Working Mom Meltdown
There are a lot of days that I leave my house with frizzy hair, smeared makeup (if any), and no keys. It's the plight of a mother to always be frazzled, but add "Working" in front of it, and it's a whole new ballgame. So it is with great wonder that I observe some of the women when I drop my daughter off at daycare. How do they get so polished? How do they keep it all together? Some of them have two and three kids, and still maintain perfect French manicures. It makes me feel inadequate, unorganized and at times, horribly alone. Until today...
As I pull up, I notice a beautiful, skinny blonde in crisp business attire talking to a walking Baby Gap ad. This little boy had cherubic cheeks a la Norman Rockwell, but the scowl was pure rotten three-years-old. Mommy was trying to coax him into the building, but his Baby Timberlands were glued firmly and solidly to the concrete sidewalk.
"C'mon, Jeffy, Mommy has to go to work," cajoled the blonde, her perfect anchorwoman hair framing a sweet and caring expression. She held her hand out to Jeffy, but Jeffy was not the least bit interested. His chin was now almost hidden from view in a perfect preschool pout, head down, lip even lower.
"C,mon, Jeffy, NOW." The tone a little more firm, Mommy reached over and tried to pull him by the hand, but Jeffy yanked his hand away and tucked them high beneath his armpits. I could see the tantrum bubbling like lava in a volcano. Mommy was completely oblivious to the impending doom, still thinking she could persuade little Jeffy to bend to her will.
"JEFFREY, I said NOW!" She grabbed his elbow (since his hands had disappeared), and that's when it happened. Bubbling, up & up, until BOOM! And out comes the ear-splitting screech of a seriously pissed-off three-year-old:
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And that was follwed with a machine gun volley of "NO's." "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, etc."
I watched with intense fascination. Here was Deborah Norville's twin sister, a portrait of grace and sophistication, the woman with her cake, the ability to eat it, and not even gain an ounce while doing it. Lincoln Navigator, Prada bag, Botox smile. I know she would impart to me some ounce of Mommy wisdom so that someday, I, too, might be able to get it together and balance it all effortlessly.
And that's when she picked up the screaming toddler, tucked him under her arm like a linebacker headed for the in-zone, and plowed straight through the daycare door.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. And it made me feel so much better. Even perfect people aren't perfect.
As I pull up, I notice a beautiful, skinny blonde in crisp business attire talking to a walking Baby Gap ad. This little boy had cherubic cheeks a la Norman Rockwell, but the scowl was pure rotten three-years-old. Mommy was trying to coax him into the building, but his Baby Timberlands were glued firmly and solidly to the concrete sidewalk.
"C'mon, Jeffy, Mommy has to go to work," cajoled the blonde, her perfect anchorwoman hair framing a sweet and caring expression. She held her hand out to Jeffy, but Jeffy was not the least bit interested. His chin was now almost hidden from view in a perfect preschool pout, head down, lip even lower.
"C,mon, Jeffy, NOW." The tone a little more firm, Mommy reached over and tried to pull him by the hand, but Jeffy yanked his hand away and tucked them high beneath his armpits. I could see the tantrum bubbling like lava in a volcano. Mommy was completely oblivious to the impending doom, still thinking she could persuade little Jeffy to bend to her will.
"JEFFREY, I said NOW!" She grabbed his elbow (since his hands had disappeared), and that's when it happened. Bubbling, up & up, until BOOM! And out comes the ear-splitting screech of a seriously pissed-off three-year-old:
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And that was follwed with a machine gun volley of "NO's." "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, etc."
I watched with intense fascination. Here was Deborah Norville's twin sister, a portrait of grace and sophistication, the woman with her cake, the ability to eat it, and not even gain an ounce while doing it. Lincoln Navigator, Prada bag, Botox smile. I know she would impart to me some ounce of Mommy wisdom so that someday, I, too, might be able to get it together and balance it all effortlessly.
And that's when she picked up the screaming toddler, tucked him under her arm like a linebacker headed for the in-zone, and plowed straight through the daycare door.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. And it made me feel so much better. Even perfect people aren't perfect.
posted by Kristie at 8:26 AM
3 Comments:
I have those days with my daughter taking her to her pre-school.
~Jef
A woman has to do what a woman has to do.
Good thing I don't have kids. The scene would have played out to something like this;
"C'mon Jeffy, daddy has to work. Now Jeffy, don't make daddy beat your little ass in front of all these people, then go to jail, make bail, then come back and beat that little ass again, go to jail, repeat..."
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