Mom at Work: The Disappearing Mother

Today is my birthday.

Do you know what my best present was?

I didn’t get many, but my best present was seeing my daughter.

My best present was putting her to bed. Bathing her.

Eating some cake with her.

See, I’m a working mom now with a long commute. So I feel as if I am slowly disappearing from her life.

I’ve never dropped her off at school. I’ve never picked her up.

I’ve met her teachers all but one, (there are 3) once.

She tells me stories of kids whose faces I don’t know.

She has a day that I know little about.

I know this is bound to be for every parent, but it is hard being Mom at work.

Being Mom far away at work.

Does my 2 year-old think I love her less?

Does she remember when we were home together?

Does she think of me when she is hurt at school or tired?

Do I register on her mind?

Am I doing the right thing?

Mom at work has to be everything: good employee, great mom, multitasker, and police.

Making sure everyone else who is taking care of her is doing his or her job since you can’t be there to do it yourself.

Hopefully one day my daughter will say, “My mom is a successful woman. And heck, she is a good mom too.”

Just wish it were easier.

For now, I will look forward to bathtime and bedtime, the weekends, and the five minutes I see her before I go off to work. Maybe it’s not the quantity, but truly the quality we spend with our kids that matters. I try to remind myself of that.

Be good to yourselves Mommies at Work.

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Mom At Work: the 2nd generation of working moms

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I recently went back to work. I like my job a lot. I work with smart, nice, and hard-working people. I enjoy using my writing skills, and the office environment is positive. I hunted for a job for a long time, and I was thinking I was this close to becoming a mail-order girlfriend for some guy in a foreign country when voila, a job came along. Finally.

Yet going back to work is not without its costs, but what can I do? Money doesn’t grow on trees like every parent from the beginning of time has told us.

My mom stayed at home until I was of kindergarten age. When she went back, I was not happy. I hated the fact that she worked at night. At least I saw her, but not for too long. She worked a graveyard shift, and so I remember on Hannukkah opening gifts and then leaving a thank you note for her to read when she got home. It felt sad doing that.

The first time I really angry about her being gone was when my 1st grade class had a dinosaur contest and she couldn’t make it.

That morning, she handed me a little brown felt teddy bear pin with a black bow. He was adorable, but I hated him with a passion.

“Stupid Bear,” I thought, knowing that no bear could take the place of seeing your parent’s face in a crowd full of nameless faces as you sing awesome songs about TRex and Brontosaurus.

I especially hated going to babysitters’ homes, although they were all pretty nice. I especially liked one woman who had  a quiet home and two sons my age. Still, I couldn’t wait to get home and be in my house, with my things. It annoyed me.

Now, the shoe is on the other foot. My kid is 2.5 in just a few days. She’s younger than I was when my mom first left me, so in some ways it means she will get used to it, but on the other hand, she’s too young to complain to me like I did to my mom.

My industry is rather far from my home, so I have to make quite a trek to get to work, at least until we move.

Both Grandparents and Dad helps with the pick-up and drop-off at school. Montessori was the program we chose, and so far, we are all happy. It’s just not the same though. It’s not the same hearing about your child’s day from other people. I feel cheated knowing that everyone is getting so much time with her, yet I am not. And on the weekends and evenings when I am not home as late, I eat up the minutes I have with her.

Walking through the bus station today, I saw a little girl that reminded me of her, and I felt like I could cry.

Being a mom is crappier than the books make it out to be sometimes.

If you are working, you are missing your child, and feeling as if you’re not the best worker because you may have to leave early to get your kid. Or maybe you’re on the phone with daycare or the school about your child. Maybe you are worried he or she is sick.

When you are home, you are so happy, and try not to think of work, but that can be tough.

When I was little, many moms worked, but a lot stayed at home as well. For my daughter, the tables have turned. Many moms are working as compared to staying home.

I just feel as if working has made me a “mom on the sidelines,” and the worst aspect is relinquishing control to people who may mean 100% well, but just aren’t you.

