WORK IT

I’ve never enjoyed the phrase ‘working mother.’ I suppose for starters, I’ve always found it redundant, egregiously so. Am I working mother? You’re damn right I am. 24-7, 7 days a week, I am working to make sure the King stays fed, watered, changed, bathed, and most importantly remains alive – trust me, from the slides at the park, to the deviants in society, this is not an easy feat. Not to mention all the larger intentions that fall in between the other more mundane tasks – making sure he is educated, informed, disciplined, challenged, loved, humored…ah, the list is so long that this working mother doesn’t have time to recall all the things a parent does for one’s child.

I suppose I’ve also found the mere question whether or not I’m a working mother a tad condescending. Or perhaps it’s not the question itself, but the looks that go along with it. I can’t tell you how many times a day I am asked if I am ‘working’ – and there is never more to the sentence than that. I realize I’m quibbling over semantics here, but maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much if someone – especially women, seriously what’s your excuse? -  asked me if I was working outside the home? Or the alternative, if I have a job outside of being a mother? See, two very easy options that still validate the fact that mothering is a full time job, and an arduous one at that.

Am I touchy on this subject? You bet, I think most mothers are. I suppose it harks back to the worth of women and the female gender's quest to be seen as more than just one label that is slapped across our foreheads: wife, mother, career woman…object. Often, as we all know by now, being one often means that there are sacrifices to be made in other areas, sacrifices that are never easy to make. Not to mention, it always dawns on us women as we are dropping our kids off at daycare, killing ourselves with guilt over our horrible parenting choices, that most men do not have to face this fork in the road (don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are a lot of men out there who would like to be at home full time. For those of you that feel this way, I commend you).

For women it's a choice we have to make, and with that choice comes a whole heap of judgment depending on which category you fall into– the mother that also has a career (“how could you leave your children, shame on you” – not my words of course), or the ‘full time mother’ (are the other mothers considered ‘part time mothers?’ cause how condescending is that?) that has surrendered her brain for an apron and a tin full of freshly baked muffins. I'm sure there are shades of gray on this, but it often does not feel this way.

So the next person that asks me if ‘I’m working’ you better be ready for my answer: ‘Yes I’m working. I’m working on balancing my life, so that I can write, and make a living whilst raising a well-rounded kid that doesn’t end up hating me one day cause I stuck him in a daycare where they let him eat paste and never wiped his nose. I’m working on being a good partner, mother, and maintain a nice home while not surrendering my brain, my dreams, or myself. I’m working on staying in the same size jeans, not finishing all of the King’s leftovers and figuring out how to remain patient and understanding on an insomniac’s sleep diet, when the King insists on using his glass of milk as a bird bath.

So yes, I’m working. Are you?

HAPPY FRIDAY.

IN HINDSIGHT

How many times have you told yourself, "in hindsight" I would’ve done (or said) the opposite of what I actually did? From the most mundane situations, to a cataclysmic crisis, hindsight is one of those things you find yourself trotting out as some sort of wishful recreation so that you can relive or at least attempt to redo (in your mind that is) what was already done. In short, if we’re honest about it, hindsight is pretty much the bastard child of regret. (It just doesn't sound as good in the lyrics of a song).

If truth be told, I’ve always had fickle feelings towards the philosophy of hindsight. It always felt like it fell into the ‘shoulda coulda woulda’ bucket, a very deep abyss of futility as far as I’m concerned. By textbook definition, hindsight means “the ability to understand, after something has happened, what should have been done or what caused the event.” It’s one of those, if one had the information or wherewithal beforehand, then such mistake/argument/national crisis would’ve never happened in the first place. I.e. if you were that smart in the first place you wouldn’t be in this mess! You see, kind of pointless. Cause well, no matter how much you bathe in hindsight, you may learn something for next time, but you certainly can’t erase what occurred.

However, when looking at hindsight as a learning tool, the intellectual side gives it credit where credit is due. The way my brain is wired, I am admittedly the type to break down a past event and dissect it for all its worth in hopes to learn from the event in question and not to have a repeat performance – hence, hindsight wins back some of its brownie points. If it’s an argument, I go over it in my head a hundred times, I script that I said this or that, and not that or this, and I suddenly see all the wrong turns I took – 'damn it, that right would’ve been sooo much smoother than the left!' And suddenly one can feel assured that they have it in them somewhere to make the right choices, and hence, do not end up feeling like such an ineffectual moron.

On the flipside, this very thinking can also lead one to believe that they are smarter than they are. Cause 'in hindsight,' one does everything right, do they not? In fact, in hindsight I’m an eloquent genius that ducks and dives like Bond and fends off confrontation like Buddha on Valium. So I suppose I can only see the point of ‘hindsight’ thinking if one truly learns from their mistakes. For example, in hindsight, I should not let the King see where Mommy keeps her chocolate stash as the insatiable despot will want to bathe in dark chocolate until he looks like a coal miner. But, if each time I am pining for chocolate – despite the epiphany I had when strolling down hindsight lane – I go to the drawer and let the King see where it is, then I’m just an idiot destined to repeat my mistakes and raise a chocolate addict for a son. 

You see. Hindsight when not used properly can drive you utterly nuts or give you false delusions in terms of your intelligence. So next time you use it, make sure to keep a notepad nearby so that you can tattoo what you learned across your forehead.

Happy Tuesday!!