Working Moms

Okay, first off, every Mom is a Working Mom – whether she earns a paycheck or not. Every Mom is a maid, a cook, a laundress, an EMT, a day care provider, a financial advisor, a landscape technician, a conflict mediator, a social worker, a teacher, a chauffeur, a dog walker, a pet groomer, a veterinary technician, a zookeeper, a social organizer, a cyber-cop, an enforcer, a judge, a jury, a prison guard, a spy, a battlefield general, a crime syndicate boss, a miracle worker…..I could go on and on. For those of us who also work outside the home, add to that the title of employee.

We are military wizards during the week. We get up every morning early enough to have a few minutes alone before we have to wake the masses. We stagger around, drink our coffee, take our showers, and get dressed. We then call reveille, supervise everyone’s early morning hygiene, feed the troops, hold muster, synchronize schedules, arrange transportation, reiterate communications plans, and send the troops out to do battle at school. Then we go to work.

We get in our cars, drive thirty or forty-five minutes (fighting all those other idiots on the road), finally get to work only to realize that we forgot to put on deodorant. Luckily, we have planned for this emergency (because it has happened many times before) and head for the ladies room to raid the “secret stash” in the locker or under the sink. We pilfer through hair spray, tampons, make-up, mouthwash, lotion, hair brushes, perfume, clippies and hair do-eys, and finally find the deodorant. But – horror – some other stressed out Working Mom has beat us to it and surreptitiously used the last bit!! After cursing and spitting about people who can’t respect someone else’s stuff, we say “To hell with it – I’ll go to Wal-Mart at lunch.” We go to our desks (or wherever), and put on the grouchy act so that nobody gets too close.

We go through the morning routine and actually get a lot done, because the word has spread and we are being avoided. The To-Do list is getting really short. Lunchtime is rapidly approaching. We watch the clock that last half hour like a fifth-grader awaiting the last bell of the school year. At last – lunchtime!!!!! We scramble for our purses, grab our keys in a death grip, and sprint for the parking lot at world record speeds in hopes that we’ll beat the lunch rush. We pull the Dukes of Hazard peel out and hit traffic only to get caught behind somebody in a hybrid with no sense of urgency. More curses, wild gesticulations, and steering wheel head bangs. Our antics do not please the other drivers, and a four car pile-up ensues in everyone’s haste to avoid the crazy woman stuck in the turn lane. We make an escape worthy of the best getaway driver and finally hit the Wal-Mart.

We dash for the door, blow past the greeter, skip the cart, hit the health and beauty aisle, grab our favorite brand (plus a spare), and then realize that we used Kathy’s hair spray last week so we really should restock. Before we know it, we’ve untucked our blouses and have $300.00 worth of “essential supplies” in a makeshift apron. We stagger to the check-out aisle and wait.

We finally finish checking out. We grab our loot, sprint back to the car, gun the engine, and roar back into traffic. Check the time – 20 minutes left. Check the rear view mirror and catch a glimpse of the gigantic knot forming, and realize that foundation is not going to hide that. Park the car, sprint for the front door, hit the bathroom door like a freight train, launch our supplies into the secret stash, and make a beeline for the junk machine. We have 10 minutes left. We need chocolate, and we need it now. Tragedy strikes!!!! Some loser has taken the last candy bar!!! We buy a bag of microwave popcorn and a coke and go to our desks to sulk.

While we mutter to ourselves about all the injustice in the world, we check the clock. Ugh – four hours to go. We head for the bathroom, because we still don’t have any deodorant on. Take care of business and head back to our desks. Finish up what needs to be done, lethargically grab our purses and keys, heave ourselves up and trudge for our cars. Look down and realize that the steering wheel is bent. Again. Think about cutting some bangs to hide the battle scars. Check the rearview mirror. Yep, definitely need some bangs. Slowly cruise out of the parking lot and head home.

Flip open the cell phone and call the Mini-mom (a. k. a. the eldest daughter). Get the down-low on the situation at home. Mini-mom reports that everyone is being a butt-head, and that Aunt Flo is in town. The boys found some paint cans and thought it would be funny to take the lids off and hang them over the ceiling fan blades. Then someone hit the light switch. Mini-mom says it actually looks pretty good, but Dad is going to be mad because his deer head is blue. Sort of. It’s got some yellow on it, too. Also, the baby decided that he didn’t want to use the potty anymore, and so the laundry pile is bigger. Mini-mom reports that the aliens across the street have multiplied again, and there is an “It’s a Girl!” sign in the front yard. Did we get them a present? Mini-mom asks if a pack of birth control pills would be tacky. After all, they already have six kids – where are they going to put any more? Mini-mom also asks what’s for dinner, because the boys are driving her crazy. She says she fed them some mac-and-cheese at 3:30, but they’re hungry again. Anyway – she has to go. Someone’s screaming about who gets control of the remote, and she thinks that armed conflict is about to break out.

We hit McDonald’s because the concept of kitchen chemistry is just too much to bear at this point. Spend $43.78 so that everyone has a shot at getting something they’ll actually eat. Call the house from the driveway to get some help, and get attacked by boys. Mini-mom looks like she needs a drink. Too bad she’s only 12 years old. She needs chocolate.

Working Mom and Mini-mom open the emergency can of chocolate frosting, bust out some spoons and dig in. We enjoy a few minutes of silence while the boys stuff their faces and hope that they leave us some scraps. We do the math, and realize that Working Mom earned $85.00 today before taxes. Subtract 30% for Uncle Sam, subtract $343.78 for food and supplies, and we have a net loss of $248.28. Oh, well. If the government can engage in deficit spending, so can we. Right?