I stay home with my kids…AND THAT’S A JOB!
I go to work every day. I work weekends. I work overtime. I’m on call 24 hours a day. And I don’t get anything additional for it. I don’t get sick days or holidays or vacation time. In fact, if I ever do go on vacation I most likely have to take my work with me.
Moms don’t only work one job. No. We have to master several trades all at once. So the next time someone asks me what I do for work I’m going to say…
I’m a chef:
And I work in the most demanding kitchen on earth. My customers are very particular. The world’s most accomplished culinary minds would fail in my home. For example, if a chef heard ‘I want toast’ they would probably assume they should put a piece of bread in the toaster. They would be wrong. Because ‘toast’ to my kids means uncooked bread with butter on it. I don’t know why. It just is what it is.
After screwing up the cooking of the toast, a top chef would probably just cut it into whatever shape he felt like. Wrong again. You always have to ask. And sometimes, even after you ask, you can still be wrong.
If they say rectangles you’re usually safe because you can go anywhere from rectangles. Oh you want squares now? No big deal! If, on the other hand, they pick triangles first…you’re screwed. Once you cut those triangles there’s no going back. So you better be DAMN SURE they actually want triangles before you lower your knife and commit.
I’m a referee:
NHL hockey refs have nothing on me. They have to control, what, like five or six fights a week? Try five or six fights an hour. On a good day.
Professional referees have to make some tough calls. So do Mommy referees.
The rule is that you’re not supposed to run over your brother:
Me: “Carter why is your brother crying?”
Carter: “Cause I ran him over…but just a little!”
Oh. Well, if it was just a little…that’s probably fine then. I may have to look at the replay in order to make a final decision though.
I bet football refs never have to say any of the following:
“We don’t hit people with our turkey sandwiches!”
“Stop throwing bulldozers at each other!”
“Your brother doesn’t like it when you whip him with your pants…and WHY ARE YOUR PANTS OFF!”
Although that last one might make a slower paced sport like baseball more interesting. Something to think about.
I’m a personal stylist:
I know, for example, that the red stripy fire truck shirt does not go with the blue sleepy dragon pajama pants. You most certainly may NOT wear that to school. Nice try at dressing yourself though. I appreciate the effort.
I’m a nurse:
And I know that a cookie or lollipop can cure almost any brother-inflicted injury that occurs while my children are “playing” together.
We moms could add a million more jobs to our resume… maid, taxi driver, nail cutter, bath giver, book reader, monster chaser…
This is work. But my bosses don’t care about dress code or conference calls or board meetings. They don’t care about stocks or profit margins or deadlines. They care about kisses and hugs and laughter. And I provide plenty of that.
And at the end of the day my job is way more rewarding than yours because I love it…and it loves me back. I have the macaroni art work to prove it!