I know Dads are awesome, but the title of Mom is one that’s earned through pregnancy and beyond.

I feel as if I should always be there, and not that I cannot always be there, somehow I have decided that this means I am less worthy of a mom.

That I am failing in some ways.

Yet work brings such satisfaction and money, that I know these things are pivotal for me, and in turn, my kid. I’m a role model, yet I wish there was a better way to balance things, as so many of us moms do.

I remember the crazy feeling I would sometimes get as a SAHM, and it truly can be emotionally draining and lonely, but man, SAHM cherish the time with your kids while you have them. Soon enough, you will be getting reports on your child’s daily life from a teacher, stranger, or family member, and while it’s great for my kid to be socialized, have a village of people around her, and learn at school, it feels as if I am slowly saying goodbye before I am ready.

I guess that’s what being a parent is though: slowly saying goodbye while teaching our kids to be independent

Heart on Sleeve, Foot In Mouth

I am in my thirties. I am capable of change, but not capable of transforming myself into some other person. No one probably really is. A quiet person is not going to become loud most likely, although I’ve never ran any stats on the matter.

I know who I am, but sometimes I wish I were a little different, although then I would probably be dull and boring, or possibly easily satisfied. I will never know.

I am heart on the sleeve, and foot in the mouth. I say what I feel, I show all my cards, and rarely will I play a hand in some crafty way when dealing with people. I wish I had the ability to play it cool, or just be a distant bitch sometimes, but guess what, apparently I am the sensitive romantic type and so that means I am all poetry and passion, rather than strategy and logic.

I recognize that thanks to my lust for life and people, I am a fun person to be around and very loving, but sometimes, when I am feeling particularly vulnerable or afraid, I curse this gift I have.  I wish I could stealthily hide my thoughts and heart, because so many people take advantage of this whether they be female or male, friend or stranger.

It’s a weakness to be nice. It’s a weakness to be passionate or emotional. It must be related to being crazy or female, oh yeah…that whole stereotype that drives me nuts. Don’t even get me on that rant.

I wish it were more valued to be a warm and passionate person. Without people like me, there would be no poetry, no tasteful erotic movies, no music, no art, and pulse.

Yes, I am not a bitch. I remember passing by a book at Barnes and Nobles when I was in my twenties called, “Men love Bitches,” and instead of picking up the book I thought to myself, “I am doomed.”

Sure, I can ream someone out when need be, but I am not a bitch. I am not cold. I am not the one planning your death while shaking your hand. I am the one who wants to be your friend. Who smiles at strangers and offers to help. Who puts her heart out and hopes that it indeed, won’t get smushed, yet so often it is.

I wish sometimes to be that bitchy woman that apparently exists in the universe, but I never will be.

Signs You Were a Messed Up Teenager

Parents. People of the general Public. Strangers who don’t know me and might give a F%$k.

If you want to know if your teenager is messed up or if you may have been messed up, read my blog detailing signs that indicate true issues and indicators of neuroses, et. al.

Note: I do not have a psychology degree. Just 60 credits of psychology, and 60 years of therapy.

If you are still not sure, seek mental help or ask your parents to remind you of how badly they screwed you up. If you still need more clarity and happen to be married, I can assure you.

You were messed up.

Sign #1: Hanging out with Total Dirtbags

I had quite a few jerks I hung out with. Most of these individuals were overage, and had no business hanging out with someone my age. One dude looked like a washed-up, receding hairline version of Meatloaf. His friend was worse. ZZ Top with a pit-stained wifebeater, handlebar mustache, and dirty acid washed Wrangler Jeans.

Need I say more?

If your kid or you are hanging out with total degenerates, chances are you’ve got low-self-esteem.

Thank me later when you’re knee-deep in psychoanalysis.

#2 Dropping Acid Alone

If you were taking drugs by yourself or your kid is, chances are there are some major issues. Drugs are more fun when taken with others I imagine, but I guess I was so depressed taking acid alone became a good idea.

