**PLEASE keep in mind these are MY feelings on Lent, this is in no way meant to discredit how others view this religious tradition*** (my Catholic guilt is making me think we need to put SOME sort of disclaimer in here as I dont want to offend or piss anyone off) Carry on...
#1 came home from school today and as always we did a debrief of her day; you know the typical "How was school....what did you do today....do you have a lot of homework....did that stupid, snotty, mean girl wanna-be little brat pick on you again" (oh wait, I didn't do that one out loud) etc, etc. She settled in with a snack and began her homework. She was silently working for a few minutes and then piped up from the kitchen table:
#1: " Mom, what does it mean to give something up for Lent?"
Me: "What do you mean by that?" (as if she had just said a bad word, asked me about the latest crude video on YouTube, or asked where babies come from...not sure why that was my reaction as I am, after all, Catholic)
#1: "I don't get it, what does it mean?"
Me: "Well, Catholics believe that in the time before Easter it's a good idea to give up something that means a lot to us or that we really enjoy because it's our way of thanking Jesus for the sacrifices He made for everyone" (not a bad explanation huh, Dee Dee??)
#1: "So am I supposed to give something up? One of my friends said her dad told her to give up CANDY, can you believe that??? Do I have to give up candy???? Did you see how much I just brought home from school? I CAN'T give up candy, no way. PLEASE tell me I don't have to give up candy...what about popsicles, I can do popsicles (DUH, it's February...don't usually keep popsicles stocked in February) Someone else said they have to give up TV, that's not even funny" (clearly worked up at this point)
Me: "No, you don't have to give something up. Usually it's for grown ups and kids who are a little bit older" (didn't mention it's also typically for those who are PRACTICING Catholics, but why nitpick). I clearly recall candid and terse comments from 8th grade math teacher Fern Singer "Giving up something you don't like, like brussel sprouts does not count in God's eyes. You need to give up something you cannot live without". Damn. My brilliant plan was foiled by a non-secular, plain clothes wearing commoner. You see Mrs. Singer was not an ordained chosen one of the Cloth... and if SHE was believing in this crap and not looking for the loopholes, then HOLY HELL, I better follow-suit.
#1: "Oh thank goodness!" (HUGE sigh of relief with all the flair and drama she could muster...which was quite a bit, after all she IS my child.)
She happily went back to her homework with the knowledge that she had just dodged a most painful bullet...no TV, no ice cream, no candy for 40 days. Yikes. All was right again in her little world. And then I hear:
#1: "Hey mom? What are YOU giving up for Lent?"
SHIT. Cold sweats, rising blood pressure, shaking appendages, pretty sure my heart is going to explode, head is pounding...all intermingled with brief flashes of Stations of the Cross and a dark, cramped, claustrophobia inducing Confessional. OH SHIT.
Me: "I'm sorry, what did you say honey?" (pretty sure I blacked out for a minute or two...normally I see this as a nice break in the day or at the very least an opporunity for the right and left hemispheres of my brain to briefly synchronize and come up with a brilliant comeback that lets me off the hook...instead I regained consiousness and her blurry face came back into focus....Nothing. Insert chirping cricket sounds here) I wiped my damp, sweaty palms on my thighs and could have sworn I was wearing a plaid, polyester, pleated jumper.
#1: "You said it's for grown-ups. So does that mean you have to give something up?"
Sweet Jesus. I was back in 7th grade with Mr. Nowicki staring at me with his beady little eyes through thick glasses as we discussed the meaning of Lent and the sacrifices we should all make to atone for our sins. Had the high pitched, whiny voice of Kai Lan had not broken through my daze I would have sworn Sister Doris was standing in my kitchen with me. I will fully admit that despite years of Catholic school and a Catholic upbringing, I am no longer a "practicing" Catholic. HOWEVER, the steadfast practices of Catholicism are about as deeply ingrained in me as my memories of the nuns who helped to oversee my years of Catholic education. It takes very little prompting for me to spout off the entire Nicene Creed or to recall what the "script" is when one goes into confession. So although I do not regularly attend Catholic mass, this time of year sends me into a panic as I know my Catholic guilt will come creeping up behind me to smack me upside the head with the ol' "What are you giving up for Lent this year?"
I can feel #1 staring me down (my vision is wavering...it's either her or Sister Marie Noelle, not sure which...) I swallow my panic and mutter "I'm not sure yet, kiddo, haven't thought about it." Apparently I should give up lying because the moment McDonalds started advertising their Filet O'Fish (which in and of itself is a big fat lie, that is NOT a filet and and you don't have to be a C-list food critic to realize that it sure as hell isn't fish either) I had been thinking about it. I began silently praying (ironic, I know) that she'd leave me alone to deal with my inner turmoil. Do I give something up? Do I embrace my Catholic upbringing and observe this tradition? Although I fully understand the meaning of Lent, I don't know that I internalize it and believe in it as much as many others do (more power to you!) So I'm left to wrestle with the decision of giving something up because I'm "supposed" to or giving something up because it's important and means something. I think I'm developing an ulcer.
I begin to weigh my options...thinking of the things most commonly "sacrificed" during Lent. Caffeine, chocolate, wine, favorite snack foods, bad habits...etc. So I mentally work my way down the list of possibilities.
1. Caffeine: oh HELL no. I can knock that bad boy off the list without a second thought. I couldn't give up caffeine for 40 minutes let alone 40 days. I believe God would want me to continue my usage of caffeine. Me giving up caffeine will endanger the lives of those around me...I don't see that pleasing ANYONE, especially God. That is a severe violation of numerous religious codes, bylaws, and commandments. Moving on.
2. Chocolate: it's a more plausible option than caffeine. But let's be honest, ANYTHING would be easier to give up than caffeine. Wait, isn't there caffeine in chocolate? So if I'm not giving up caffeine then I guess by default I can't give up chocolate. Next!
3. Wine: Can you hear me laughing? Can you hear GOD laughing? God encourages us to have wine, doesn't He? And in the off chance that I DO attend Church during this sacred season of sacrifice, I would be doing God and all of His suffering on my behalf a great disservice. Well, then giving it up would offend Him so I can't do that, I already feel guilty enough...Maybe in His good name I should drink MORE wine during Lent.
4. Favorite snack foods: Admittedly we don't keep a TON of crap food in the house, mostly because if we did, I'd eat it all. But occasionally a few will find their way in, they don't last long though. Ever seen a 20 pound toddler shovel in Cheetos at an astronomical rate? Come on over. Bring a camera.... so getting rid of snack foods wouldn't be an altogether bad idea. ALTHOUGH my kids do enjoy to have a little "treat" every now and then so since I can't expect THEM to give things up for Lent, it wouldn't be fair of ME to take THEIR food out of the house.
5. Bad habits: For some this would be cracking knuckles, biting nails...blah, blah, blah. Well, anyone who knows me knows I swear like a trucker. Often. I work it into conversations so artfully you don't always notice the subtly placed F-bomb. I manage to turn foul language into every part of speech known to man. Certain four letter words are quite versatile and can be used as a verb, noun, adjective, pronoun, adverb, and even a preposition if I get creative enough. While I have gotten better at curbing the usage around the ankle biters, I don't know that I could hold up my end of a conversation without dropping in a "shit" or "damn" at some critical juncture. A well placed swear word can make or break a dialogue. I'm afraid I would become a babbling, drooling idiot if I attempted to speak without swearing. Truly. I don't even want to talk about it anymore, I'm getting dumber just thinking about it. Someone once told me that I would be boring as F%#@ if I did not swear. That was painful to hear. Shit.
Ok, so this is where my inner marketing savvy will save me as it always has ( and by "marketing savvy" I clearly mean "master bullshitter".) This is how I rationalize the whole ordeal:
Giving up any of the above would make me a bitter, unreasonable person, one damn near impossible to live with. That would not be the example God and I would want to set for my children (well, thinking about it, either is attending church once a year, barring any Sacremental visits, such as baptisms, deaths or nuptials) but that is just the way it goes sometimes. I pray. Just not in the four walls of the holy sacresty. Anyway, the reasoning is clear; We give up something as GOD gave up something very important. But I know this about myself....I am a quitter. I will fail. I know this and this is my key to success...knowing my weakness. So why disappoint God, myself and the doe-eyed 8 year old not-so-eager to embark on this 40 day journey either?
I look at #1 who is now in full-on stare down mode and I tell her "Honey, God gave up His son for us, so traditionally people show their respect by giving up something that is important or special to them. And I thought about what is the most important and special thing in my life, and that is my family and friends. And I would never want to give those things up like God had to. So I thought this year instead of giving something up, I would try to DO something extra every day for a friend, family member or stranger. So you know how I have you make sure your lunch is packed every day? Well, some morning you might wake up and I have already done it for you. Or I will help a stranger at the grocery store bag her groceries. Or call great-grandma just for the heck of it. So Lent can mean that we TAKE ON extra things, instead of giving something up and make someone else's day special. That would make God smile just as much as giving up chocolate." I look into her blank stare. Silence. More Silence....her expressionless eyes are glossed over and I can literally hear her blinking now. Then a huge smile erupts on her face and I am at once enveloped in a huge hug. "Mommy, that is a great idea. I want to do something special for someone everyday too instead of giving something up." And with that, the terror, horror and mind-numbing stupor of that ulcer-inducing conversation subside. I am calm and at peace. And I actually believe what I have said also. God does work in mysterious ways. I am exhausted, and exhilarated simultaneously. Time to celebrate with a king-size bag of Cadbury mini-eggs and a Chardonnay chaser. SHIT.
