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Work at Home Moms- WAHM. Not to be confused with 80s pop sensation WHAM.

Everything needs a label these days and it’s driving me nuts. Do you work at home? Do you stay at home? Do you work away from home?

Are you a SAHM, WAHM, or WAFHM? What? I know! I’m confused too!!

When I chose to have kids, all I wanted to do was just not go back to the job I was currently at. My husband and I saved up my income so that after the baby was born, I could be home with her.

Then it worked out that the company I was employed with went out of business. There wasn’t a job for me to return to. I loved staying home with Emma. I couldn’t imagine having to arrange my lifestyle to go back to an office and leave her with someone. It just never occurred to me.

HOWEVER, I never did mind anyone that did make that choice to go back to work after maternity leave. We all have different reasons why we want to. So who cares?

But it seems lately if you are a mom, you need a label as to what you do with your time. Here’s my rundown of the latest.

Do you work at home doing a job for a client or a boss and check in remotely? That’s a WAHM. Work At Home Mom. This is tricky. Then you have to keep the kiddos occupied while you get your job done. Maybe you have someone come and help with the kids or you take the kids to day care. This might save you from commuting to an office, but still allow you to get some work done. Maybe the kids are off to school while you work.

Or do you work at an office? This is a WAFHM. Work Away From Home Mom. Then you have the same situation of dealing with childcare, commuting, and even if the kids are at school, someone has to be there for them when they come home.

Finally, there’s the moms who stay at home with their kids and don’t get paid anything from anyone. That’s a SAHM. Stay At Home Mom. We know what she does. Wipes up spills all day and poo and puke,  entertains, is a concierge, laundress, cook, nurse, craft adviser.

Then there’s the SITMVAD. Stay In The Mini Van All Day mom. She can be a combination of some of the above and this at the same time. Some may call this a Soccer Mom. I just call it a mom who is busy and needs to drive all over creation for her kids.

Don’t forget the mom we all went to be- SAHWWM. Stay At Home With Wine Mom. This needs no explanation.

Not only is this a handy guide to some of the acronyms you’ve been seeing lately, it’s also a good reminder that ALL MOMS WORK FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

And I respect each and every one for the jobs they do.

The next time someone asks what I do, I will say, “I’m a mom”. And that should be enough.

 

 

Mom on Strike

Dear Family,

This is not the NFL. No replacement refs here. No SCABS.

When you wake up in the morning, get your own damn waffle. You can reach the toaster.

Pack your lunch.

When you can’t find your socks, look in the drawer. Or the dryer, or the hamper. Have you ran the washing machine? It’s not magic, it doesn’t run on its own. Oh and don’t just load the blasted thing, put that shit in the dryer, then FOLD. IT. Yep. Guess what? Folding and putting the laundry away is THE BORING part. Uh huh. You may think ‘you’re all that’, putting them dirty clothes in the machine. But that don’t make you a hero.
The battle is in the taking those socks, making them into sock balls. Taking t-shirts that are inside out and putting them right side in.  Or out. Whatever. Oh dear GOD how does every motha fuckin’ shirt get inside out in the wash??? I don’t take off my shirts and put them over my head like that. Is that necessary?

Okay, moving on.

Garbage on the floor. Throw away your own furkin’ wrappers, kleenexes, band-aids, used ones especially, popsicle sticks, gogurt tubes…. oh my gads, is this a frat house??? Throw away all toe nail clippings. I shouldn’t have to ask you twice.

After dinner, if I’m at a PTA meeting, you know one of the many things I do for free, don’t just pile up the dishes on the counter over the dishwasher. Put them IN it. Put the pans in the sink. Put away any leftover food in the refrigerator. Oh, and this is big, WIPE. OFF. THE. COUNTERS. I know it’s hard. It can be yucky. What, all those crumbs and spills. Yeah, disgusting.

If I make the danged dinner, least you can do is clean up after it.

All your clothes and random belongings need to go up to your room. That means all of you. I’m tired of looking at your thermals, hoodies and soccer shoes. Why are there always socks in the family room? Hair accessories are the same. Do they multiply like bunnies? Why are there always bobby pins and hair elastics in every room of the house?

If you have a dish in a room of the house, other than the kitchen, put it away. I don’t want to find your milk glass in your bedroom two weeks later.

Toilet paper needs to be replaced on the roll. How many times do I have to say this? If you are using the last roll, go get several more from the bathroom cupboard.

If you use the last milk, go into the garage fridge, and get the next carton.

All tools need to be returned to their proper place. That means a roll of tape goes back in the office. A hammer goes back in the garage.

Please don’t leave Nerf weapons randomly on the stairs. Someone will trip over them. Okay, I will trip over them.

Now that we have that established, I think I’ll go to the spa, and then eat bonbons watching an entire season of Boardwalk Empire on DVD from the library.

Someone call for pizza.