Add ten bonus points and at least an extra three years in therapy if your kid or you took drugs alone while listening to morbid music.

#3 Sign you are Messed up: Low Standards

If your idea of true love was some guy not kicking, hitting, or berating you and calling you a whore, your standards were pretty low. If a guy gave you a simple hug and you fell in love with him on the spot, you had or have, issues.

If You have a complicated relationship with your dad, you earn one antidepressant and at least three family therapy sessions along with your twelve plus years of psychoanalysis.

#4 Signs you were messed up: If You Dressed ugly, but thought it was cute

If you wore some dark depressing clothes or gave yourself some retarded haircut because you felt it would “relate” your true inner self, you were probably a depressed and messed up teenager.

Add one trip to the dreaded psychiatrist if you cut yourself.

#5 Signs You were a Messed Up Teenager

If your sexual partners were over the age of 18 and you were under the age of 15, sign yourself into a mental hospital or “day spa.”

Do Not Pass Go.

I hope these signs help you or help someone you love.

Actually, if you are reading this blog and can say you have all five signs, we should just get together and start group therapy.

Actually, if you are reading this blog and have all five signs, and are still alive and kicking, damnit, you deserve a beer and a hug.

Teenagers: It gets better. It does. It does if you want it to. No individual can decide your fate. Only you can. People tried to bring me down, and damn did I live in the muck for awhile, but look at me now.

I special.

I smart.

I purty.

Well, I’m not uber-purty, but I clean up well.

xox

With Chocolate,

L

Thanks to the Age of the Pinterest and DIY Mom, we average wives are in danger..

I check out numerous pages, blogs, and social media sites to see mommies and wives who cook everything from scratch. Every toy is hand-built. Nothing is made in China.

While I strive to avoid unhealthy food and junk ( I’m insane about avoiding processed stuff and juice –only for a treat), I am not a DIY mommy truly. I try to DIY and love/insist on keeping the television off and expanding on pretend play, but I am not a Pinterest Mommy. I am not  DIY mommy.

Some of the most mouth-watering foods and recipes are posted by the best mom cooks and chefs.

I’m starting to feel envious.

I would love one of these moms to be my wife.

All I need is for you to cook and never complain. Be sure to clean up after your cooking projects. Don’t leave any dirty dishes in the sink. When you’re done doing the cooking, might you make a bunch of toys and play objects for my kid to play with? Because you’re my Pinterest Wife, and that’s what wives do.

I will sit here and do what I do best. Educate, Enact a billion character voices. Teach my kid how to sing. Read to her. Teach her how to count in French and what the words cavort, cajole, and charm mean.

The Pinterest Wives of the World are making the regular wives and moms look bad. It’s like the PTA mother of the year on steroids:

The PTA mom brought cupcakes, stayed home, and never yelled.

The Pinterest DIY mom caters full events, makes all toys, keeps a clean house, never yells, never picks her nose when anyone is looking or flirts with younger men, and always darns her husband’s socks.

The Pinterest DIY mom can afford to stay home and buy everything organic, including organic band-aids. Hell, the DIY mom makes her own damn band-aids. Her husband goes to work daily with a homemade meal, and for every holiday event at work, he brings a full-spread, courtesy of DIY mom.

When I make dinner every night, I clap for myself.

When I have taught my daughter how to draw Charlie Brown, I cheer.

These moms and wives are making the regular folks like me, an endangered species. Pretty soon, no one is going to want to befriend us on the playground, and our husbands will leave us for more crafty types who make their own clothes, paint their nails with homemade nailpolish, and even furnish and decorate the house like a professional.

The average woman will be home in fear that she will be ridiculed for her store-bought polish, average home, and half-assed crock pot dishes.

Instead of being alone on the swings and divorced because I can’t make homemade pie crust, I’ve decided to enlist one of you DIY moms for my very own.

I promise to water you, but I will never feed you.

You can make your own damn food.

Signed,

A mom who likes to make brownies from the package, and flirt with the young guys at the pizza place, in no particular order.