A letter to my husband
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To the love of my life...
In light of the recent celebration of St. Valentine's Day, I have taken pause to reflect on our relationship and all that it has come to mean to me. The many ways in which we have grown together, both individually and as a couple, never cease to amaze and delight me. And although our love seems to grow stronger and more intense with each passing day, there are more emotions than just love and affection that are bursting from within me.
As you wake from your peaceful slumber each morning, nothing pleases me more than to be woken by the snooze button being beaten into submission multiple times. Lying in bed trying desperately to get a few more minutes of sleep is just plain silly, as clearly I should be offering my assistance in whatever it is that you are searching for that has you slamming cabinets and drawers in the bathroom. And it was so very thoughtful of you to leave the door open so that the bright light from the bathroom spills into our bedroom...after all, I may want to catch up on a few chapters of my latest novel while you start your day...and God knows that the open bathroom door only enhanced the joy I felt when you coughed, hacked and spewed the contents of your lungs into the sink (I will enjoy tackling that later too, when armed with mask, gloves and gallons of bleach) When I stumble my way downstairs, I greatly appreciate the opportunity to make coffee for us, and I feel so needed as I hand-wash the four travel mugs that you just got out of your car. I don't remember pouring you grey fuzz yesterday, so it only tells me these science projects should have been retrieved from your car floor earlier...so my heartfelt apologies for making you drive around whilst they clanged about the floor. And I'm so appreciative that you always think to sprinkle sugar all over the counterops when preparing your coffee, as it's so efficient for ME to just use that if I should happen to be baking the cookies that you requested. And please don't worry if you take all of the coffee, I'll just make another pot. Don't you worry yourself about using the last of the coffee beans, I have no problems with dragging 3 children into Starbucks to buy more coffee(along with three small hot chocolates and blueberry scones that they insist on having but never eat...only crumble efficiently into a pile on the floor of my car) Since you have a busy day ahead of you don't bother yourself with putting your breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, the spot you leave them in on the counter is just fine. I am filled with love as I mop up milk that sloshed out of your cereal bowl, much in the same way I have to do it when cleaning up after our toddler; it makes me smile to see how much our children are like you. My dear, sweet love, you are so very welcome for packing a lunch for you each day, and don't worry, I have plenty of other Tupperware to use so the stash that is slowly building up in your car is really no problem. Washing them later may make for a fun science experiment for the kids, I love how you're always finding new opportunities to teach them! And if you accidentally leave some at work, no worries! I will just go pluck a fresh batch from the Tupperware tree in the back yard (it is in the same grove as the "stamp" tree...right next to my "sanity" shrub)
Throughout the day, many things remind me of you and make me want topunch you in the baby maker smile. As I cheerfully sort laundry for what seems like the 17th time today, I chuckle as I come across what seems to be the 114th pair of bunched up, sweaty, dirty socks. SO very silly that you still take them off inside out; don't you know by now that doing that makes me want to gag you with them while you sleep? As I complete my other tasks, I feel so very priveleged that you work so hard so that I can stay home to clean your shit ,I mean, home that you lovingly provide for me. I find joy in every tshirt or pair of boxers I pick up off the floor yet again, since you do work so hard I can't possibly expect you to wear yourself out by taking them to the laundry room, which is a mere 12 steps away from where you dumped them on the floor. And even though it confuses me that you dofted said underwear on our floor and then walk in all of your naked glory and wonderment to the laundry room, I am sure one day I will become wise to your ways and leave my ignorance behind. And as much as I would like for you to quit your icky little habit of chewing tobacco, the bottles that you use as "spitters" left on our nightstand really do add a certain flair to our bedroom. I've always considered myself a good decorator but it wasn't until I saw that you kept leaving those f-ing Coors Light bottles on the dresser that I realized you were subtly trying to get ME to see how drab and boring our decor was without them there! I consider it your contribution to the spa-like feng shui I was attempting to create. Your own "hillbilly bouquet". LOVE IT! My favorite is when the kids get into it too and bring them to me, as if to say "This didn't look quite right on the nightstand or next to the computer...let's try it somewhere else." I am giddy with joy as I recount those moments.
Every pair of shoes that you own scattered throughout the damn house? Not a nuisance that I trip over. I should be thankful that I have 9 toes left after kicking your "made of f@&#ing cement" size 11s. It just reminds me that the shelf we had custom built in our walk-in closet (no no, not the laundry room where you keep most of your clothes) leaves more space for my shoes. Thank you for thinking of me.
The serenity of our master bedroom fills me with love, and our spacious master bathroom area....ahhh the peaceful tranquility encompasses me as I walk over to your sink and HOLY FRIGGING MOTHER OF MARY! KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!! AHHHH HOLY HELL!!! WHAT THE FU.....Oh my...excuse my outburst for a moment while I pry my heart off of the ceiling. It is only the residual hair you mistakenly left behind after shaving. I thought a squirrel or other poor woodland creature died in your sink. But when I looked over at the toilet, I saw your three feet of toilet paper floating in there in your attempts to clean up the mess. And I agree, 10% is good enough. After all, I am home. Allow me.
Again darling, as I walk throughout our beautiful home that you so generously provide, I can't but thank you enough for your little tokens and reminders that you leave behind so that during the course of my otherwise painfully boring and mundane day I can be reminded how grateful I am that you merely exist. I live but to serve, and I serve so that I can live. You have enabled and empowered me to become all that I can be just by the simple act of reorganizing the pile of junk mail you stacked on the counter - torn envelopes and all. Or when I hang your coat in the closet that you walked PAST so that you could hang it on the back of the kitchen chair...again my joy is abundant. And my heart is brimming when for the 800th time that week, I put away the toaster, sweep up bread crumbs the size of my head, put the toilet seat down, and take the empty milk carton out of the fridge (no glass on the counter????Hmm. Not a conundrum...you were thinking of me when you drank right from the carton)
In closing, my feelings for you are so strong, so intense that I can't help but look at our wedding picture and my eyes fill with tears. And I think "I am bound to you for life...." Take that in whatever manner you see fit.
All of my love and affection~
Me
In light of the recent celebration of St. Valentine's Day, I have taken pause to reflect on our relationship and all that it has come to mean to me. The many ways in which we have grown together, both individually and as a couple, never cease to amaze and delight me. And although our love seems to grow stronger and more intense with each passing day, there are more emotions than just love and affection that are bursting from within me.
As you wake from your peaceful slumber each morning, nothing pleases me more than to be woken by the snooze button being beaten into submission multiple times. Lying in bed trying desperately to get a few more minutes of sleep is just plain silly, as clearly I should be offering my assistance in whatever it is that you are searching for that has you slamming cabinets and drawers in the bathroom. And it was so very thoughtful of you to leave the door open so that the bright light from the bathroom spills into our bedroom...after all, I may want to catch up on a few chapters of my latest novel while you start your day...and God knows that the open bathroom door only enhanced the joy I felt when you coughed, hacked and spewed the contents of your lungs into the sink (I will enjoy tackling that later too, when armed with mask, gloves and gallons of bleach) When I stumble my way downstairs, I greatly appreciate the opportunity to make coffee for us, and I feel so needed as I hand-wash the four travel mugs that you just got out of your car. I don't remember pouring you grey fuzz yesterday, so it only tells me these science projects should have been retrieved from your car floor earlier...so my heartfelt apologies for making you drive around whilst they clanged about the floor. And I'm so appreciative that you always think to sprinkle sugar all over the counterops when preparing your coffee, as it's so efficient for ME to just use that if I should happen to be baking the cookies that you requested. And please don't worry if you take all of the coffee, I'll just make another pot. Don't you worry yourself about using the last of the coffee beans, I have no problems with dragging 3 children into Starbucks to buy more coffee(along with three small hot chocolates and blueberry scones that they insist on having but never eat...only crumble efficiently into a pile on the floor of my car) Since you have a busy day ahead of you don't bother yourself with putting your breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, the spot you leave them in on the counter is just fine. I am filled with love as I mop up milk that sloshed out of your cereal bowl, much in the same way I have to do it when cleaning up after our toddler; it makes me smile to see how much our children are like you. My dear, sweet love, you are so very welcome for packing a lunch for you each day, and don't worry, I have plenty of other Tupperware to use so the stash that is slowly building up in your car is really no problem. Washing them later may make for a fun science experiment for the kids, I love how you're always finding new opportunities to teach them! And if you accidentally leave some at work, no worries! I will just go pluck a fresh batch from the Tupperware tree in the back yard (it is in the same grove as the "stamp" tree...right next to my "sanity" shrub)
Throughout the day, many things remind me of you and make me want to
Every pair of shoes that you own scattered throughout the damn house? Not a nuisance that I trip over. I should be thankful that I have 9 toes left after kicking your "made of f@&#ing cement" size 11s. It just reminds me that the shelf we had custom built in our walk-in closet (no no, not the laundry room where you keep most of your clothes) leaves more space for my shoes. Thank you for thinking of me.
