Stay At Home Suckers
So just a couple days ago I posted about the Stay at Home Mom versus Working Mom debate. There is absolutely nothing new or breaking about this debate. It’s been going on for what feels like forever; and – really – it is a matter of personal choice and nothing more.
And then today I went to lunch and sat – unfortunately – at a booth next to the loudest and nastiest Working Moms that I have ever encountered.
From their patent leather briefcases to their arrogant and pompous attitudes, these ladies were without a doubt, douchesausage material. They were both loud talkers, so the entire restaurant could hear them. And they were candidates for the world’s bitchiest mothers.
I told my four year old that crying is for sissies and if she has to do it, go outside.
I have too many reports to get in to do school supply shopping this year, so my husband is handling it; which is good because I could care less about supplies as long as the kids are taken care of by someone else.
So when I dropped her off at soccer, I saw some of those Stay At Home Suckers and just pitied them. I wouldn’t be able to handle my life being so boring and meaningless. I mean – they just do nothing all day!
Just a few of the gems that came from these two assholes before they clomped out of the restaurant in their Payless Shoe Source pumps.
So as to the boring and meaningless part: I can admit that as a SAHM, life can be a little mundane. You can only mop so many floors or wipe so many asses before things start to seam a little blasé. But mixed in among those terribly meaningless tasks, there really is a whole lot of meaning. And as for boring; and doing nothing all day … well, I shouldn’t even have to justify that. But were I to …
9:00 AM My Rebecca Black-ish song would not begin at 7:00 am, at least this morning. I sleep in and get up at around 9 o’clock, only to dick around on the Internet for about 30 more minutes.
9:30 AM I make crepes for breakfast. Strawberry crepes, to be precise; and no fatty crap in it so they are completely nonfat and full of antioxidants. After crepes: shower, makeup, hair.
10:30 AM While straightening my hair I finally notice that Pookie has taped something to the bottom of my mirror. I debate for the next 30 minutes while getting dressed whether this is a sign that I am winning at parenthood, or that children should never be allowed near me. I conclude that I am winning.
11:00 AM I yell and scream for about 15 minutes to “get dressed, brush teeth, wash face, wash hands, brush hair.” I feel like a broken record because for some reason other things come up – Agamemnon did something cute or a book seemed more interesting.
11:30 AM We are out the door and on the way to my father’s house, what I like to call “My Free Storage and Laundry Facility” to get my canning materials. Pookies has a 12 day trip with the Biological Bum coming up next week and asked me to can peaches to take with. We get to my dad’s by noon and he rambles about football or something for a while – my stomach is growling too loudly to hear.
12:00 PM Sawasdee for Thai. Lunch specials are nice, although Toys ‘R’ Us is next door, so between listening to the douchesausage Working Moms and eating my food, I field the begging for toys. I stick to my guns. There will be no Toys ‘R’ Us today.
1:00 PM I make a last minute decision to combine all of my stops into one, big shopping trip at Target. World Market, Home Depot, Barnes and Noble, Staples – they all get crossed off the list and we are heading for Target to get everything there.
1:15 PM On the way to Target we stop at a farm-stand to get peaches for canning. The owner asks me if I ever shop at the farmstand down the street. I say “not usually” and she says that if I promise to never shop at the other one again she’ll give me discounts. I get a flat of strawberries, a flat of peaches, and eight pounds of apples for $26. I drive away having no clue what the fuck I’m going to do with all this fruit.
1:30 PM Target. There is nothing special about Target – ever. I “check in” at Target because I want to become the Mayor of it on foursquare, but am then reminded that recently I became the Mayor of Chuck E. Cheese, for which I want to slit my wrists. I avoid the razor aisle intentionally.
2:15 PM Quick stop at Petco to get the new ‘fluff -n- stuff’ cage liner for Agamemnon. The check out guy makes a joke that he was electrocuted to explain his wild hair. I don’t give a fuck for his little antics.
2:30 PM We are home. The car is unloaded. I discover that Pookies left the milk out of the fridge all day, so will have to head out to the grocery store later. In the meantime, I clean the kitchen in preparation to destroy it canning peaches after setting out the homeschooling stuff for the day. Thankfully, homeschooling I planned for today is all do-it-yourself, so Pookies goes into autopilot.
2:45 PM Discover that the dishwasher is still broken, despite it being fixed over the weekend by hottie maintenance guy. Spend 15 minutes on hold while washing the dishes that did not get cleaned. Hang up out of anger that no one ever answered.
3:00 PM I put away all the stuff from Target and assemble the lamp I bought to make our living room look less like a dungeon. While doing so, I whack myself over the head and give myself a headache. Wine will fix that.
5:00 PM I realize I have not planned dinner. Wine will fix that. A little tipsy, I decide to throw together some pasta with bread. More wine. Headache gone. Agamemnon happy.
6:00 PM Time to can. I burn the shit out of my hand while sterilizing the jars. Wine will fix that too.
6:45 PM Now my feet hurt. A lot. I’ve been on my feet and moving (with the exception of our Thai lunch and travel time) for almost 10 hours now. I’m pretty sure wine will fix even that. Husband reaffirms that by pouring more for me.
7:15 PM I completely forgot the milk and God forbid we have no milk; and now I probably shouldn’t drive anyway because wine has fixed four or five ailments at this point. Send husband for milk and he gets huffy. Don’t care.
7:30 PM Bath time! Worst fucking time of the day, I shit you not. I field something like forty-five inquiries about how long the bath has to be, how much has to be washed, and what alternatives are an option. “No alternatives are an option and if you don’t can it, you’ll stay in the bath the rest of your life” is what I feel like saying, but I just smile and say assertively “GET IN THE TUB.”
8:30 PM Bathtime is finally over. Pajamas are on and everyone appears to be ready for bed. I’m so tired I can barely see straight anymore, so I collapse on the couch to start working on another transcription for my dad’s next book. These transcriptions are terribly interesting but horrifically tedious to do. Wine will fix that.
9:00 PM After 20 minutes of transcription, I decide to blog instead. Now that my blog is written, there is only one more thing left to do: make myself look as horrible as possible, or come up with an excuse – any excuse – to keep my husband at bay. Fortunately, I am so tired and wine has fixed so many things today that I’m pretty sure this won’t be an issue.
Meaningless? Maybe some of it. Boring? I don’t think so. Do nothing all day? Yeah fucking right. I wish I could do nothing all day. I suppose I’m nothing more than a Stay At Home Sucker in the end; but I’d rather be a sucker than wear tacky Payless Shoe Source pumps and carry a dumb looking briefcase everywhere.