Go Eat Worms: Surefire Signs You have Low Self-Esteem

Sometimes in life, you need a few people to knock you down, otherwise you wouldn’t realize how worthless you are, right?

if you answered yes, you are the owner of Low Self-Esteem.

If you answered no, you are awesome, amazing, and probably really annoying.

Okay, I kid, but I want to help out the public, my friends, myself, and my readers decipher when they may be having a period or lifetime, or moment of Low Self-Esteem.

Clearly, there are real clinical signs I am sure, but reading that stuff is a drag and boring.

You’d rather hear from me and my expertise, no?

The First Sign you may have the self-esteem of a Gnat:

Sure, there may be some incredibly cocky and self-important Gnats, but usually, Gnats feel like little pests no one likes.

Hanging Out with Douchebags

Do you occasionally hang out or know someone close to you who is a real prick? Does this person constantly point out your flaws? Is this person certain that he or she is some bigshot everyone should worship? Does this person have access to numerous mirrors, clothes, sex, money, or any of the above? Does this person note your flaws casually, seriously, frequently, or empathetically?

If you answered yes, this cocky individual is trying to bring you down because he or she has decided that he’s the best, and knows best, so basically, be grateful for this person’s input.

If you tolerate this individual in most forms, you probably have low self-esteem. You probably fear that this person is right, and that yes, you are a screw up, no-good, filthy old bastard. People like this have a way of finding the Low Self-Esteem Individual– here after known as LSEI (sounds like some shitty boy band formed of 3 pubic hairs, and one acne mark)–incredibly easily. LSEI’s make Cocky people feel good about themselves because LSEI’s don’t object to being put down, and therefore, Cocky person feels awesome and can live another day admiring how “rad” he or she is, and polishing the mirror to reflect his or herself just a little better.

A sign you may feel you are less important than poo.

What did I do wrong?

Are you constantly wondering what you did wrong when a situation in your life goes awry? Do you wonder when you’re dumped, divorced, singled out, or treated poorly what you did to make this happen? Of course, there’s probably some legitimate reasons why you may have brought on or dealt with a tough situation that has to do with your own blame, but it’s not always your fault LSEI! Sometimes, the other person was a real jerk. Sometimes, you both were. It’s more productive to ask yourself how you contributed, and what you can gain from the situation. It’s helpful to consider what the situation did for you, as well as how to move on past it. Taking all the blame is not only a sign that you feel less than a piece of gum on a sneaker, but also keeps you from fully seeing a situation.

You’re not all that bad, kid.

Walking Away Silently

Do you find yourself coming away from a situation wishing you had said something, but didn’t?

Do you find yourself reenacting that moment when some little jerk said the rudest thing to you, and you just sat there and cried like you lost your puppy?

Are you unable to concentrate on anything else but that time in which you let someone treat you badly, without you saying a word?

It’s Low- Self Esteem.

In case anyone cares, I don’t charge much for my advice, and sometimes, I’ve lived and learned from an experience I talk about. I’m not an LSEI, or a pube or acne mark, however, I do doubt myself more than I should. I do walk away sometimes thinking, “Shit, why did I let that person get away with that?” “What could I have done differently?” I do sometimes let Douchebag people get away with crap.

It’s important to recognize when you’ve let someone get the best of you in life. Some jerks just rob people of worth, dignity, and happiness, and you have let them. You have let someone take away a bit of your sunshine, and it’s not easy to gain back. Don’t let them! Don’t let just anyone eat from your dish. It’s okay to act like a dog, and guard your dinner bowl.

Not everyone deserves to take a drink from your being.

It’s Hug A Sexy Nice Guy Day: Don’t Date Douchebags

I recognize this may be an unfair post as there are plenty of chicks who suck, but this time I am writing to address the issues with the men folk. Don’t worry my male followers: I will write a counterpiece about avoiding female freaks as well. I wouldn’t want to upset any of you precious things.