The serenity of our master bedroom fills me with love, and our spacious master bathroom area....ahhh the peaceful tranquility encompasses me as I walk over to your sink and HOLY FRIGGING MOTHER OF MARY! KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT!! AHHHH HOLY HELL!!! WHAT THE FU.....Oh my...excuse my outburst for a moment while I pry my heart off of the ceiling. It is only the residual hair you mistakenly left behind after shaving. I thought a squirrel or other poor woodland creature died in your sink. But when I looked over at the toilet, I saw your three feet of toilet paper floating in there in your attempts to clean up the mess. And I agree, 10% is good enough. After all, I am home. Allow me.
Again darling, as I walk throughout our beautiful home that you so generously provide, I can't but thank you enough for your little tokens and reminders that you leave behind so that during the course of my otherwise painfully boring and mundane day I can be reminded how grateful I am that you merely exist. I live but to serve, and I serve so that I can live. You have enabled and empowered me to become all that I can be just by the simple act of reorganizing the pile of junk mail you stacked on the counter - torn envelopes and all. Or when I hang your coat in the closet that you walked PAST so that you could hang it on the back of the kitchen chair...again my joy is abundant. And my heart is brimming when for the 800th time that week, I put away the toaster, sweep up bread crumbs the size of my head, put the toilet seat down, and take the empty milk carton out of the fridge (no glass on the counter????Hmm. Not a conundrum...you were thinking of me when you drank right from the carton)
In closing, my feelings for you are so strong, so intense that I can't help but look at our wedding picture and my eyes fill with tears. And I think "I am bound to you for life...." Take that in whatever manner you see fit.
All of my love and affection~
Me
I quit...
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Ironic that this post comes on the heels of discussing the importance of the jobs that we all hold as moms...but we know you've all been there, done that too...
Ok, I have had it, so I quit my job. I mean, I get it, I am a stay at home mom, but I quit. I am so tired of playing referee, cook, chauffuer, maid, maid, maid, doctor, laundress supreme, plaything, homework helper, etc, etc, maid, maid, maid all without any appreciation or show of respect. The only thing that might make me consider changing my mind would be if my family walked up and presented me with a big fat paycheck...and the comma better be in the right place. I invite you to join me for a minute and see precisely WHY I give up.
Welcome to my home...your first stop is my lovely, spacious mudroom; specifically designed to house shoes, boots, hats, mittens, etc all neatly in one spot. You'd never know by looking at it though...I clean the mudroom, they tromp in with snow, salt, sand on their boots (which please keep in mind that they walked RIGHT PAST the oversized shoe rack I had installed in the garage) and dump them. The neatly hung hooks for their coats go unused, and the backpacks go on the floor next to said boots, because the bench that was made specifically for the damn backpacks is full of their coats and snowpants that they refuse to put on aforementioned hooks. I hope they are dry in the morning (and of course they will be because before I go to bed, I am the one to clean it all up).
Onto my bathrooms; I have 4 lovely ones available for your use. Please ignore the empty toilet paper rolls still hanging on the holder. OH WAIT! Someone was considerate enough to leave a full roll resting right on top of the empty one for you, how sweet. Please just step over the towels on the floor from the morning showers...oops! don't trip on the jammies! Should you feel the need to brush your teeth just go ahead and scrape some of the fossilized toothpaste that is crusted to the basin. The drawer where we keep toothbrushes and toothpaste look markedly similar. The toilets? Let's just say there are boys in this house. 'Nuff said.
Come on down to the kitchen (watch out for the legos, Barbies, and socks that didn't quite make it back upstairs as they were supposed to!) Breakfast, lunch and dinner dishes get cleared (only with prompting) only to be put onto the counter DIRECTLY ABOVE THE FRIGGING DISHWASHER. Can I offer you something to drink? Looks like we've got about a teaspoon of orange juice left, would you like some milk? There's at least a 1/8 cup left in this carton. Apple juice? Nevermind, someone just thought it'd be a good idea to keep the empty bottle cold. I would offer you a snack but I am a bit afraid to open the pantry, you see the organizational system I put into place was clearly not working for my family. After all, WHY would it make sense to keep all of the snack foods together? It makes things so much more efficient when the breakfast cereals are kept next to the cream of mushroom soup and the snacks for lunches are perfectly placed right near the baking goods. Duh. Why didn't I think of doing it that way? I mean, everytime I go for the pretzels I think "man, these would be great with some cornstarch on the side" Well whaddya know? There it is right NEXT to the pretzels, how convenient!
Back upstairs are our bedrooms and the laundry room. Oh yes, it's SO convenienct having the laundry room upstairs. Would you like to see our bedrooms? Mine houses the only bed that gets made. I guess it makes me feel like I have SOME SORT of household control...and of course I make it 99% of the time. That other 1% it gets begrudgingly made by my husband who totally disagrees with making the bed when you are only going to get back into it later that day (that might be the whole philosophical problem with the mayhem that I like to refer to as my home....my children seem to have inherited this unattractive trait). No, no my kids aren't still in bed, those are just blankets and pillows that you see there. And possibly dirty clothes and some clean ones as well. The laundry room has a very neatly placed shelving system (set into place by yours truly) but it is overflowing with the clothes that the kids dig out of their laundry baskets, because why would they bring them to their rooms when they have this BIG room to get clean clothes from? Again, DUH. I guess the laundry room is my whole family's walk-in closet. My husband apparently now has two walk-in closets. See? I told you it was convenient having the laundry room upstairs! Whatever, I'd invite you down to see our newly finished basement but I believe we were recently robbed and ransacked and the evil villains were only interested in the toy room...OH THE TOY ROOM. I won't even go in there anymore. I'm not sure what the crooks were looking for but they found it necessary to upend every container and dump out each game that we own. We hope that the police catch them soon.
Please, it is not like I have not tried . OH BOY HAVE I TRIED. Remember the Groundhog's Day Post?? I try everyday...several times a day I gently and sometimes not so gently remind them "Please throw towels and dirty clothes in the laundry, put your dishes in the dishwasher, boots are on the shelf where they belong, clean out the sink when you are done brushing, hang your coat on the hook,. blah blah blah...." I have had their hearing checked. I know it works. My favorite is when I ask nicely for something to be done, and then....nothing. No movement. No brain function, no body function. Then I ask with a little more authority. Still, nothing...then I YELL my request in their general direction. And they go "Geez. You didn't have to yell." YES I DID BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T LISTENING TO MY NICE VOICE!!! I have tried to explain that even though I am a stay at home mom, my job is NOT to pick up after you when you are clearly able....God bless us. I am not the slack-picker-upper for the slackers that I live with. I have no problem vacuuming, doing laundry, unloading the dishwasher, but I will not clean objects not found in nature out of a sink that I never use. I have tried the job chart, the family "time to shape up" meeting, etc. I've gotten mad, sad, and even took the "whatever" approach. But now I quit. I just plain quit. We'll see how they like it....God help me if they don't even notice.
Ok, I have had it, so I quit my job. I mean, I get it, I am a stay at home mom, but I quit. I am so tired of playing referee, cook, chauffuer, maid, maid, maid, doctor, laundress supreme, plaything, homework helper, etc, etc, maid, maid, maid all without any appreciation or show of respect. The only thing that might make me consider changing my mind would be if my family walked up and presented me with a big fat paycheck...and the comma better be in the right place. I invite you to join me for a minute and see precisely WHY I give up.
Welcome to my home...your first stop is my lovely, spacious mudroom; specifically designed to house shoes, boots, hats, mittens, etc all neatly in one spot. You'd never know by looking at it though...I clean the mudroom, they tromp in with snow, salt, sand on their boots (which please keep in mind that they walked RIGHT PAST the oversized shoe rack I had installed in the garage) and dump them. The neatly hung hooks for their coats go unused, and the backpacks go on the floor next to said boots, because the bench that was made specifically for the damn backpacks is full of their coats and snowpants that they refuse to put on aforementioned hooks. I hope they are dry in the morning (and of course they will be because before I go to bed, I am the one to clean it all up).
Onto my bathrooms; I have 4 lovely ones available for your use. Please ignore the empty toilet paper rolls still hanging on the holder. OH WAIT! Someone was considerate enough to leave a full roll resting right on top of the empty one for you, how sweet. Please just step over the towels on the floor from the morning showers...oops! don't trip on the jammies! Should you feel the need to brush your teeth just go ahead and scrape some of the fossilized toothpaste that is crusted to the basin. The drawer where we keep toothbrushes and toothpaste look markedly similar. The toilets? Let's just say there are boys in this house. 'Nuff said.