Dear Working Mothers- you are the shiz

Please know SAHM, I am not dissing you. I am a SAHM myself. I think we’ve got one of, THE HARDEST, thankless, jobs on the planet.

But last week kicked my arse. My lilly white, dimpled, jiggly, arse. I don’t know how women leave the house, looking decent, and then proceed to come home and take care of all the chillin’s and house work and such.

Ever since my lovely brood has come into this world, I have not worked outside the home. I am so, so, so grateful for being able to stay home. My husband has been blessed enough in a job to provide for us. We have worked it out financially so that I can stay home. Would he want another income? Heck yeah! But I think sometimes what I’ve given up in income has supported him in so many ways that he wouldn’t know where to begin to count. The fact that I’m always available to take the children, drop them off at activities, care for them when they are sick- let’s him do his work thing without many limitations.

In the early years when the children are young, when you have to wipe bottoms, wipe faces, sticky hands, change your clothes 3 times a day from puke and errant oatmeal, bathe, clothe, entertain them constantly- working outside the home sounds kind of like a relief! A break! You can get dressed in nicer clothes, wear a bra, put on make up, wear jewelry that little chubby hands won’t rip out of your ears. Wear a blouse that a wandering fist from a two year old boy won’t reach into and hold on for comfort.

Ahh- to shake off those little ankle biters for some adult conversation, stimuli and a paycheck! AND maybe a coffee break or lunch you can eat uninterrupted! (of course, I ate at my desk almost every flippin’ day for my boss to holler from his office for some mundane question like, how to send an email, which would have me up and down and eating between hollers.)

So now my children are older. I have long stretches of time when we are at home together, they are doing their thing, I’m doing my thing. Like right now- I hear Adventure Time on the Cartoon Network in the other room. I’m sitting here typing in a different room. So far, no one has said, “mo–ooommmmmmm! can you get me some juice” even the dog hasn’t bothered me. This is kind of weird actually…

In fact, I do get some moments of peace. And when they go to school, I have the freedom of the time from 8:30 until 3 to get my day going in the way I choose. Does this always happen? No. I seem to always have an appointment, errand, chore or duty that will inevitably distract me from staying on course and actually getting a project done, like cleaning out my closet. Allison over at  Motherhood WTF describes this to a T! She nails it when it comes to what we actually get done.

I’m a volunteer queen. I have done PTA since Emma was in Kindergarten. Before that, I was chairperson to her preschool board for several years. Once Owen came along and was old enough for preschool, I stepped down, and that’s when I went right into PTA.

I loved the idea of PTA. I have memories of when my mom would come to school to help with something. Just seeing her in the building made my heart swell with comfort. Knowing mom was near. I felt special. I figured I would do the same for my kids. Giving them that feeling that I was connected to their education, letting their teachers know I supported all they did. Staying abreast of the administration and what goes on inside the building. All good things.

So I started with small committees, help in the classroom, fundraisers. Then boom- I helped chair the Talent Show. Well, the rest is history. I chaired 5 talent shows, served as President for 2 years, continued to chair events, tutoring in the school, and now I’m back to being President at the middle school level AND Vice President at the district level, or council, is what we call it. Look at me, I’m such an over achiever.

I feel the need, get asked, and continue to fulfill. It’s my duty. I’m a sucker, I know. I’m always reluctant. I’m not volunteering to volunteer. I am asked and then feel kinda guilty. Or feel, well, yeah, heck- might as well. Hey- it keeps me out of the mall spending all my time playing at Sephora like a crack head.

The family seems to always grumble when they know something is coming up for me to do, whether it’s a big auction or back to school event. Owen hates when I leave for my weeknight meetings. But I think it’s because they are used to me being around 24/7 .  Going out for an evening meeting a few times a month is a good thing for them to realize that, mommy is a person who can do things out of the house. Is he at a friend’s house playing or on XBOX while I’m gone? Usually. So he’s just being a stinker.

Last week, I left the house in the morning three days in a row to be at the PTA table for the middle school’s registration days. Emma was in charge at home babysitting herself and Owen. They had play dates and friends to entertain them as well. Some of the time they were just home hanging out. I would come home for lunch or a mid day break. I went back to the school. I got home around 2:30. That’s pretty early in the day, right?

But I was SPENT! I had nothing left in me after talking, smiling, gesturing, thinking, being charming, articulate…. you get the idea. It worked muscles and neurons in me that get to snooze most of the day. Being ON is hard work! I recruited parents, answered questions, engaged with staff. My face hurt from smiling.

Then on Saturday, it was our region’s Fall training. A whole day of classes and once again, I was there to help check people in, answer questions, facilitate sessions. I needed to look like a smart, edumacated person. Not just a mom who lounges around in yoga pants, blogging all day with Real Housewives in the back ground.