If you are single and dating, there are a few guys you should stay clear away from. It saddens me to have to write this, but some people don’t know a jerk even if he’s got a gun in your back, so I figured that since the internet is so full of useful information, why shouldn’t I help folks out by creating large stereotypes of men to avoid in a list format?

#1 Owes Child Support

If your dude owes child support, he is a twat. There is no excuse on earth why a man should not pay his child support. It is his kid. Whether he wants the child or not, he did the deed, so he’s got to back himself up. Unless he is terminally ill or mentally impaired to a severe degree, he better pay his child support.

Do you want to be his Baby Momma and watch when he doesn’t pay your sorry butt?

Plenty of men dodge child support. Each and every one of them is a douche. Unless a DNA test convicts you of such responsibilities, you better pay the piper Peter.

#2 Cocky Guy

Everyone knows Cocky Guy. He always shows off the newest recent addition to his muscular system.

“Look at this…I’m really cut.”

Cocky Guy likes to brag about all the wonderful things he is doing,  because of course, he’s so fantastic.

Cocky Guy is often good-looking and smart enough to try and pull this garbage, however don’t get caught in his handsome trap. He’s better off with a full-view mirror of himself and his hand.

We all know what he can do with that hand.

Wave Bye-Bye to Cocky Dude.

#3  I’m just Living with my Mother for now…

Some guys deserve to live with their mothers without harassment. If he’s in college, a recent graduate, ill, or caring for his mom, or legitimately saving for a house, then it’s okay for him to shack up with his mom. Besides, the economy is killer lately. However, there are some men who live with their mothers…for forever. They don’t do laundry, they’ve never cooked a meal, and their mothers probably wipe their butts and tie their shoes for them.

His mother will mostly likely have an unhealthy attraction to her son, and will walk around in a mumu and cap on her head all day, following her son around with food requests.

She will most likely call her son a pet name, and will hate you upon sight. She will tie her son up in his bed at night so he doesn’t leave, and cry if he asks to pee alone.

Okay, so some of that is true. You decide what.

If a guy doesn’t want to move out because he lives above his means or has decided that hard work sucks or he will miss his mumsy too much, you need to leave town fast otherwise you will end up tying his shoes and wiping his pee-pee too, sweetheart.

#4 Closeted ( A special section for my gay friends)

If a guy is closeted, you ought to run screaming. Do you really want to sleep with someone who cries afterwards? Or walks by you and denies he knows you?

I’m not saying he needs to be singing Judy Garland or wearing a pink feather boa, but he should be comfortable and aware of his own sexuality. You are with yours, so why do you need to coax someone out of his shell? The best arrangement here is to be his friend until he has accepted himself.

** Ladies, if you suspect a guy is gay, you need to realize that your equipment won’t cut it. After awhile, he is going to be unhappy, and unless you feel like wearing a strap-on, he won’t fall for you. Become his friend and enjoy that!

#5 Arrogant Prick

We all know Arrogant Prick. He is different from Cocky Guy; Cocky Guy is usually more bold, foolish, and vain. Arrogant Prick is quietly mean and disdainful of everyone who doesn’t measure up to his insane standards. Apparently, we all lost the memo that he’s God, and the rest of us are just the bitches doing his dirty work.

Arrogant Prick will always point out your friends’ and family’s flaws, all the while silently tsk-tsking you. He has ideas about what you should do, be, and look like, and all of this will run contrary to your own desires about how you should live. He is a pompous ass and most likely small in the pants. In which case, you should doubly run.

I thank you all for taking the time to read with me on this serious matter. Too many women and men fall for scumbags when they could be giving a nice guy a chance. Let’s all do our part to severely beat these jerks, and champion the men with dignity, class, and respect.

Hug a sexy nice guy today in honor of “Hug a Sexy Nice Guy” day.

They need love too.

Kisses,

Me

For Your Daughter

If a man is not good enough for your daughter, he is not good enough for you.

Remember this mantra when you are dating, married, or single with just a wee vibrator and Haagen-Daas to get you through the night.

