Dammit #1:
I've been so busy writing that I don't write anymore. Anti-dammit: I really like this project, and when I'm writing for someone else, it's much easier to stick a deadline.
Dammit #2:
I worked 30 hours last week--in addition to my day job. Literally. Most of it was at night after the girls went to bed. I've found that the combined gentle snores of a Great Dane and a husband pretending not to sleep in front of the TV create a very effective white noise.
Dammit #3:
We have a new coffee maker, one which has achieved near-deity status in our house. No more brewing a pot at a time, hoping that Thomas won't make it slap-you-silly strong again. Now I just set it the way I like it and push the button. One perfect cup of coffee at a time. And then another and another . . . And one slightly more than perfectly caffeinated mom, jittering through her day. (I'm not sure if this is an actual Dammit, or just gloating.)
Dammit #4:
There's a new kids show on Nickelodeon that was touted as the one show that parents would actually like, too. To this I had to ask, "WTF were you watching when you wrote this article??" (The article I was actually reading the one time we saw the show.) Seriously, there were only two things I liked about Yo Gabba Gabba: 1) It was only on Noggin once--to preview before they moved it over to Nick. 2) I didn't actually have an ice-pick in my hand with which to jab the memory of it from my head. I almost feel as though I owe Barney an apology.
Showing posts with label working moms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label working moms. Show all posts
Monday, September 17, 2007
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Hannah on Working Moms (well, one mom, anyway)
Late yesterday afternoon I was sneaking in a few minutes of writing time while Hannah was watching a movie. Once she realized what I was doing, the movie was no longer interesting:
Hannah:
"Do you want a sticker? I love stickers. Let's play a game!"
Me:
"Can I just finish up this one section? I'm almost done . . ."
Hannah (with world's largest pout):
"I'm really frustrated with you for working.
It's not meant for you.
Only boys, not Mommys.
Mommys don't go anywhere or do anything."
Um, not good. I don't want Hannah and Charlotte growing up thinking they just have to know how to be a good wife, how to cook, do laundry and keep the house clean. Which is basically what my mother told me, and probably my sisters, too.
Mom later apologized for it, but in some ways the damage had been done. After all, when you spend most of your early years doing all of the household chores (don't leave a dish dirty or you'll have to wash every one in the house. Every last one. Good times!), not being allowed to play sports, and not being encouraged in math and science, you sort of get it set in your mind that you can't do those things. Not just "not allowed" but actually "incapable." It's a hard lesson to overcome and most emphatically not one I want my daughters to learn.
Today, my sister Sarah told me that my eight year old niece, who has been playing soccer since she was three--the last couple of years in an all-girl league--had her first practice with her new, co-ed league. Inexplicably, she decided to pretend to the boys that she didn't know how to play. She then stood back and let them do everything.
Fortunately, Sarah was having none of that. After practice, she pulled her daughter aside and asked her what that was all about. When there was no satisfactory answer, my niece was told that this was not to happen again. That she knew how to play--probably better than most of the other kids there, including the boys. That, next practice, she was to go out there and be aggressive and do her best or there would be no soccer.
All three of Sarah's girls have been told, basically from birth, just how lucky they are to be girls: they can do anything that the boys can do and then go home and put on a pretty dress if they want to. Something that most boys don't get to do.
Amen to that.
She is my younger sister, but I want to be just like Sarah when I grow up.
Hannah:
"Do you want a sticker? I love stickers. Let's play a game!"
Me:
"Can I just finish up this one section? I'm almost done . . ."
Hannah (with world's largest pout):
"I'm really frustrated with you for working.
It's not meant for you.
Only boys, not Mommys.
Mommys don't go anywhere or do anything."
Um, not good. I don't want Hannah and Charlotte growing up thinking they just have to know how to be a good wife, how to cook, do laundry and keep the house clean. Which is basically what my mother told me, and probably my sisters, too.
Mom later apologized for it, but in some ways the damage had been done. After all, when you spend most of your early years doing all of the household chores (don't leave a dish dirty or you'll have to wash every one in the house. Every last one. Good times!), not being allowed to play sports, and not being encouraged in math and science, you sort of get it set in your mind that you can't do those things. Not just "not allowed" but actually "incapable." It's a hard lesson to overcome and most emphatically not one I want my daughters to learn.
Today, my sister Sarah told me that my eight year old niece, who has been playing soccer since she was three--the last couple of years in an all-girl league--had her first practice with her new, co-ed league. Inexplicably, she decided to pretend to the boys that she didn't know how to play. She then stood back and let them do everything.
Fortunately, Sarah was having none of that. After practice, she pulled her daughter aside and asked her what that was all about. When there was no satisfactory answer, my niece was told that this was not to happen again. That she knew how to play--probably better than most of the other kids there, including the boys. That, next practice, she was to go out there and be aggressive and do her best or there would be no soccer.
All three of Sarah's girls have been told, basically from birth, just how lucky they are to be girls: they can do anything that the boys can do and then go home and put on a pretty dress if they want to. Something that most boys don't get to do.
Amen to that.
She is my younger sister, but I want to be just like Sarah when I grow up.