewart. 1946. My favorite movie of all time. I can recite the whole thing. In fact, because of that cute scene where Mary hides from George in the hydrangea bush, I love hydrangeas.

It dawned on me recently though, that as a corporate raider turned stay-at-home-mom, I sometimes feel a bit like George Bailey. While my husband – who in this analogy would be George’s little brother Harry Bailey – is off gaining promotions and accolades for his work fighting the good fight for clients in cyberspace, I am on the home front, keeping the ol’ Bailey Building and Loan afloat.

I, like George, have put the sounds of “anchor chains, plane motors and train whistles” on the back burner for the past few years while I manage life at home with “ZuZu” and “Tommy.” I deal with big issues like what snack to serve at playgroup, where to find the obscure flavor of princess toothpaste that my 4-year old son (yes, my son) can’t live without, and figuring out what magic combination of pear juice, bran muffins and over-the-counter laxatives will solve my daughter’s constipation problem. Big issues. But I’m OK with that. Unlike George, I chose the Building and Loan. But hey, I’m only human.

There are days when I can get incredibly grumpy about the lack of glamour in my job. Like when my husband’s fancy title is on the invite for an upcoming alumni event, I get nostalgic for the career gal I once was. When my dear college friend (my Sam Wainwright equivalent) creates an amazing new ad campaign and produces record sales in her new job, I get a pang. In fact, sometimes as I stand at the kitchen sink washing sippy cups for the 14^th time in a day, I gaze out the window and think, “I used to have a corner office in New York, you know!” Well, I was an intern and that was fluke, but it still sounds cool. On the flipside though, I haven’t misplaced $8,000 and been threatened with social and financial ruin by my nemesis Mr. Potter (but just for the record, if I had “misplaced” that amount of money you’d probably find it in the cash register at the local Dunkin Donuts drive thru. Darn those cappuccinos!).

Anyhoo, in the last scene of the movie, when George-is- standing-by-the-Christmas-tree-and-Mary-comes-rushing-in- with-the-droves-of-people-from-the-town-and-they’re- dumping-money-on-the-table-and-Sam-sends-the-telegram, I can’t help but get choked up. I think of my circle of friends and family who would do the same in a heartbeat. Only in my world, they bring a pan of lasagna to your door when your husband is traveling and your son is horribly sick with the flu. Or they kidnap you on a random Tuesday night and take you to a movie because you really need to get out. They are there for all the small daily battles of Bedford Falls.

So when Harry lifts his glass to toast to George, “the richest man in town,” it’s my little piece of movie heaven. I cry big, fat tears and feel a bit calibrated again.