I’m a stay at home mom. It’s the role that I CHOSE to take. I’m lucky that I was allowed to. From both my marriages. It was a unanimous decision on my part and whichever fill in the blank husband I had at the time. OK, that sounds bad, seeing as, I’ve only been married twice and I’m still married to the second. But, carry on then.
Recently, I started working a few hours per week at my dad’s office. Really, it’s nothing major. But I enjoy the few dollars I earn, which I’m able to pocket or use frivolously. Because truthfully, the couple of pennies I make a week, doesn’t help much with the bottom line. It just keeps me from using too much of it 🙂 So my husband embraces the fact that I can afford to pay for my own mani/pedis. Or take myself out for sushi with my friends. He is thankful that he doesn’t have to worry that our electric bill payment will bounce because I was having too much fun on company time.
Today though, I noticed something. And before I go ahead and tell you about my mini-epiphany, I want to clarify something. I’m not getting involved in the whole SAHM and the mommy’s in the work force. Because, quite frankly, that’s an entirely different thing. Which, I have a HUGE opinion about. Not here though. This…is about me and my little 3000 square foot kingdom and it’s inhabitants.
I work with some women who work full time. They are also, full time moms.
I was eavesdropping on my dad’s secretary as she was talking to her son on the phone. Explaining to him that he should get himself a bowl of cereal and then take whatever dosage of Motrin, for his headache he claimed to have. I could hear his Charlie Brownesque part of the conversation. But her answers were matter of fact and with no doubt, she knew her son would be able to competently take care of himself, until she returned home that evening.
Which got me to thinking. Seriously, my thinking isn’t a very good thing. We know this about me, right?!
I have 5 kids, right?! Well, these five kids have been used to me being home. Some of them, for their WHOLE lives. The other two, for the last 8 years, almost their whole lives. They…are so NOT self-sufficient. Not a single one. Quite useless, actually. Cute though.
My working counterparts, their children know how to make themselves meals.
My kids, they sit and wait to be served. They can’t even get a plate and silverware.
My working counterparts, their children know how to entertain themselves.
My kids, they sit and wait for me to get home. Then they whine about being bored and hungry.
I could go on and on. And I know that a lot of it is me and my mothering. These kids have been overindulged for their whole lives. Heck, I still wipe my 5 1/2 year old sons butt after he poops. Don’t stare, it’s not polite.
My kids tell me to jump. And after I shout profanities at them for expecting me to do their bidding. I go ahead and do their bidding. But…I KNOW this about me. So do they. And they take advantage. I get mad. But do it anyway. A vicious cycle. The poor future spouses of my children, I’m so sorry!
I never noticed it, so blaringly obvious before. This is the first summer I worked, even those few piddly little hours, outside the home. And it’s also the first summer that not all my children went to camp. So it never truly mattered before.
But today, as I was working. I couldn’t help think to myself…
Damn, I’d better hurry and finish what needs to be done, or my two kids that are home…they might starve to death.
I kept looking at the time.
I ran home when everyone else left for lunch.
The two were still up in their rooms on their laptops. And the first thing they wanted to know was, what was I planning on making them for lunch. They were dying of starvation.