I am the worst mom in the world…I drag my kid out of bed at 7a every morning…make him get dressed in weather appropriate clothing whether he likes it or not.
Fix him a quick snack/breakfast for the ride to school/daycare…and his juice.
I pack his goldfish, his clean sippy for after school, and his ‘fruit snack’ also known as chewable vitamins.
He whines all the way through our morning ritual most days…and most of those mornings, fights me tooth and nail.
This morning, it was a battle about everything. From start to finish. I kept my mouth shut and just kept doing what needed to be done. Dressed, teeth brushed, etc.
I drove his whining cranky self the forty five minute commute. Half way, he decided that his toast was wrong which started a whole new whining festival. It was hard to not yell at him in the backseat. I just kept driving.
Then he decided that he didn’t like my news (morning talk radio) and wanted to listen to ‘his own news’.
He proceeded to suddenly want a toy that we had purposely left at home because he threw a fit when he saw me packing it in the bag this morning. It was to stay home, according to Himself. When I informed him of such, he told me ‘turn the car around Mommy and go home’.
I wish. And then the guilt settled in.
Deep wallowing 'I can't believe I am doing this' guilt.
I wish I didn’t have to work and could stay at home with him and take care of my house.
I wish I didn’t have to roll him out of bed every morning and do this ritual every day.
I wish I could let him hang out in his pajamas while I prepared healthy meals.
I wish I liked doing craft projects.
I wish … I wish… I wish.
Why did my parent’s generation suddenly decide to really throw us women into the work force? Really? Was it THAT important? Before then, working women were a rarity. They stayed home once they had kids. Most of them were crazy and out of their minds by the time they became grandmothers (or in my own grandmother’s case, well before then).
Why did it become so important for us to join the workforce?
Because we want to live the American Dream.
Now, the majority of women, whether we like it or not, are either expected to work or volunteer outside the home, maintain our household, maintain our children, keep our happy faces on, and keep it together.
If we aren’t working, we are looked at with disdain for being a ‘stay at home mom’. How dare we just hang around our house all day AND have a messy house from dealing with a pack of active children all day?
If we are working, we are looked at with disdain for being a ‘work away from home mom’. How dare we put ourselves before our families and join the work force AND have a messy house from not being able to catch up and living with a pack of active children?
If we work from home, then we are looked at with disdain for being a ‘work at home mom’. How dare we send our children to daycare for a few hours, or hire a nanny while we work from home AND have a messy house from working and keeping up with active children all day?
Whatever we fall under, our houses are usually a wreck, we eat take out more often than we like, we consider ourselves lucky to get one thing done for ourselves a week (my hair highlighting kit sat under my bathroom sink for six weeks before I got to it). We never talk to our spouses about anything that isn’t kid related. We want to just yell sometimes. But we can’t.
We lose ourselves somewhere.
Prozac helps us I guess.
My mom worked off and on while I was growing up. She was home a lot, and involved a lot. We were BROKE. Like really BROKE. But it was ok, I had no idea. It stressed my parents out though. I had no college savings, and had to get a job, get scholarships and grants, and bust my tail. And I was perfectly Ok with that. I wasn’t entitled to anything, and learned to work hard.
My maternal grandmother worked off and on after her children grew up and left home. She drove a bus for Senior Citizens and talked crap about them. She stopped doing that and proceeded to scare the bejeebers out of the grandchildren everytime we visited with crazy stories of my dead grandfather visiting her at night.
My paternal grandmother never worked and ironed my dad’s underwear up until the time he married my mom…whom he expected to iron his underwear. Apparently this was their first big fight. She also never learned to drive a car. She died of Alzheimers when I was 23 after she had lived with us for 13 years.
I don’t want to get into the why’s of WHY I have to work.
And I don’t think I would make a good stay at home mom. I am not crafty. I am not patient. I would eat my way through the pantry and refrigerator in under a week, and spend A LOT of time just walking circles around Target.
My son loves his daycare/school. (I call it school to make myself feel better I guess). He has friends there, and has projects, and special classes for music and gymnastics. Its good for him. He’s learning. He’s safe. He’s well loved, and he hugs me at pick up and tells me about it on the way home.
I do miss him. Terribly.
There are those days, I just want to say ‘Damn you Rosie the Riveter!’ She had to go and save a country during a time of War, and show women that we CAN work, and CAN do it all. We CAN have a family, and a career, and a life. We are strong, and smart, and…Damn it…all in the same guilt ridden boat, no matter what.
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