Turns out I’m insanely Jealous
This Yiddisheh mama has a major confession to make. I’ve been holding this one in, so bear with me. It comes from a lifetime ago. You SAHM’s, like my Mrs., oh how I want to be you. Let me schmear (spread) some broad, sweeping caveats, loudly and clearly, that you, by far, have the single hardest job on the planet.
Dem, ikh visn. This, I know.
You may find me to be the schmegeggy (doofus, idiot). Hours suck. Pay worse. Days are ongoing and relentless. Sleep? Vos iz dos? (What is that?) Tantrums, bickering, and ‘hangry’ (tired and hungry) whining. The driving, the traffic, the geshrei-ing (yelling). There are enough scattered organic food scraps strewn across the car
to easily feed a small city to enrage me. I am aware of the mistreatment and abuse you encounter. Selective deafness. Your voice sounds like the adults on any episode of Charlie Brown — Whaa whaa whaaa whaaaa whaaa… And, like the air they breathe, they take you for granted daily, hurling sweaters, trash, already-chewed gum, back-packs, boogers from their noses that they don’t ever pick, and whatever that was, that was stuck on the bottom of their boots at you on their way to play. Ewww. Disgusterous. The spills, messes, laundry, groceries and constant wardrobe changes. The lack of privacy and ‘me time.’ The lack of adult conversation. I feel your pain when a craft, carefully chosen with thoughtfulness and love, causes utter unhappiness, and you experience the ‘epic mom fail.’ Oy vey iz mir (OMG).
It’s this momma’s mishegas (craziness) for which I yearn. Who’s meshuggah (nuts) here? I know it’s me. I’m in awe of you and your daily sacrifices. I value you in ways society always overlooks. You have the charge of building little human beings that are kind and empathic in a world that is not.
You SAHM’s have a benefits package that is also very appealing. Not traditional bennies, like medical, 401k
I don’t have them either. You have magical, mystical, emotional bennies. You carried them in your bellies and felt life move inside you (remember, we are two mommies here — and I am the go to work momma – GTWM). And yes, I know you were uncomfortable, and you peed a lot and your back hurt while riding the hormonal rollercoaster from hell. Instantly, when a midwife placed them each upon your bare chest, you bonded so deeply as you provided endless nourishment and comfort.
Oh, the firsts! Smiles, words, and Frankensteinian steps. Gymboree! Mama and me classes! Dancing, reading, painting, adorableness. First days of school — don’t get me started…
And you were and continue to be a part of that special club of caregivers chatting at ballet class, school drop-off, pickup and the playground. You make it to the assemblies, school publishing parties, and you are the ones to bring in the vegan cupcakes for school birthday celebrations. You are in the know and living life in yoga pants.
Me, I wake up each day, hours before sunrise, and it’s time to make the donuts. Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s schlep (
drag my ass out of bed) to work I go… I work during my morning cuppa. I do a little tai chi (me time), shower and work some more, before heading to work. During lunch, most days, I work. Some days I have the good fortune to meet with some of my wonderful friends, for a coffeeless coffee date. Like everyone else in this land of plenty, I work to support this beautiful family that I love so much. I know how lucky I am to have such nachas (good fortune). I am not kvetching (complaining).
So here’s the catch, I like work. I am good at it and I am a hard and loyal worker. My day job is a good gig. My morning, evening and weekend effort is also a good gig in the making. (More to come on that in future posts.) And, in the end, I know I miss so much.
Ich macht a labnt. I’m makin’ a livin’.
I know as the laborer, as in all families, moments pass me by. And this glass half-full, GTWM
often sometimes feels like I am missing out. I treasure the moments I have with my Mrs., der kinder and Gatsby. Every minute is a chance to create memories. Even the incredibly sucky ones when I want to punch a wall, like after work, when I walk up the three flights of steps, inhale the overwhelming aroma of weed the neighbors are imbibing and Big has tears streaming down her face. Little is in her room with the door shut, moaning. the Mrs., she has ‘that look,’ and I know you know exactly what look I mean. She is schvakh (utterly and completely drained). The only sign of happiness is Gatsby’s unconditionally wagging tail.
Knah aun libe zenen shvesters. Jealousy and love are sisters.
I’m not kvetching, just jealous. And I am honored to be the spouse of my Mrs., my bashert (destined to be with), the mother of these shana maidelehs (beautiful, loving little girls). And together, we will raise strong women. <3 And tomorrow, I work.