Come on down to the kitchen (watch out for the legos, Barbies, and socks that didn't quite make it back upstairs as they were supposed to!) Breakfast, lunch and dinner dishes get cleared (only with prompting) only to be put onto the counter DIRECTLY ABOVE THE FRIGGING DISHWASHER. Can I offer you something to drink? Looks like we've got about a teaspoon of orange juice left, would you like some milk? There's at least a 1/8 cup left in this carton. Apple juice? Nevermind, someone just thought it'd be a good idea to keep the empty bottle cold. I would offer you a snack but I am a bit afraid to open the pantry, you see the organizational system I put into place was clearly not working for my family. After all, WHY would it make sense to keep all of the snack foods together? It makes things so much more efficient when the breakfast cereals are kept next to the cream of mushroom soup and the snacks for lunches are perfectly placed right near the baking goods. Duh. Why didn't I think of doing it that way? I mean, everytime I go for the pretzels I think "man, these would be great with some cornstarch on the side" Well whaddya know? There it is right NEXT to the pretzels, how convenient!
Back upstairs are our bedrooms and the laundry room. Oh yes, it's SO convenienct having the laundry room upstairs. Would you like to see our bedrooms? Mine houses the only bed that gets made. I guess it makes me feel like I have SOME SORT of household control...and of course I make it 99% of the time. That other 1% it gets begrudgingly made by my husband who totally disagrees with making the bed when you are only going to get back into it later that day (that might be the whole philosophical problem with the mayhem that I like to refer to as my home....my children seem to have inherited this unattractive trait). No, no my kids aren't still in bed, those are just blankets and pillows that you see there. And possibly dirty clothes and some clean ones as well. The laundry room has a very neatly placed shelving system (set into place by yours truly) but it is overflowing with the clothes that the kids dig out of their laundry baskets, because why would they bring them to their rooms when they have this BIG room to get clean clothes from? Again, DUH. I guess the laundry room is my whole family's walk-in closet. My husband apparently now has two walk-in closets. See? I told you it was convenient having the laundry room upstairs! Whatever, I'd invite you down to see our newly finished basement but I believe we were recently robbed and ransacked and the evil villains were only interested in the toy room...OH THE TOY ROOM. I won't even go in there anymore. I'm not sure what the crooks were looking for but they found it necessary to upend every container and dump out each game that we own. We hope that the police catch them soon.
Please, it is not like I have not tried . OH BOY HAVE I TRIED. Remember the Groundhog's Day Post?? I try everyday...several times a day I gently and sometimes not so gently remind them "Please throw towels and dirty clothes in the laundry, put your dishes in the dishwasher, boots are on the shelf where they belong, clean out the sink when you are done brushing, hang your coat on the hook,. blah blah blah...." I have had their hearing checked. I know it works. My favorite is when I ask nicely for something to be done, and then....nothing. No movement. No brain function, no body function. Then I ask with a little more authority. Still, nothing...then I YELL my request in their general direction. And they go "Geez. You didn't have to yell." YES I DID BECAUSE YOU WEREN'T LISTENING TO MY NICE VOICE!!! I have tried to explain that even though I am a stay at home mom, my job is NOT to pick up after you when you are clearly able....God bless us. I am not the slack-picker-upper for the slackers that I live with. I have no problem vacuuming, doing laundry, unloading the dishwasher, but I will not clean objects not found in nature out of a sink that I never use. I have tried the job chart, the family "time to shape up" meeting, etc. I've gotten mad, sad, and even took the "whatever" approach. But now I quit. I just plain quit. We'll see how they like it....God help me if they don't even notice.
Please stand and Pledge Your Allegiance...
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So, this past week we attempted to define the three major types of MOMs out there; the SAHM, the WM, and the WFHM (which to me looks like an acronym of something that would have prompted a squirt of soap in my mouth from my mother). Our goal was to highlight the main responsibilities, trials and triumphs associated with each of these titles. We heard that some of you were exhausted merely READING the synapses of the daily diagram for each corresponding role...and that was our point. We are all working moms, we are all important but the bottom line is, we still don't understand how Johnny's mom could miss the classroom party because she had a meeting? Or how Ellie's mom brought (GASP) a box of Twinkies for the cake walk...or how we overheard Mrs. Smith at the grocery store talking about how her kids have eaten only buttered noodles for breakfast this week and she has only had time to shower twice...and it is Friday! We have all caught our naughty little selves judging the "lazy stay-at-home" mom, or the money and power hungry "working mom"...or the "She can't decide what she wants to focus on so she burns the candle at both ends and looks like hell because of it" work from home mom. But this is the bottom line....we are a sisterhood. From this moment on, no judging. We have heard that the summaries have been met with laughter, tears and outright applause (ok, that was from us) for hitting the nail on the head with each description. So now you know what goes on behind closed doors (and closed windows at our house....I've learned my lesson about yelling at my kids with the windows open...and once with the monitor still plugged in on the deck. Yikes). So stand if you will, place one hand over your heart and vow with me: "I hereby declare that I will not judge other mothers for what they need to do to get through each day. Because motherhood is about survival and we each are armed with different tools. If my WFH neighbor needs to leave the playgroup in a cold sweat because her boss just called about a report, I will not assume she loves her mothering job less. If my SAHM friend has been wearing the same sweat pants for three days and she has a peanut butter hand print on the back of her hooded sweatshirt from high school, I will tell her only because I understand. If my WM friend cannot attend the Halloween Hoopla for kindergarten, I will take pictures and email them to her and know that she would probably rather be here than in a meeting about setting up another meeting. Because we are all on the same team. We are moms, united we stand otherwise those little buggers and other mother judgers will get the best of us and before we know it we will all be wearing orange jammies and taking a state-funded vacation in a fun place called Floor 9 of our local health care facility. Amen"
So, hopefully you enjoyed our tongue-in-cheek spin on the roles we all play. The bottom line is this....we hope you are doing what you want to be doing. My sister has stated that she is a better mom because she works, and she realized that early on. More power to her. We don't all need to fall into the socialized roles that have been defined for us. If you want to work, stay home, or work from home then good for you. If you find yourself reluctantly in one of the above roles, know that you are doing the best you can with what you have been given. And the most important thing is, that at the end of whatever your day brings to you, make sure those little critters you spawned know that you love them.
Whew....that was a little too serious. Damn and our apologies! We will get back on track tomorrow, let's throw a "holy shit" in here just for good measure.
But good news!!! We have broken 500 fans on our facebook page, in just THREE weeks! SO, as a thank you, whoever becomes an official "follower" on our Epidural blog page (directions are below for the technicologically challenged, myself included) and leaves us a comment with your email address, we will be having a random drawing NEXT MONDAY Feb 22nd for two small prizes. Start your day with and Epidural AND a prize...does it get much better??!!
Thanks again for being fans. We are happy to have had such a great start.
Directions to become a follower: Go to the top box on the rigth hand side of the blog page, click on FOLLOW, sign in with your google, aim or yahoo ID. If you do not have any of the above it easy to create one. Now you're official. Invite friends, relatives and random strangers to do the same :)
So, hopefully you enjoyed our tongue-in-cheek spin on the roles we all play. The bottom line is this....we hope you are doing what you want to be doing. My sister has stated that she is a better mom because she works, and she realized that early on. More power to her. We don't all need to fall into the socialized roles that have been defined for us. If you want to work, stay home, or work from home then good for you. If you find yourself reluctantly in one of the above roles, know that you are doing the best you can with what you have been given. And the most important thing is, that at the end of whatever your day brings to you, make sure those little critters you spawned know that you love them.
Whew....that was a little too serious. Damn and our apologies! We will get back on track tomorrow, let's throw a "holy shit" in here just for good measure.
But good news!!! We have broken 500 fans on our facebook page, in just THREE weeks! SO, as a thank you, whoever becomes an official "follower" on our Epidural blog page (directions are below for the technicologically challenged, myself included) and leaves us a comment with your email address, we will be having a random drawing NEXT MONDAY Feb 22nd for two small prizes. Start your day with and Epidural AND a prize...does it get much better??!!
Thanks again for being fans. We are happy to have had such a great start.
Directions to become a follower: Go to the top box on the rigth hand side of the blog page, click on FOLLOW, sign in with your google, aim or yahoo ID. If you do not have any of the above it easy to create one. Now you're official. Invite friends, relatives and random strangers to do the same :)
Best of both worlds?!?!?!?
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The work from home mom (WFHM)....or shall I say The "As if working isn't crazy enough, and parenting isn't crazy enough, let's get super freaky and combine the two" mom.
