From mom bag to briefcase...

Let me draw you a picture....well since I cannot actually use the crayolas in this medium, let's get mental together. Crossroads. Me. Fork in the Road. Me. Big Mountain (think "Himalayas"). Me.

We will keep referring to past posts, since our creativity is fairly cyclical and all-encompassing. And since I seem to have "max'd out" on my multisyllabic vocab in the first four sentences of this post, that is all the creativity I have left anyway...since I haven't seemed to even quite make it to the MAIN IDEA yet. Welcome to my day....

Referring back (deja vu??) to our definitions on the types of moms, I find myself at a crux of my motherhood roles. I am a former working mom, turned stay at home mom, turned work from home mom. Now I am about to open a new chapter (ok....A.D.D with me for a second. Why do "they" use books as a metaphor for life? I get the whole "chapter" thing, but if my life is a book, then I feel I am more an "US Weekly" Magazine than a Mark Twain literary classic. That is depressing. Why not level the playing field with ice cream - it is cool, yet comes in many varieties. Mmm - we might be onto something here)
I am about to add another scoop to my already sweet life, packed with flavor and chunks of sticky, funky brown goo that you are not sure what it is, but it all works together. I am looking for a job. A real job. We've already noted that moms are THE JOB, so I will spare you the soapbox pontification. I am considering going back to what I did before I was defined by my little people. And to be perfectly blunt (which you can now tell, we have no problem laying it all out there in its blatant, raw unadulterated glory) I am scared out of my F-ing mind.

I am not afraid of work. Hell, meeting with clients, answering emails, voice mails and "come hithers" from the scary dude in the corner cubicle is a piece of cake. I am worried about actually GETTING the job. The economy is what it is. Jobs are harder to find than a topless dancer whose name doesn't end in "i". That part is understood in all corners of our sad, dilapidated country. I have an interview tomorrow, and I will not be able to sleep, eat, breathe, digest, blink, or move any appendage without breaking into a cold sweat (I have GOT to get that cold sweat thing under control...it is just plain unattractive). I have spent the last 8 years of my life answering requests like "Mommy, can you check to see that I got all my poop. Mommy, here is my booger...take it. Mommy, I asked for NONE crust. Mommy, Mommy, Mommy" There are days that I am not sure I even know my name anymore. Speaking of days, what day is it? November.

So, if current questions like "Mommy, why does daddy sleep whole naked?" make me go stone cold, black out and hope that when I come to, I am in line at Starbucks drive-thru and I have already dropped off "Mr. 900 Questions Before Breakfast" at school, how am I supposed to answer "Please give me a scenario in which you were challenged by a colleague or client in a negative manner, how did you deal with this situation, and what was the outcome?" Purple.

I think Wizards of Waverly place qualifies as high-quality programming. My lunches consist of whatever my preschooler discarded - usually her bread crust, luke-warm chocolate milk and the white stringy things plucked from the orange. I count on a snack just as much as my children. I still like naptime...for me. The last book I read was either Moostache or If You Give a Pig a Pancake...and I liked them. I am out of toothpaste...so the Power Rangers Bubbblegum has been working just fine. I sing along to KidzBop and Radio Disney. I shower on the days that I am lucky enough to wake before I hear the herd of children that seem to weigh one gross metric ton. A job would mean a daily hygiene regimen. Right now I put on make-up at 5pm before my husband comes home so that he thinks I have not gone to pot on him. A job would mean make-up ALL DAY?? I wear elastic. Plain and simple. A job would require big people clothes with snaps, buttons and zippers. I would have to eat with utensils. Drink beverages that do not require a sippy cup. Carry a briefcase or something similar...I'm only familiar with my mom bag which houses everything I'd need anywhere EXCEPT a professional work place. I would not be able to watch Super Why, and I LIKE Super Why. Can you hear me panting?? I feel faint. Are you there? Hang on. I am spinning. I'm gonna vomit... I need to put my head between my legs. Oooh. I don't feel so good.....

So, this is my life. How am I supposed to carry on an even somewhat intelligent conversation tomorrow with someone that spends their entire day with humans who don't use words like "potty, icky, undies, and boo boo"? . The most in-depth conversation I have had with another non-mom adult lately was the guy who installed our upgraded cable box. And I talked, and talked and talked. I am not even sure what I said, but I do know he left behind his pliers, a clipboard, threw me an extra remote as he damn-near ran out of my house holding his boots and he said that the service call "was on him". Thinking back, I may have scared him with my overly zealous greeting and sheer joy to see another human being over 36 inches tall. Things are not looking good for tomorrow. Would it be inappropriate to lick my finger and wipe something off of his face during the interview?


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