Spoiled Stay-At-Home-Moms, Campaign Calls, and Showing Your Butt in the WalMart

I've just had so much stuff rolling around in my head over the past few weeks, but no time to actually get it into words. So, bless your baby hearts, here goes....

Spoiled Stay-at-Home Moms
I have a good friend whose husband recently called her "spoiled" for being a full-time mom. Now, I don't know the context in which this was said, but I was offended for her and for all of us. Are we "blessed" to have the opportunity to have the choice to stay home with our kids? Absolutely. But spoiled? I don't think so. Just like any other jobs, this one has benefits and drawbacks. In a "real job", you get to wear nice clothes. In this job, you get to wear flip flops. In a "real job" you get to eat lunch out at restaurants. In this job, you get to take naps (sometimes.) In a "real job", you get regular reviews, evaluations, raises. In this job, you get to see your kids run carefree on the playground. Now - the other side. In a "real job", you work 40, maybe 50 hours a week. In this job, you work an average of 112 hours per week (16 hours a day times 7 days - 80 hours if you don't count the weekend.) And that's a generous estimate. In a "real job" you might get the chance to sleep peacefully in a hotel while away on a trip. In this job, you might get to sleep peacefully in a hotel once in a blue moon. If you get to go to a hotel at all, it's with the kids. I could go on like this forever, but I'll spare you. For any of you who are married to a full-time mom, are a full-time mom, know a full-time mom, or may one day be a full-time mom, know this: this is an excruciatingly difficult job. You run a household and all that entails. You are responsible for overseeing the growth of actual live human beings. Human beings that may one day grow up to cure cancer, or fly into space, or join the Taliban, or be a prostitute, depending largly on the upbringing you provide. It is a huge responsibility. It is the most catch-22 job I can imagine: so rewarding, so fun, and yet so mind-numbingly exhausting and disrespected. Spoiled we are not. So there.

Campaign Calls
I am a (gasp) registered Republican. I changed my allegiance from Democrat when we moved back to Florida. Basically, I got pissed off about having to pay so much in taxes to support so many other people's lazy asses and lack of personal responsibility. And then I stuck in line behind some chick at the grocery store using food stamps to buy cokes, snack cakes, ice cream, toys, and video games. I went and re-registered that very day. Now, as a Republican, I am apparently in great demand for the primary this Tuesday. I have been receiving phone calls from everyone. John McCain wants me to attend his town meeting. Rudy Giuliani is the Sept. 11th hero. Mitt Romney has 50 different people calling for him - he's very popular. Mike Huckabee disguises his calls in the form of a "poll." Yesterday, we got FOUR FREAKIN CALLS from The Romney campaign. Shouldn't someone realize that bugging me so many times a day, interrupting me and my family, and jamming up my voicemail inbox is no way to get my vote? Ron Paul is the only one who hasn't called, but I'm not voting for him anyway. But really - are most Americans so naive that they would or could be swayed by a recorded phone call? I'm not. I did my research. I found out where each candidate stands on the issues. I looked into their backgrounds. And I chose a candidate. No phone calls required.

Showing Your Butt in the WalMart
This falls well into the why-being-a-stay-at-home-mom-sucks-sometimes category. I recently read a book called "Waltzing at the Piggly Wiggly." (Great read, especially for anyone born and raised in the South, even better if you've ever shopped at a Piggly Wiggly.) Anyway, I should call my book "Showing Your Butt at the WalMart." This past Wednesday, my little man and I were in WalMart running a few errands. After getting most of my stuff, I took him back to sit on some bikes. (He's getting one for his birthday next month, and I needed to know what size bike to get him.) He sat on this bike, and then this one, and then that one. Then he looked towards the top of the display rack and said "You know - I don't really want a bike. What I want is one of those cars." You've seen these, right? Little automated vehicles that kids can ride around in. They come in all different types - from jeeps to Hummers - and are basically a giant indicator of the downfall American Society ( but that's another blog for another time...) I - of course - said "No - you can't get a car. We can't even fit your dad's car in the garage, so we're certainly not going to get you one. Let's go." Insert tantrum here. He began whining and crying and hanging off the shopping cart. I was trying to get to the front of the store as quickly as possible so that I could check out and get him the hell out of there. As we were walking, he was tantruming (new word for Webster's), and I was telling him that his behavior was unacceptable, and why. Then he looked at me and said "Hey mom - I pulled my pants down," and mooned his little booty right at me. At this point you have a few options. A) you can whip his spoiled little now-exposed butt right then and there. (this is actually my preferred choice.) But it's not PC to spank in public anymore. Someone might - seriously - call Child Protective Services on you. B) You can freak out and start yelling at him, threatening his entire world. (which does not work on 3 year olds. Ask anyone.) C) you can play it cool, calmly pull up his pants, grab his hand, and proceed to the checkout. I chose C. Of course, on the way, he told me (any everyone else in Walmart) that he hated me and wanted to go live with someone else. He then laid down in the aisle in front of the checkout and refused to get up. (The cashier was surprisingly humorous. When she saw how he was acting, she said "now you know why some animals eat their young." Funny!) Anyway, I left him in the aisle while people steered around him (yes - I am now "that mom" - that mom who you always see who looks to be 100% out of control and leaves you wondering why in the hell she is in the store with that rotten kid.) After paying, I picked him up and put him in the cart. This resulted in his screaming "No Cart! No Cart! No Cart!" at the top of his lungs all the way out to the car. Once strapped in, he proceeded to kick my seat and the car door the whole way home. I punished him by taking away something very precious to him (chocolate Pirate Coins). He didn't get them back until the next day after he had apologized to me AND after he agreed to share them with his sister.

You could not have convinced me in 1000 years that one day I would be standing in the WalMart with my son's ass staring me straight in the face. I used to be one of the people who stared at "that mom" and criticized her. I am particularly sensitive about how my kids affect other people - I've even left a full cart of groceries in the middle of the store to haul a screaming kid out. But what people without small kids don't know is this: it can go from 100% sunny to hurricane conditions in 10 seconds flat. REALLY. All is well, and then in the literal blink of an eye a meltdown has started. Sometime you can walk out of the store. But sometimes you can't. Because you promised the teacher that you would have the 18 cupcakes and 18 lollipops at the school by 2:00. Or the kid who is screaming has a 102 degree fever and you have got to get him that Tylenol. Or you are driving around half blind because your contacts are screwed up and you need those eye drops. Parenting is so unpredictable. Stuff happens. You never know how or when, but it does. All you can do is try your best to roll with the punches.

And remember not to show your butt at the WalMart.