So, there you are in your office/cube, whatever your workplace geographical terrain looked like. Zooming along in your career, climbing that ladder, shattering those ceilings and stereotypes. You may have even had your name on the door...then the EPT comes back positive. You spent several years in academia, but still stare in awe and utter confusion. You have the stick you just peed on in one hand, and the directions (ENGLISH side after the initial shock makes you realize you don't speak Spanish) but you still can't decipher what this actually means. I mean, you know that it means you are pregnant, but you are hoping somewhere in those 6 pages of directions and (EEEWWW) diagrams it will explain to you how you are to react and conduct the next 30 years of your life. The directions should say "Throw away these directions because you are damned if you do and damned if you don't and that little blue PLUS sign just injected you with ginormous amounts of guilt that you never could have even possibly imagined...even for a Catholic girl."
Fast forward to one of the more memorable O.B appointments (yes, one where the doctor did not use his whole fist in an orifice the size of a walnut) By the way, non-sequitur here, any man in OB residency should have a catheter the size of a popsicle inserted daily to give them a little empathy when it comes to pregnant women and their va-J-Js. I digress. In this appointment, the dr. notices your blackberry, rolodex, Palm Pre and Coach briefcase lying neatly on top of your Gap Maternity ensemble. He nods in their general direction and says "I bet after this little baby comes, you are going to want to stay home." To which you (and I totally mean ME here if you haven't noticed yet) scoff and say "I will love my baby more, but I will still love my career"...at the time you don't get what his shit-eating-grin is about.....until we fast forward one more time to when you hold that smelly, slimy, purplish blue little Yoda-esque creature wrapped and swaddled in your tired, exhausted post-birth arms and you fall head over heels completely over the moon in love. And the thought of letting a stranger feed, change, rock or even breathe in your little angel's direction makes you literally sick to your stomach (or was that the drugs wearing off)?
Nonetheless, the twelve (if you are truly lucky or crafty in the ways of maternity leave) weeks rush on by until the night of that 89th day (that is twelve weeks amortized out into days for dramatic affect) when you cry the entire time you bathe, feed and put your baby to bed just thinking about daycare and your return to the workplace that you vowed you loved so much and would never leave. So you announce that you would like to explore the possibility of working from home.
You obviously can't leave the career you have worked so hard to excel at, but you can't possibly drop off your little people at daycare everyday either. Then hit hits you, the answer to your prayers, the PERFECT solution that will give you the best of both worlds....you telecommute - the fancy buzzword of the nineties that allows you the flexibility of autonomy and independence. I am laughing out loud as I stated that last line, because those, as any WFHM knows are counterintuitive. That last word hurt my brain, and by all accounts, I should stop, but in typical WFHM fashion, we can't stop....the word does not exist in our vocabulary.
You thought (I thought) the home office was the ideal situation. But as we all know, nothing beckons a screaming, crying or vomiting child like a call from a client. The house can be virtually silent and chaos-free, but when the cell phone or business line ring, kids have a tendency to be overcome in a Poltergeist-esque tantrum, violent bouts of diarrhea or spontaneous bleeding. It is the Murphy's Law of the home office. And of course, proving that you can handle both (because you promised your boss you could) you simultaneously apply a tourniquet, take notes on your laptop, make a killer PB&J (no crust) and conduct a phone conference that would make Donald Trump proud. That is all by 11am. You have actually been on your computer since 6am before the demons awoke (at the office or from the bunk beds) to lurch you full force into your "What can I do for YOU today" mode.
You wanted your boss to see that the emails were sent bright and early and that your check list was complete, because you have an important date at the park...that is the joy of the WFHM right? You can do whatever you want, whenever you want and still enjoy that paycheck. Unfortunately it doesn't take the WFHM long to figure out that she is neither autonomous nor independent. If the boss does not need her, the children do, and the husband (who leaves you a list a mile long...since you are home) and the clients, and the other moms who have the privilege of actually JUST STAYING HOME. And no one can understand that this leisurely trip to the park with the cherubs can turn into a "freak-me-the-hell out, I am sweating out of my eye sockets full blown panic attack" when the WFHM realizes that she may have just forgotten her cell phone at home. It is like trying to leave the house without your kidneys - it is not possible nor practical. And it may just result in death.
So you smile, swing, slide and cavort at the park, make a quick stop at Starbucks and Target (because that's what SAHMs do) all the while fighting that inner panic that is peck, peck, pecking away at your ever-increasing bleeding ulcer. How many emails do I have? How many voice mails do I have? You feel guilty that you could not just simply enjoy playtime with your child because you feel guilty that a client or GOD AND HEAVEN FORBID your boss's missed call went into voicemail. You're just relieved upon pulling into your driveway that your boss is not waiting on your front porch. So you set junior up with a snack and a movie while you dig into the working world that went on without you for awhile...because technically you are a working mom so it is time to act like one. Return a phone call. "Mommy, my juice is empty" Return an email "Mommy, I spilled." Return another phone call and subsequent email from someone that was annoyed that you did not call them back right away "Mommy, will you play with me." Yes, of course darling. The other 42 voicemails and emails can wait. But all of the while they are there, hanging on your back as you roll around in the grass with your kids...wait....is that my phone?? And you don't answer it, because it is playtime and you know those emails and voicemails....they never go away. And the home office...it is like the workplace version of Herpes...it will always be there waiting for you...at 6am, 11am, 12:30pm, at snacktime, naptime, post-dinnertime and OF COURSE after bedtime (yours and the kids) Oh....and since you are home, don't forget the laundry, the bills, the hand-scrubbed floor, the 24 cupcakes for the class party...which since you are "technically" a stay at home mom should be homemade and not store-bought like "those working moms" do. And since you feel you need to go out of your way to prove your SAHM status, you take the cupcake deal (and every other project you can't say no to - because we WFHM do not say that horrid word - well, except maybe your husband) to another level by piping each classmates name on the cupcake in homemade frosting with a Martha-worthy flair that will not matter one damn bit to the sugar hounds that devour them in three miliseconds. But the expertly piped frosting made YOU feel good . Speaking of pipes - the WFHM mom feels like she should be smoking one. Ahhhh....this is the best of both worlds. Right, RIGHT? I will have a full report to you on that by 6am...
So, there you are in your office/cube, whatever your workplace geographical terrain looked like. Zooming along in your career, climbing that ladder, shattering those ceilings and stereotypes. You may have even had your name on the door...then the EPT comes back positive. You spent several years in academia, but still stare in awe and utter confusion. You have the stick you just peed on in one hand, and the directions (ENGLISH side after the initial shock makes you realize you don't speak Spanish) but you still can't decipher what this actually means. I mean, you know that it means you are pregnant, but you are hoping somewhere in those 6 pages of directions and (EEEWWW) diagrams it will explain to you how you are to react and conduct the next 30 years of your life. The directions should say "Throw away these directions because you are damned if you do and damned if you don't and that little blue PLUS sign just injected you with ginormous amounts of guilt that you never could have even possibly imagined...even for a Catholic girl."
Fast forward to one of the more memorable O.B appointments (yes, one where the doctor did not use his whole fist in an orifice the size of a walnut) By the way, non-sequitur here, any man in OB residency should have a catheter the size of a popsicle inserted daily to give them a little empathy when it comes to pregnant women and their va-J-Js. I digress. In this appointment, the dr. notices your blackberry, rolodex, Palm Pre and Coach briefcase lying neatly on top of your Gap Maternity ensemble. He nods in their general direction and says "I bet after this little baby comes, you are going to want to stay home." To which you (and I totally mean ME here if you haven't noticed yet) scoff and say "I will love my baby more, but I will still love my career"...at the time you don't get what his shit-eating-grin is about.....until we fast forward one more time to when you hold that smelly, slimy, purplish blue little Yoda-esque creature wrapped and swaddled in your tired, exhausted post-birth arms and you fall head over heels completely over the moon in love. And the thought of letting a stranger feed, change, rock or even breathe in your little angel's direction makes you literally sick to your stomach (or was that the drugs wearing off)?
Nonetheless, the twelve (if you are truly lucky or crafty in the ways of maternity leave) weeks rush on by until the night of that 89th day (that is twelve weeks amortized out into days for dramatic affect) when you cry the entire time you bathe, feed and put your baby to bed just thinking about daycare and your return to the workplace that you vowed you loved so much and would never leave. So you announce that you would like to explore the possibility of working from home.
You obviously can't leave the career you have worked so hard to excel at, but you can't possibly drop off your little people at daycare everyday either. Then hit hits you, the answer to your prayers, the PERFECT solution that will give you the best of both worlds....you telecommute - the fancy buzzword of the nineties that allows you the flexibility of autonomy and independence. I am laughing out loud as I stated that last line, because those, as any WFHM knows are counterintuitive. That last word hurt my brain, and by all accounts, I should stop, but in typical WFHM fashion, we can't stop....the word does not exist in our vocabulary.
You thought (I thought) the home office was the ideal situation. But as we all know, nothing beckons a screaming, crying or vomiting child like a call from a client. The house can be virtually silent and chaos-free, but when the cell phone or business line ring, kids have a tendency to be overcome in a Poltergeist-esque tantrum, violent bouts of diarrhea or spontaneous bleeding. It is the Murphy's Law of the home office. And of course, proving that you can handle both (because you promised your boss you could) you simultaneously apply a tourniquet, take notes on your laptop, make a killer PB&J (no crust) and conduct a phone conference that would make Donald Trump proud. That is all by 11am. You have actually been on your computer since 6am before the demons awoke (at the office or from the bunk beds) to lurch you full force into your "What can I do for YOU today" mode.