We women rationalize and excuse too much, and expect too little.

Consider this the next time you spend any significant time with a partner.

I will be back darlings for more delicious dish on life and what have you. I’ve been busy, but haven’t forgotten you all.

I’m sorry…so sorry

I apologize too much

This is possibly my most irritating trait to date.

I find myself apologizing for things that are out of my control like, “I’m sorry your wife won’t blow you more.”

Or

“I’m sorry your 17-year-old son has the vocabulary of a five-year old.”

And really, “I’m sorry I took so long. I’m sorry I’m short. I’m sorry I am five minutes late. I’m sorry the sun doesn’t shine on your ass.”

I apologize for everything. It is disgusting. I have never once met a man who did this–apologizing like a fool all the time. We women are just taught to not be too X, Y, or Z, so I guess we have become accustomed to apologizing. Maybe it’s because we also say on occasion, rude stuff that we then passive-aggressively (not a word) apologize for.

We have been socially constructed to be polite and empathetic people. Women are told to “be good girls,” and ” to be nice.” We hear this from the second we hit preschool. It is part of the expectation that as a female, we will be “good” and “nice,” and therefore, we must apologize when we have not held ourselves up to this standard and expectation. When we fall short from the “good, nice” female role, we must apologize for falling short from these expectations.

But my apologizing is at a whole other level of BS.

There are a million reasons why I may be saying, “sorry darling.”

Here are a few of those reasons.

I don’t like people to be mad at me. Growing up around fighting is enough to make a person anxious about any type of confrontation, even if it’s a mild-level confrontation. I would rather avoid those issues, than fall prey to an argument. Just take my apology, and let’s move on, even if I barely did anything. Even if I just breathed the wrong way, and I saw you raise your eyebrow slightly.

I. Saw. That. Eyebrow! This could mean trouble…to head it off at the pass, I apologize.

I say I am sorry because I have the burdensome amount of guilt that not even the Mega Jewish mother of the world could hold without her tits sagging right into her Star of David. My guilt isn’t even from the fact that my dad is Jewish, and mom was catholic pre her conversion to Judaism.

I just have this guilt. Maybe it’s sexual abuse guilt. Maybe it’s low self-esteem guilt. Maybe it’s mother’s guilt, or maybe I am just like quite a few other women, and simply feel guilty for sharing my feelings and opinions like men do.

I know it’s 2013, but guess what mo-fo’s? Not everyone gets that. Some people–some men–feel like a woman’s opinion is just not the same as a man’s.  I find myself apologizing at times when I am revealing way more than I suspect the person wants to hear. If you read my blog about meek women, you know I probably do this a bit more often than the average bear.

I apologize because I want people to feel I care about their needs. I know a few people who seem to be so shut off from their emotions–or maybe they don’t even have any? (that I doubt)– that I find myself apologizing to even these folks if I feel their feelings may have been hurt. Rather than making someone ask me to apologize for some unintentional slight I may have done, such as being five minutes late, or forgetting to offer him or her a drink, I apologize so that the person knows that I know I’m a schmuck.

And that may just be the heart of my story folks. I sometimes, think I am a schmuck. I undermine myself and forget to value who I am deep at heart, maybe because I have often been dwindled down by people who felt so bad about themselves that they figured, “Hey, why don’t I let someone else join me in my little misery pot?”

Here are a few things I apologize for, in case this blog offends or bores someone.

I am sorry for: maxi pads that are too bulky; quickies in which one person doesn’t come; being boring; complaining; writing nonsense that no one gives a shit about; the economy; my occasional need to interrupt (okay, if you speak slowly, maybe a bit more than occasionally); my boobs; my kid’s loud mouth; my loud mouth; my family’s collective sound of loudness; my non-hybrid vehicle; my cooking; my vagina–actually wait, she’s kinda cute; my former commercials that may have been lame; any bad sets I had as a stand-up; cheesy jokes involving my last name; picking my wedgie when everyone is looking.

I hope that suits you all.

If not, I’m so fucking sorry.