My Co-Workers - May 27, 2012

As stay-at-home mommies we get a lot of slack.  The day of the quintessential housewife is here no more.  I mean, we have The Real Housewives who bring out the bling, and their nannies are there to nurture their children while they go out and stir up drama.  I never see them cook or clean or care for their children when they cry, but that just wouldn’t make for good TV.


We have a real job.  Probably, the toughest job.  It goes far beyond cooking and cleaning.  We teach our children to count to six, but we never get six figures.  Our direct deposit is measured by how wide our children smile; the way they treat others and seek to try and try, even though learning is tough.  Teachers are underpaid, but mothers are underappreciated.


I may not go to a physical place of work.  I may not telecommute to talk to other employees.  But, I do have co-workers.


My co-workers are the parents (and now friends) of my daughter’s classmates.  We all have a shared interest.  We all never get to clock out.  We’re mothers 24/7.  We just call our meetings playdates.


Company morale is always high.  We cheer for each other when our children poop in the potty.  And, this is no small feat.  Try getting your kid to notice their bowels are ready to pop, but move away from their Play-Doh fast enough.  They are busy and there’s just so little time.  You often have to steer them away while kicking and screaming before the s&#* hits the fan.


I just realized why the common phrase ending in “…before the s&#* hits the fan”, ever came to play.  A mother must’ve been holding her child in the air, trying to avoid getting s&#* faced (but that’s a different story) and held her kid too high.  A big, fat mess must have painted the walls.  Only Pollack would’ve been proud.


Smelly art is what we strive to keep at a minimum.  Vicks under the nose and Magic Eraser, I tell you.  It works for our hormonally charged and heightened sense of smell.  And, we whiff quite a few wonky things everyday.


When our children come unglued in public and our faces shout “oh crap!”, our mommy friends and co-workers make one thing certain; we are not alone.    We have one major thing you paid workers most often don’t.  We have empathy.


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