You wanted your boss to see that the emails were sent bright and early and that your check list was complete, because you have an important date at the park...that is the joy of the WFHM right? You can do whatever you want, whenever you want and still enjoy that paycheck. Unfortunately it doesn't take the WFHM long to figure out that she is neither autonomous nor independent. If the boss does not need her, the children do, and the husband (who leaves you a list a mile long...since you are home) and the clients, and the other moms who have the privilege of actually JUST STAYING HOME. And no one can understand that this leisurely trip to the park with the cherubs can turn into a "freak-me-the-hell out, I am sweating out of my eye sockets full blown panic attack" when the WFHM realizes that she may have just forgotten her cell phone at home. It is like trying to leave the house without your kidneys - it is not possible nor practical. And it may just result in death.
So you smile, swing, slide and cavort at the park, make a quick stop at Starbucks and Target (because that's what SAHMs do) all the while fighting that inner panic that is peck, peck, pecking away at your ever-increasing bleeding ulcer. How many emails do I have? How many voice mails do I have? You feel guilty that you could not just simply enjoy playtime with your child because you feel guilty that a client or GOD AND HEAVEN FORBID your boss's missed call went into voicemail. You're just relieved upon pulling into your driveway that your boss is not waiting on your front porch. So you set junior up with a snack and a movie while you dig into the working world that went on without you for awhile...because technically you are a working mom so it is time to act like one. Return a phone call. "Mommy, my juice is empty" Return an email "Mommy, I spilled." Return another phone call and subsequent email from someone that was annoyed that you did not call them back right away "Mommy, will you play with me." Yes, of course darling. The other 42 voicemails and emails can wait. But all of the while they are there, hanging on your back as you roll around in the grass with your kids...wait....is that my phone?? And you don't answer it, because it is playtime and you know those emails and voicemails....they never go away. And the home office...it is like the workplace version of Herpes...it will always be there waiting for you...at 6am, 11am, 12:30pm, at snacktime, naptime, post-dinnertime and OF COURSE after bedtime (yours and the kids) Oh....and since you are home, don't forget the laundry, the bills, the hand-scrubbed floor, the 24 cupcakes for the class party...which since you are "technically" a stay at home mom should be homemade and not store-bought like "those working moms" do. And since you feel you need to go out of your way to prove your SAHM status, you take the cupcake deal (and every other project you can't say no to - because we WFHM do not say that horrid word - well, except maybe your husband) to another level by piping each classmates name on the cupcake in homemade frosting with a Martha-worthy flair that will not matter one damn bit to the sugar hounds that devour them in three miliseconds. But the expertly piped frosting made YOU feel good . Speaking of pipes - the WFHM mom feels like she should be smoking one. Ahhhh....this is the best of both worlds. Right, RIGHT? I will have a full report to you on that by 6am...
The "stay-at-home-but-I-still-work-my-ass-off" mom...
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My sister and I have done it all; we've worked outside the home, worked FROM home, and we're both currently staying at home being wife, mom, chauffeur, chef, maid, finder-of-lost things, master of last minute projects, homework helper, and maid (yep, deserves being mentioned twice).
There are many misconceptions about the "stay-at-home-mom" (aka: SAHM). One being she does exactly that: she stays at home. She goes nowhere, she does nothing, other than stay at home with kids all day. Let me just tell you, after a few days of staying at home, doing nothing, hanging out with only her kids she's going to start chanting "red rum, red rum" and channeling her inner Jack Nicholson. The SAHM actually does everything in her power to NOT stay at home. She carves out a routine where many believe one doesn't exist. She craves that routine, she desperately NEEDS that routine. Without it, she is left floundering, flailing about in the unknown, spiraling downward and left wondering "Is it Tuesday? Or October?". No, my friends, the SAHM is actually a silly term. It should actually be the "I don't work outside the home but for the sake of my sanity and lives of my children I need a routine and schedule and I cannot possibly STAY at home all day so I get out as often as possible" mom. But let's be honest, that one is kind of a mouthful and certainly isn't going to become popular via Facebook statuses anytime soon so we'll just stick with the "stay-at-home-mom" for the time being.
The day of the SAHM often begins when she, in a very gung-ho, go get 'em tiger kind of way, sets her alarm early with the intent of getting up and working out before the kids get up. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But lemme tell ya, when you've got visions of Jillian Michaels breathing down your neck, snuggling under the covers for just a "few more minutes" is a BAD idea. So depending on how intimidating thoughts of a sadistic bitch are for inspiring a workout, she begins her day (very often neglecting the workout...for now anyway, she'll "do it later"). Time to wake the troops...the SAHM is often left wondering why it is so very, very difficult to wake sleeping children on a school day yet these same children are often up EARLIER and on a voluntary basis on the weekends. At any rate, when she drags their sleeping bodies from bed an instant chorus of "Why do I always have to get up first?" and "I don't want to go to school today" echoes throughout the house. However, the SAHM is a unique creature in that she has developed an immunity to high-pitched whining. Like dogs CAN hear it? Moms can't, or at least pretend they can't.
For whatever reason, the time spent getting children ready for school seems to fly by. She is rushing around barking out commands and issuing instructions: "brush your teeth" "get some socks on" "NO we do not have time to build a pillow fort" "I don't know where your backpack is, where did you leave it last?" "DID YOU GET YOUR LUNCHBOX OUT FOR ME SO I CAN PACK YOUR LUNCH? I'VE ONLY ASKED YOU A DOZEN TIMES!!! DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT WANT TO EAT LUNCH TODAY!?!?!?!?" To which her child timidly replies: "but I asked if I could buy lunch today" Whoops...sorry 'bout that, go get mom's wallet. The morning rushes by and somedays it's like watching a beautifully choreographed ballet, other days it's like watching a drunk herd of stampeding buffaloes stumble their way around with a deer-in-the-headlights gaze permanently fixed on the faces of everyone in the house (including mom because her cup of coffee is left untouched and forgotten in the microwave...again...).
Once backpacks are finally on, mittens are found, lunch money has been doled out the door slams, the SAHM is left only with the little people. She has the very intent goal of being out of the house by a specific time for running errands and hopefully squeezing in story time at the library. Now, although the SAHM does very often create a schedule for herself and her children, the one luxury of not working outside the home is that she can often afford for wiggle room in said schedule. She tries to avoid hiccups at all costs because they can mean the difference in having enough time to get a coffee before getting through Target, and then the grocery store, post office, and the bank or having to skip the aforementioned altogether and only getting the bank checked off her list for the day. After the distractions of email, Facebook, the ladder leading to big sister's loft bed, Baby Center, Nick Jr., and the never-ending bucket of fruit snacks in the pantry have been dealt with, she is finally able to leave the house (albeit a bit behind schedule).
No time for coffee so she heads to the snack area at Target (where they recognize her instantly) where she settles for a diet coke and a "sample bag" of popcorn for her little person. The popcorn sometimes works for the toddler, sometimes it doesn't as she's at that age where being confined to the cart is akin to losing a limb or dropping a coveted package of fruit snacks. She does her best to calm the screeching, and may have to resort to bribing (my toddler learned the word "treat" early on in life...not proud of that one). She takes a well traveled route throughout the store (the one that avoids the toy and movie department) so she can escape with as few tantrums as possible. But there have been the trips where she has to ask the cashier to return Clap with Me Elmo, Tickle my Foot Elmo, Go Potty with Me Elmo, Sing Annoying Nursery Rhymes with Me Elmo, Kiss my Ass Elmo and 12 "babies" back to the shelves as tossing them haphazardly in the cart at her toddler was the only way she could get through the store unscathed (but she realizes later she forgot milk because there was no room for it in the cart). Story time at the library is usually an adventure; one she attempts only so often (after they lifted the ban on her and her toddler after an unfortunate incident involving a rotating rack and an unsuspecting librarian). There are days her toddler will cuddle in her lap and listen quietly to a few books, but then there are days where seemingly hers is the only toddler running all over hell and gone yelling "MOM!" from all corners of the library and gathering books from damn near every shelf. Time to go...