I made a trip to the grocery store on the way home and was home just before 5:30. I had left that morning at 7:15. I didn’t have nearly  enough to eat or caffeine consumption I would’ve preferred throughout the day. So I came home sleepy and famished. It took forever to restart my buttons. I was exhausted, but restless. I wanted to walk the dog outside, but curl up on the couch.

I was left thinking, is this what it would be like if I worked all day? Would I be a complete pile of useless flesh and bones on the couch every night? Would we be forced to eat mac n cheese and take-out for the rest of our lives?

Nothing got done last week. No laundry, no cleaning, no straightening.

I suppose getting in a routine of this, I would figure out a way.

Hearing from some other blogger mom’s that worked out of the home helped me see the beauty in some of their achievements. Younger kids off to day care, sometimes getting home a little before the husband picks up the kids to get some straightening done, or errands. Nobody home during the day to mess up the house. Having cleaners come in to clean while you aren’t home and the kids are in day care, seems like heaven to me!

Then there’s the group working FROM home and being in charge of little kids.  Dear God,  now THAT seems like a challenge. Holy shit! How would you get ANYTHING done? That’s like brushing your teeth with a mouthful of Oreos. Unproductive.

OR the husband that works from home while you are trying to do all the household stuff and he’s just another mouth to feed and body to clean around. BLERG! Drives me crazy.

I have to say that whatever your schedule is, working out of the home mom, working from the home mom, stay at home mom, I hope that you have found balance. This isn’t a mommy wars piece. I am not arguing the merits of one versus the other. Or trying to ‘out do’ other moms. Like birth stories trying to one-up each other over who had it worse- ‘well, my perineum split in two and had to be stapled together during the birth of my son.’  ‘oh yeah, well, when my milk came in my daughter latched incorrectly and chewed off my nipple and then I got double mastitis’. Yeah- that’s not what I’m going for here.

A frickin MEN!

I love my SAHM existence and really don’t want anything to rock that boat. Those days that I’m off for volunteer duties will just require a lot of pre-planning and organizing.

And seriously, why HAVEN’T the kids bothered me by now? They are too old to shave the dog or play with Sharpies…. oh wait. YouTube. I gotta go- I think someone just googled inverted nipples instead of invertebrates.

The Girl with the Anus Tattoo (NSFW)

It’s not a tattoo OF an anus people. It’s a tattoo ON her anus. And no, it’s not a brown star. It’s a guy’s name. Or two guys’ names. I lost track.

I just learned that NSFW means, Not Suitable For Work. Of course, I’m a SAHM (Stay at Home Mom) so I should have a NSFK warning. Not Suitable for Kids- if you wondered.

Because the words ‘anal tattoo’ in the headline wasn’t clue enough that this is something you SHOULDN’T be reading with your boss ( or kids) hovering over your shoulder.

So the article, and video, yes, video people, shows this girl having a tattoo needled onto her anus, butt hole, poop maker, in PUBLIC. PUBLIC.  I don’t have any tattoos. I’m too chicken. And I can’t commit to what kind of bedroom furniture I want, let alone, permanent ink on my body. If at 18 I had gotten a tattoo, it would have been something stupid like, a lipstick tube or a clown. I don’t know. Just glad I didn’t make that mistake.

Reading the full article and watching the video horrifies and saddens me at the same time.

I know people do interesting things with their body parts. Nipple piercings, labia piercings. Tattoos on their privates. Sure. Whatever you fancy. The anus is/can be, an erogenous zone. I’m not really ‘going there’, but I get that there’s stuff people do.

Bending over and having someone tattoo my hemorrhoid zone- ISN’T ONE OF THEM!

This girl is fucked up. Plain and simple. She has been abused, jailed, messed with. I realize she comes from a place I will never know. But to all the leerers, jeerers and folks oogling at this woman with her nipples taped over and her ass up for view- shame on you. Is this your daughter? Your wife? I mean, free expression is one thing. But I feel that she’s getting more of the same negative attention in her life by doing this, that she has experienced in the past. She isn’t breaking the cycle. Maybe she’ll get some money, attention, a book deal? I think she’s a good person. I just think she is going down the wrong path.

Maybe if Garry Marshall wrote the screenplay of her life, some sweet Ryan Gosling type,  would have jumped up on stage with his overcoat and whisked her away to a therapist and a spa, and a laser tattoo removal specialist. Not that she needs a guy to rescue her, it’s that she needs a man to say, ‘hey- you don’t need to tattoo my name on your rectal sphincter area for me to like you’.  And they would live happily ever after, in the ‘burbs with a dog. And she would plant things at the community garden and give the proceeds to charity….

So there’s my two cents on butt hole tattoo girl. I feel sad for her. If she has children, that butt hole might not look as pretty in the future. Or she might want to tattoo some flowers around the skin tags and hemorrhoids and episiotomy scar.

I’ll keep mine to myself, in the dark, not bleached, not tattooed, and just clean. Thanks.

Here’s the video and article:

Anal Tattoo Girl

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