Working Mothers

Another rant.

Don't you just love office gossip? Don't you love it even more when it's about you and it gets back to you!

I can't remember back far enough to a time when I might have been annoyed at all the "concessions" allowed to working mothers. I don't think I would have been one to complain about inequality in the workplace in that respect. Now that I am a working mother, hearing those complaints pisses me off...BIG TIME!

Because my dearly beloved and I didn't want to put our kids into daycare and since my mom isn't able to care for all three of them, my husband got himself a (horrible) full-time job working from 10pm to 7am. It sucks, but at least my kids aren't with strangers. Also because of this, I HAVE to be out the door at my job at 5pm. Especially during the summer, since my husband would appreciate a couple hours sleep, I have to get home as soon as I can to take over so that he can catch some zzz's before work. Dealing with our energetic 7 and 4.5 year old is busy business. Snoozing during the day isn't an option.

I'm damn proud that I can get myself and three kids (husband gets home in time to carry baby girl downstairs into the car and off we go) showered, dressed, fed, lunches made and out of the house so that no one is late for school or work. Yeah, that's right, gimme my frickin medal! That's no small feat!

There are also grumblings about how we occasionally leave early or sometimes come in late and how unfair that is! If they only knew how much fun it is to hold a screaming, crying, wriggling one year old at the pediatrician's office for a check-up and shots. Or how much fun it is to sit in a desk chair designed for someone under 4.5 feet tall for an hour while waiting your turn to hear "your child can try a little harder...isn't living up to their full potential". That's fun too! Uncomfortable AND mommy guilt inducing! I'll gladly switch places with you! You go sit and listen to a teacher detail your childs curriculum for the coming year for an hour. Did you know that elementary school teachers lose the ability to carry on an adult conversation Mondays thru Fridays? They talk to everyone like they're the age they teach. I have one child in kindergarten and one in second grade...go ahead, take my place! THAT is what we do when we leave early or come in late! We're not waking up late and we're certainly not leaving early to take a nap before our nights out on the town.

The fact that I am out the door at 5pm is a problem with some people. However, these same people don't see me when I get into the office (usually before the usual 9am start time) because they (of the single child or non-mother variety) can't get themselves into the office before even 9:30...and even then I'm being generous.

I spend my entire day chained to my desk, sitting in front of my computer. I get my work done as soon as it's assigned to me so that I can leave with a clear conscience, yes, at 5pm. I seldom go out of the office at lunch because the temptation to spend money is too great in this neighborhood.

They complain that they work late and I don't. Tough shit! Get to work on time and take an hour for lunch like the working mother of three!

Back to school!

The first week of school is officially over.

It started out great, but alas, the good feelings and thrilled to be back enthusiasm ended this morning for my eldest Princess. The husband and I enjoyed three mornings of her cheerfully skipping into school with a smile on her face before this mornings horrific tear-fest on the carride to school.

Our son, who started all-day kindergarten couldn't be more excited to get to school everyday and thinks his day is too short. Quite the opposite of his big sister.

Why, oh why, can't she share her brother's enthusiasm about school?

This is now the third year we've had to try to calm her down in the car, coax her out of the car, dry her tears, pry her fingers from our arms and gently push her into school each and EVERY morning. Many mornings, it took every ounce of Mommy mettle to hold back my own tears till her back was turned and she was walking up the steps and into school. Only then did I let my emotions get the better of me. I felt like I was sending her off to be tortured some mornings.

I had a feeling, last night, that something was amiss when at dinner she complained that at the birthday party in school that day, instead of getting the fairy goodie bag like all the other girls got, she instead was given one of the boys pirate goodie bags. I hope the cruel little witch that did that to my sweet baby choked on her birthday cake that night!

The prospect of having to deal with the crying and begging not go to school each morning is most unattractive as it sets the tone for my day as well. Feeling like the monster that sends her baby off for abuse at the hands of the Department of Education (and its charges) does not make for a happy worker bee.

Happy Birthday!

Today is my birthday and all I have to say is...I really like ME.

My friends, who have a sense of humor, play along with the fact that I've celebrated my 27th/29th birthday for almost (ALMOST) ten years now. We all know how old I am, but what fun is that? When you think about it, once you've passed your 21st birthday, who really gives a shit how old you are? Why would anyone ask? Isn't that considered rude in today's society?

On the other side of the coin are those stupid people that think I truly mourn the passing of each year and need to get back in touch with reality and accept the fact that I'm 35 years old. Gimme a break! For those stupid people out there, rest assured.