Lunchtime is typically painless and the SAHM's chance to grab something for herself to eat, sometimes the crusts of the toddler's grilled cheese but if she guiltily skipped that morning's workout, she'll throw together a quick salad. However said salad is often shared with the toddler, who ends up eating more of it than mom. Nick Jr. often provides the background noise like the members of the Rat Pack in an Italian restaurant. The mom has occasionally found herself transfixed by Yo Gabba Gabba without a child in sight. Don't judge. Naptime is a blissful reprieve from mothering for a bit, yet the mom typically uses naptime as her chance to throw in a few loads of laundry, unload and reload the dishwasher, call the cable company (as she promised her spouse she would 2 days ago), emails child #1's teacher about the Valentine's Day party, pick up the explosion of Fisher Price, Mattel, and Lego from her family room (even though it will all end up back on the floor later anyway), and maybe, just maybe get a chance to get on Facebook for a few minutes...but she really should work out since she didn't do it this morning. OR there are the days when all household duties are neglected in favor of nothin' but Facebook and mindless computer games (but then of course she'll spend the rest of the day panicking over unfinished "chores" and feeling guilty for doing them instead of spending time with the kids). Before she knows it, the toddler is awake and the big ones have returned home leaving a trail of backpacks, boots, mittens, and a sheaf of papers which are seemingly important (SO important that they warrant a place of honor under wet, snowy boots). Snacks are handed out, somehow Nick Jr. has found it's way back on (and let me just say that Ni Hao, Kai Lan has made me NOT want to learn Chinese) and homework is started despite the big ones' best efforts to claim they will do it later and please please please can I go outside for just a little bit? The SAHM knows that if she lets them go outside prior to finishing homework, getting them to do it later will result in a battle that rivals Normandy. Blocking out the grumbling and whining she begins to prepare dinner while homework is being begrudgingly completed. She does a quick pick up session around the house because she KNOWS her husband will walk in, take a look around and ask "So, what'd you do all day?" which will result in her wanting to punch him in the baby maker. After a whirlwind evening of dinner, baths/showers, bedtime snack, just "one more" episode of Zack and Cody, a round of Memory, a few more loads of laundry, books, and teeth brushing the ankle biters are off to bed and the SAHM has a chance to breathe for a minute. Before she passes out on the couch to her DVR'd episode of Greys' she gets the coffee pot ready for the morning (even though her cup from that morning is still in the microwave), finds backpacks, makes lunches, scrapes papers off the floor from their spot where they have dried to the laminate under the boots, signs permission slips, picks up another tornado of toys, and then sets her alarm because dammit, TOMORROW she will get up early and work out.
There are many misconceptions about the "stay-at-home-mom" (aka: SAHM). One being she does exactly that: she stays at home. She goes nowhere, she does nothing, other than stay at home with kids all day. Let me just tell you, after a few days of staying at home, doing nothing, hanging out with only her kids she's going to start chanting "red rum, red rum" and channeling her inner Jack Nicholson. The SAHM actually does everything in her power to NOT stay at home. She carves out a routine where many believe one doesn't exist. She craves that routine, she desperately NEEDS that routine. Without it, she is left floundering, flailing about in the unknown, spiraling downward and left wondering "Is it Tuesday? Or October?". No, my friends, the SAHM is actually a silly term. It should actually be the "I don't work outside the home but for the sake of my sanity and lives of my children I need a routine and schedule and I cannot possibly STAY at home all day so I get out as often as possible" mom. But let's be honest, that one is kind of a mouthful and certainly isn't going to become popular via Facebook statuses anytime soon so we'll just stick with the "stay-at-home-mom" for the time being.
The day of the SAHM often begins when she, in a very gung-ho, go get 'em tiger kind of way, sets her alarm early with the intent of getting up and working out before the kids get up. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But lemme tell ya, when you've got visions of Jillian Michaels breathing down your neck, snuggling under the covers for just a "few more minutes" is a BAD idea. So depending on how intimidating thoughts of a sadistic bitch are for inspiring a workout, she begins her day (very often neglecting the workout...for now anyway, she'll "do it later"). Time to wake the troops...the SAHM is often left wondering why it is so very, very difficult to wake sleeping children on a school day yet these same children are often up EARLIER and on a voluntary basis on the weekends. At any rate, when she drags their sleeping bodies from bed an instant chorus of "Why do I always have to get up first?" and "I don't want to go to school today" echoes throughout the house. However, the SAHM is a unique creature in that she has developed an immunity to high-pitched whining. Like dogs CAN hear it? Moms can't, or at least pretend they can't.
For whatever reason, the time spent getting children ready for school seems to fly by. She is rushing around barking out commands and issuing instructions: "brush your teeth" "get some socks on" "NO we do not have time to build a pillow fort" "I don't know where your backpack is, where did you leave it last?" "DID YOU GET YOUR LUNCHBOX OUT FOR ME SO I CAN PACK YOUR LUNCH? I'VE ONLY ASKED YOU A DOZEN TIMES!!! DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT WANT TO EAT LUNCH TODAY!?!?!?!?" To which her child timidly replies: "but I asked if I could buy lunch today" Whoops...sorry 'bout that, go get mom's wallet. The morning rushes by and somedays it's like watching a beautifully choreographed ballet, other days it's like watching a drunk herd of stampeding buffaloes stumble their way around with a deer-in-the-headlights gaze permanently fixed on the faces of everyone in the house (including mom because her cup of coffee is left untouched and forgotten in the microwave...again...).
Once backpacks are finally on, mittens are found, lunch money has been doled out the door slams, the SAHM is left only with the little people. She has the very intent goal of being out of the house by a specific time for running errands and hopefully squeezing in story time at the library. Now, although the SAHM does very often create a schedule for herself and her children, the one luxury of not working outside the home is that she can often afford for wiggle room in said schedule. She tries to avoid hiccups at all costs because they can mean the difference in having enough time to get a coffee before getting through Target, and then the grocery store, post office, and the bank or having to skip the aforementioned altogether and only getting the bank checked off her list for the day. After the distractions of email, Facebook, the ladder leading to big sister's loft bed, Baby Center, Nick Jr., and the never-ending bucket of fruit snacks in the pantry have been dealt with, she is finally able to leave the house (albeit a bit behind schedule).
No time for coffee so she heads to the snack area at Target (where they recognize her instantly) where she settles for a diet coke and a "sample bag" of popcorn for her little person. The popcorn sometimes works for the toddler, sometimes it doesn't as she's at that age where being confined to the cart is akin to losing a limb or dropping a coveted package of fruit snacks. She does her best to calm the screeching, and may have to resort to bribing (my toddler learned the word "treat" early on in life...not proud of that one). She takes a well traveled route throughout the store (the one that avoids the toy and movie department) so she can escape with as few tantrums as possible. But there have been the trips where she has to ask the cashier to return Clap with Me Elmo, Tickle my Foot Elmo, Go Potty with Me Elmo, Sing Annoying Nursery Rhymes with Me Elmo, Kiss my Ass Elmo and 12 "babies" back to the shelves as tossing them haphazardly in the cart at her toddler was the only way she could get through the store unscathed (but she realizes later she forgot milk because there was no room for it in the cart). Story time at the library is usually an adventure; one she attempts only so often (after they lifted the ban on her and her toddler after an unfortunate incident involving a rotating rack and an unsuspecting librarian). There are days her toddler will cuddle in her lap and listen quietly to a few books, but then there are days where seemingly hers is the only toddler running all over hell and gone yelling "MOM!" from all corners of the library and gathering books from damn near every shelf. Time to go...
Lunchtime is typically painless and the SAHM's chance to grab something for herself to eat, sometimes the crusts of the toddler's grilled cheese but if she guiltily skipped that morning's workout, she'll throw together a quick salad. However said salad is often shared with the toddler, who ends up eating more of it than mom. Nick Jr. often provides the background noise like the members of the Rat Pack in an Italian restaurant. The mom has occasionally found herself transfixed by Yo Gabba Gabba without a child in sight. Don't judge. Naptime is a blissful reprieve from mothering for a bit, yet the mom typically uses naptime as her chance to throw in a few loads of laundry, unload and reload the dishwasher, call the cable company (as she promised her spouse she would 2 days ago), emails child #1's teacher about the Valentine's Day party, pick up the explosion of Fisher Price, Mattel, and Lego from her family room (even though it will all end up back on the floor later anyway), and maybe, just maybe get a chance to get on Facebook for a few minutes...but she really should work out since she didn't do it this morning. OR there are the days when all household duties are neglected in favor of nothin' but Facebook and mindless computer games (but then of course she'll spend the rest of the day panicking over unfinished "chores" and feeling guilty for doing them instead of spending time with the kids). Before she knows it, the toddler is awake and the big ones have returned home leaving a trail of backpacks, boots, mittens, and a sheaf of papers which are seemingly important (SO important that they warrant a place of honor under wet, snowy boots). Snacks are handed out, somehow Nick Jr. has found it's way back on (and let me just say that Ni Hao, Kai Lan has made me NOT want to learn Chinese) and homework is started despite the big ones' best efforts to claim they will do it later and please please please can I go outside for just a little bit? The SAHM knows that if she lets them go outside prior to finishing homework, getting them to do it later will result in a battle that rivals Normandy. Blocking out the grumbling and whining she begins to prepare dinner while homework is being begrudgingly completed. She does a quick pick up session around the house because she KNOWS her husband will walk in, take a look around and ask "So, what'd you do all day?" which will result in her wanting to punch him in the baby maker. After a whirlwind evening of dinner, baths/showers, bedtime snack, just "one more" episode of Zack and Cody, a round of Memory, a few more loads of laundry, books, and teeth brushing the ankle biters are off to bed and the SAHM has a chance to breathe for a minute. Before she passes out on the couch to her DVR'd episode of Greys' she gets the coffee pot ready for the morning (even though her cup from that morning is still in the microwave), finds backpacks, makes lunches, scrapes papers off the floor from their spot where they have dried to the laminate under the boots, signs permission slips, picks up another tornado of toys, and then sets her alarm because dammit, TOMORROW she will get up early and work out.
