Working Moms are Winning!

I don't know how you do it. 

I hear y'all venting that you can't seem to fit it all in--being a good employee, being a good spouse, being a good Mom, but then I see your pictures on Facebook.  The ones with you and the hubs on a date night.  The ones where you bake cakes that look like Grilled Cheese for April's Fools day.  I read your blogs and status updates of you filing contracts, having power lunches, and being stuck in traffic.

I used to envy you.  The daily opportunity for adult conversation.  The snappy shoes with pretty pointed toes.  The beautiful leather attaches with important papers inside.  The eating lunch at places with tablecloths, or really, just eating lunch anywhere other than a kitchen island or Chick-fil-A.  The lack of food on your clothing.  The reason for bathing.   The recognition for your accomplishments.  The esteem of your peers. The being an actual taxpayer for something other than interest on your savings account.  The paycheck.  The paycheck.  Did I mention the paycheck?

Well, folks, I "worked" on Tuesday.  By work, I mean that I had a business meeting for Bethany in Fairfax, VA.  I woke up at 6:30.  Bathed, fixed my hair, put on make-up, put on decidedly inappropriate clothes for a business meeting (a navy dress from Target and a cardigan) and sensible shoes.  I drove 2 and half hours.  Spent 20 minutes just driving around the business complex trying to find the darned building.  Had a meeting with lawyers and accountants and social workers and public relations people and proffesional fundraiser people for two hours.  Ate lunch with aforementioned people who were dressed better than me.  Drove home.

Folks, I no longer envy the working Mom.  I applaud her.  I am in awe of her. 

But I don't want to be her.  I had fully planned to come home and take over the kiddos for Sloan who had been watching them all day while working from home.  I was going to do laundry and kiss babies and read books. 

False. 

It was all I could do to take my shoes off before lolling on the couch and demanding a beverage.  I was wiped out.  I felt schizophrenic hopping from one world to another.  I was still reeling from discovering only after 30 minutes of listening that I agreed with Glenn Beck about something.  (In my defense, he was going on about how crazy and deplorable those Westboro Baptist folks are.  I think everybody thinks they're yucky.  I just didn't recongnize his voice and was happy to be listening to talk radio again like an adult who needs to know the weather and traffic every ten minutes.) 

I also do not think I could wear sensible shoes everyday.  I just can't.  Yuck.  However, I have decided I should at least purchase some pants that my mother would call "slacks".  (But without pleats.)  I have Mommy wardrobe (which we've already decided is Ellen Degeneres-chic) and then really fancy.   Neither jeans and Vans nor spaghetti strapped cocktail dresses are appropriate for rooms that have names--boardrooms, conference rooms, heck, not even break rooms.  So I will be getting some black pants before I head up to Michigan for my three day Bethany Conference in May.  I'm going to try and put together an "Ellen goes to the VMAs" look.  Something that says, "Yeah, I'm a stay at home artsy type, but I can still get 'er done."  (Do you think I should whip out my glasses to complete the look?)

My husband thinks staying at home with the kids is harder than his job.  And I think I'd rather shoot myself in the foot and watch it bleed than call on clients, go to business lunches and sit in meetings all day.  That is MUCH MUCH harder.  Even if you do get to eat at Outback.

I require large amounts of just sitting around staring into the distance time.  And People Magazine time.  And Facebook time.  And nap time.  And arts and crafts time.  Going to work would totally interfere with that.  I can at least do my job in my jammies.  And sometimes I even get Little Einsteins to pinch hit for me.  I dare say judges would frown upon Attorneys showing up in their best Nick and Nora and bosses would not accept the phrase "Pat-clap-pat-clap" as the best way to solve a problem. 

So to all you working moms who wear sensible shoes, uncomfortable pants, bathe on a daily basis, bring home bacon and then cook up that bacon, whose houses are cleaner than mine, who still find time to scrapbook your kids' lives, make homeade cookies, and read People magazine--I commend you. 

I think you've got a little more magic than you realize.  You're a freakin' rockstar.  You're winning.  Heck, you might just even be a warlock assasin. I can't hang with you, my bones would melt like wax.*

*If I worked, I wouldn't be able to follow Charlie Sheen on twitter.  I know he's so crazy he's sad, but I've literally wet my pants with some of the crazy gold that shoots from the end of his saber, I mean, comes out of his mouth.