In my 35 years I've helped to create a wonderful family of considerate, compassionate and loving children that will grow to be good people and friends anyone would be lucky to have. I married a man that is my friend, first and foremost. My parents have become friends that I treasure. I've accepted that I'm much better off not having some people in my life. I've become friends with people that I couldn't survive without and I've reacquainted with friends I'd thought I'd lost.

We all know people that live for the next holiday sale at Macy's or Nordstrom's or those people that spend all their "free time" shopping and those women that have children to be accessories. SAD. SAD. SAD.

Materialism is unattractive to me. You can't take it with you, after all. My life is richer because of the people I associate with and the adventures that I have. There's nothing more thrilling for me than to see the look of wonder and excitement on my children's faces when we go to a museum or the fun of apple picking or going down the big slide at Central Park. THAT'S LIVING! That's what I live for.

Happy Birthday to me! I'm 35 years old and life can only get better!

The Husband and THE WATCH

The Husband (right after returning the watch I got him for Father's Day): I'm sending you a link. I want this watch
Me: Ok, I'll see what I can do.

One week later...

The Husband: Did you read my emails?
Me: You mean the twelve emails that all contained the same link to THE WATCH?
TH: Oh, I sent more than one?
Me: Yes, I saw them...very nice watch.
TH: I want it.
Me: I don't know if it's going to happen, money is tight, I'll try.

Fast Forward to a couple days before the husband's birthday; hundreds of links emailed and IM'd to me of the damn watch later. The watch is in my possession and hiding out at my mother's.

Me: Let's imagine you already own the watch of your dreams, what would you want for your birthday?
TH: I want that watch.
Me: I know, I'm talking hypothetically, pay attention...what if you already owned that watch? What would you then want for your birthday? Come on, play along.
TH: No, you don't get it...I WANT THAT WATCH. I don't want you to go out and get me anything else. I WANT THAT WATCH. If you're not getting me that watch, I don't want anything at all.
Me: I understand, I know you want it, but...
TH: No buts...you've had plenty of notice...I want THAT watch or NOTHING AT ALL.

I leave the apartment.
Good thing the watch wasn't in the apartment because, in the past, at this point, I would have gotten it out and thrown it at his head.

The Husband's birthday is on a Sunday, he's worked the night before. While I had originally planned to torture him and not give it to him till later that evening, I relent and decide I'd be the one that was tortured so he gets it as soon as he walks in the door. Much whooping, hollering and smiling follows. We spend most of the day admiring the watch. He makes me tell him, repeatedly, that it's a beautiful, cool, awesome, wonderful watch.

Two days later...he calls me at the office.
TH: I have some bad news.
He was just at a swimming lesson with my son, my heart starts to pound, I break out into a cold sweat.
Me: WHAT'S WRONG!
TH: (sighs) I got water in my watch.
Much yelling and name-calling follows. Women will understand why I was upset, men would understand HIS point of view...
TH: But it's waterproof! That's why I got it!
Mind you, dear reader, the only time my husband (a non-swimmer) is in a pool is when he takes our son to swimming lessons or when we go to our friends house.
Me: But WHY! WHY couldn't you just take the damn thing off and leave it in your bag.
TH: BUT ITS WATERPROOF!!!

He calls Fossil. They tell him they'll send him a return slip. It doesn't arrive fast enough. Once it does, I don't get the package to UPS fast enough. He calls many times a day asking me to check the status of the shipment online. When he knows its arrived at Fossil headquarters, he gives it a day before he starts his phone calls to THEM.

After the first call...they've not processed the watch yet.

Next day...they've not processed the watch yet. Immediately after hanging up with Fossil, he calls me at work to YELL at me...like I can do anything about it. He apologizes for yelling.

Third day...they're looking at the watch. He calls me next. YELLING that when he calls tomorrow if they've NOT shipped out a new one to him he's telling them to cancel the order and credit my card. I beg and plead with him to NOT do this, for purely selfish reasons. I have NO DESIRE to start out on a hunt for THE WATCH again.

Today...
TH: Check your credit card online...see if they've credited you yet.
Me: You didn't! I can't believe you! Why!?!? Why can't you just be patient like a normal person?
TH: Wait, I'm not finished...I have to call them back tomorrow for the tracking number.
Me: A tracking number for what? You mean a confirmation number for crediting my card?
TH: NOPE (I can hear the grin in his voice) the tracking number for the watch they're sending me.
Me: I don't understand.
TH: They're crediting the card and sending me the watch...FOR FREE!
Me (speechless)
TH: Are you proud of me? Aren't you happy?
Me: Yeah. OK, sure.
TH: So...what are you getting me for my birthday?

I hang up.