Aren't ALL moms working moms????
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From what I can tell and have experienced, there are three types of moms ( I am not talking about Mrs. Cleaver, Mrs. Munster and Mommy Dearest - we will address those later I am sure) There is the stay at home mom, the work from home mom and the working mom. Between the two of us, we have experienced all three. Let's dissect today's mom.....
The working mom - I think we can all agree that the name alone is a huge misnomer. This should be an example of "redundant" in the dictionary. Aren't ALL moms working? For the sake of argument, this mom is the "work outside the home mom" (aka: WOHM); The moms who leave the home, and return with a paycheck.
The alarm clock goes off at the ass crack of dawn to an obnoxious song that she only knows two lines to and will be stuck in her head all day, but who doesn't love Brittany Spears at 5 am, right?? Most WOHMs will get themselves ready before even attempting to arouse the children, because once they are up there is no hope of doing anything for herself. No chance of putting on mascara because someone can't find the shirt they so desperately NEED to wear. No chance of changing shoes because the baby just dumped Cheerios all over the kitchen floor. No chance of packing herself anything to eat because today they've decided they don't WANT peanut butter, they want ham and why do I always have to eat fruit at school??? She looks as if she hasn't gotten ready yet because she dons a robe OVER her suit so that no one can get any bananas, snot or Gogurts on it as she is coercing her semi-awake children to eat something. She then tackles the task of attempting to put some form of an outfit on their bodies. It is like dressing a wet noodle..or a chihuahua on crack depending on the mood that day; unfortunately someone always ends up crying (even the mom which will really piss her off especially if she was actually lucky enough to get her mascara on that day). When the mom leaves the home, more often than not she is wrestling one or more kids (somewhat lethargic, therefore fairly cooperative), diaper bags, briefcases, laptops, lunches, drycleaning, a cup of coffee (which will end up dumped before even leaving the garage) and the "show-n-tell" hamster into the car...generally before 7:30am. Then she drops off the more awake, less cooperative child/children at school and or daycare where they HOPEFULLY (no guarantee) can get out of the door with no tantrums (tantrums=snot on clean suit not to mention heart-wrenching mommy guilt) or any other random child spewing something on them; because let's face it...we all think other kids seem to produce more fluorescent colored putresence than your average pitbull.
The commute is typically the WOHMs only chance to "relax" for the day. The term relax being used very loosely because most commutes may or may not be sprinkled with mild swearing at other drivers not nearly as adept at maintaining a decent speed while the mom completes her make-up regimen at 65 MPH. It is during this drive that if she's lucky, she can shove in a granola bar that she found in her purse and listen to HER radio station (although I will admit to driving all the way to work SEVERAL times singing along to Veggie Tales or reciting lines right along with Lightning McQueen...with no kids in the car). Once at work, she makes the requisite quick check in the back to make sure there aren't any strays. She puts in a full day of meetings, voice mail, email, regular mail, maybe a desk lunch,and perhaps a bathroom break. She is away from her kids, who smile up at her angelically from the handmade macaroni frame on her desk, yet somehow they manage to creep into her day several times. I'm not talking about her wistful thoughts of "I wonder what my babies are doing right now" or "I miss my kids". Nope, I'm talking about the phone call during a meeting asking where in the diaper bag the extra nipples are...ever used the word NIPPLE in front of your boss and colleagues?? Try it. Or the email from the teacher wondering if child #1 is allowed to go on the field trip because a permission slip was never returned and oh by the way, can you still help make costumes for the class play? Yet she is still the model of efficiency at work, breezing through her day marvelling at how much she enjoys her career...all so she can leave and beat the traffic to pick up aforementioned children who are now awake but VERY tired and have saved up all of the whining, crying, and fighting just for home.
Ahhhh....The joy of getting cranky, tired, hungry children into the house while she makes dinner, helps with homework, builds block towers, answers more emails and voicemails, pays the bills, does the laundry, dresses 12 Barbies for a party, feeds the dog, calms the panicked child about the show-n-tell hamster forgotten at school, and packs 4 diaper bags and backpacks for the next day. And this is a calm night without a stop at the grocery store, soccer practice or a school concert. ALL HELL BE DAMNED!! The grocery store. She just remembered it is her turn for daycare snack. The morning routine will have to begin a BIT earlier tomorrow...better get to bed after one more load of laundry, loading the dishwasher, a few more emails, finding the favorite shirt that she promised would be ready for tomorrow, and another layer of paint on the science project volcano. Ahhh...bed time. And there is that damn song again....
The working mom - I think we can all agree that the name alone is a huge misnomer. This should be an example of "redundant" in the dictionary. Aren't ALL moms working? For the sake of argument, this mom is the "work outside the home mom" (aka: WOHM); The moms who leave the home, and return with a paycheck.
The alarm clock goes off at the ass crack of dawn to an obnoxious song that she only knows two lines to and will be stuck in her head all day, but who doesn't love Brittany Spears at 5 am, right?? Most WOHMs will get themselves ready before even attempting to arouse the children, because once they are up there is no hope of doing anything for herself. No chance of putting on mascara because someone can't find the shirt they so desperately NEED to wear. No chance of changing shoes because the baby just dumped Cheerios all over the kitchen floor. No chance of packing herself anything to eat because today they've decided they don't WANT peanut butter, they want ham and why do I always have to eat fruit at school??? She looks as if she hasn't gotten ready yet because she dons a robe OVER her suit so that no one can get any bananas, snot or Gogurts on it as she is coercing her semi-awake children to eat something. She then tackles the task of attempting to put some form of an outfit on their bodies. It is like dressing a wet noodle..or a chihuahua on crack depending on the mood that day; unfortunately someone always ends up crying (even the mom which will really piss her off especially if she was actually lucky enough to get her mascara on that day). When the mom leaves the home, more often than not she is wrestling one or more kids (somewhat lethargic, therefore fairly cooperative), diaper bags, briefcases, laptops, lunches, drycleaning, a cup of coffee (which will end up dumped before even leaving the garage) and the "show-n-tell" hamster into the car...generally before 7:30am. Then she drops off the more awake, less cooperative child/children at school and or daycare where they HOPEFULLY (no guarantee) can get out of the door with no tantrums (tantrums=snot on clean suit not to mention heart-wrenching mommy guilt) or any other random child spewing something on them; because let's face it...we all think other kids seem to produce more fluorescent colored putresence than your average pitbull.
The commute is typically the WOHMs only chance to "relax" for the day. The term relax being used very loosely because most commutes may or may not be sprinkled with mild swearing at other drivers not nearly as adept at maintaining a decent speed while the mom completes her make-up regimen at 65 MPH. It is during this drive that if she's lucky, she can shove in a granola bar that she found in her purse and listen to HER radio station (although I will admit to driving all the way to work SEVERAL times singing along to Veggie Tales or reciting lines right along with Lightning McQueen...with no kids in the car). Once at work, she makes the requisite quick check in the back to make sure there aren't any strays. She puts in a full day of meetings, voice mail, email, regular mail, maybe a desk lunch,and perhaps a bathroom break. She is away from her kids, who smile up at her angelically from the handmade macaroni frame on her desk, yet somehow they manage to creep into her day several times. I'm not talking about her wistful thoughts of "I wonder what my babies are doing right now" or "I miss my kids". Nope, I'm talking about the phone call during a meeting asking where in the diaper bag the extra nipples are...ever used the word NIPPLE in front of your boss and colleagues?? Try it. Or the email from the teacher wondering if child #1 is allowed to go on the field trip because a permission slip was never returned and oh by the way, can you still help make costumes for the class play? Yet she is still the model of efficiency at work, breezing through her day marvelling at how much she enjoys her career...all so she can leave and beat the traffic to pick up aforementioned children who are now awake but VERY tired and have saved up all of the whining, crying, and fighting just for home.
Ahhhh....The joy of getting cranky, tired, hungry children into the house while she makes dinner, helps with homework, builds block towers, answers more emails and voicemails, pays the bills, does the laundry, dresses 12 Barbies for a party, feeds the dog, calms the panicked child about the show-n-tell hamster forgotten at school, and packs 4 diaper bags and backpacks for the next day. And this is a calm night without a stop at the grocery store, soccer practice or a school concert. ALL HELL BE DAMNED!! The grocery store. She just remembered it is her turn for daycare snack. The morning routine will have to begin a BIT earlier tomorrow...better get to bed after one more load of laundry, loading the dishwasher, a few more emails, finding the favorite shirt that she promised would be ready for tomorrow, and another layer of paint on the science project volcano. Ahhh...bed time. And there is that damn song again....
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