City Driver

Went to visit my brother waaaaaaay upstate this weekend with the monsters and my parents. Since the husband had worked the night before, I drove (both ways) while he snoozed in the back.

We have plenty of family that live upstate, in South Jersey, and in Pennsylvania so we do a fair amount of travelling by car. Despite the fact that I've been the driver of many of these trips for many years now, one thing remains...I HATE DRIVING OUTSIDE OF THE CITY.

No lights at night, no shoulders and two lane (one in each direction) roads make me frickin insane. Strange that I dislike two lane country highways because I always used to choose the center tube of the Lincoln Tunnel which at night would go in both directions, but I digress.

I hate driving in the country.

As I drove home the other evening, in the rain, might I add, with lots of pissed off people behind me because 60 mph wasn't fast enough for them, I was thinking that perhaps I should fashion a bumper sticker or sign for the hood of my truck that says "City Driver" or something to that effect. I thought that perhaps if I had that notation on my vehicle, the people following me would then go, "OK, well that explains it" and pass me instead of trying to blind me by flashing their hi-beams and thereby complicating things further.

I did, after all, have almost my entire family in the car with me and my Speed Racer days are well behind me. To further add to my white knuckle, clenched teeth driving experience, my precious baby spent a good deal of the car ride (both ways) saying, "Bye bye car!" Now, while that would have gotten her thrown off a plane, I couldn't kick her out of the car. I can't say that the idea of strapping various members of my family to the roof of my car hasn't crossed my mind every now and again, but those nasty state troopers in their lace-up boots and kicky hats wouldn't approve of that either.

Not until we hit the well-lit roads of Yonkers do I allow myself to ease back into my seat and pluck my nails from the steering wheel. We survived another trip with Dan at the wheel and I'm sure the whole fam was surprised that no one was screamed at, the whole trip, for incorrectly reading me directions from a printed sheet. That's something else I'm notorious for.

Quite the rambling post, I know.

Times They Are A-Changin...

It wasn't that long ago that I was a child being taught manners. Actually, my mother STILL likes to point out my missteps, but that's for another time.

I'm going to sound like an old biddy by saying this... when did respecting elders become passe?

I think it's most disturbing when the disrespectful witch, I mean person, you encounter is someone that you know and the elder being disrespected is your own mother. My mother.

I'm known for my sarcastic mouth, however, my children are taught courtesy and respect. I WOULD NEVER be disrespectful to someone in front of my children. Sad that other people would use that as a teaching lesson for their own children.

WalMart, School Supplies...Bliss

My birthday is towards the end of summer so every year one of my birthday gifts was always a backpack, lunchbox and supplies for the new school year. That was the beginning of my love affair with stationery.

I spent this Saturday, with my kids and my mom, shopping for school supplies. Gone are the days of simply "knowing" that a couple composition books, some pencils, a ruler and a couple folders in a backpack were all you needed on the first day of school. The list of school supplies my kids need for kindergarten and second grade filled an entire shopping cart.

It's not enough that they need two containers of large glue each, it has to be a specific kind. It's not enough that my daughter needed 3 packs of crayons, two packs of colored pencils and a pack of fine tip markers, they had to be CRAYOLA. The four boxes of baggies, had to be ZIPLOC. And the two rolls of paper towels have to be BOUNTY. Sure, right. I got all the CRAYOLA crap. As a lover of stationery I can appreciate that there's a difference between Crayola and say Rose Art. Fine, WalMart had the Crayola stuff on sale, anyway. I did, however, draw the line at the Ziploc brand baggies. WalMart apparently knows of the racket between teachers and Ziploc, so they head us off by offering their brand of baggies 2 for $4.00 and doubled the number of baggies per box too!

I've not mentioned yet how much I love WalMart!

I LOVE WALMART!

The first time my beloved took me to one I had to hold onto the receipt to show my mother that I had purchased almost 100 items for only...$ I don't remember how much, but it was AMAZING! It's not just me, though. My dearest is also a WalMart devotee, so much so that on our first family trip to DisneyWorld, SUPER WALMART was our first stop after we got off the plane and our last stop before we got back on the plane and returned home.

I am one of those people that shake their fists at the district councilmen and neighborhood watchdog groups that won't allow WalMart to grace our fair city. Who are we to stop the uneducated from getting paid less than minimum wage with no benefits...it's more than they're making now! No, those bastards make it so that I have to schlep to Long Island or upstate New York for my WalMart fix. Damn you!

Despite the schlep, I packed up my monsters and made the Walton's a little richer. I love WalMart.

I'm off to go smell a couple dozen brand new Crayola crayons, sharpen a trees worth of pencils and label every damn one of them with my son's name and class.

Goodnight, JohnBoy.