Tuesday, March 8, 2011

My Job

Lately, I'm beginning to feel like the person left behind in the aftermath of a corporate down-sizing.  My work load keeps increasing (more children to care for, more dirty clothes to wash, more food to cook, more messes to clean up, more appointments to juggle, more arguments to referee, more possessions to deal with), but I'm not getting any additional hours in which to do it, and I sure as heck am not getting a salary increase.  I'd love to be able to delegate some of this stuff, but the company is not hiring (no sister wives here), and the interns...well, let's just say they need a lot more training (which, of course, falls to already overburdened me). 

And speaking of my job, why does everything always fall to the mama? 

The kid hurts himself.  Who needs to kiss the bump?  Mama. 
The kid wants a snack.  Who does he ask?  Mama. 
The kid acts up at school.  Who does the principal call?  Mama. 
The kid is sick.  Who does he want?  Mama. 
The kid wants to spend the night at some other kid's house.  Who does the other mama ask to talk to?  Mama. 
The kid has decided that he doesn't like to eat dinner anymore, but he's not allowed to leave the table until everyone is done.  Whose lap does he attempt to crawl into, and whose face does he continually touch, once he succeeds?  Mama. 

My delightful children have been known to walk right past a perfectly good parent, their father, to ask me for permission to do something or to do something for them or to get something for them.  I've already decided that next year I'm putting Hubby's cell number down as our home number on all the school forms so the principal can call him for a change (it'll be better all around, 'cause he's a lot less prone to tears than I am).  The real kicker?  The other day, Sawblock answered the phone and Code-man's teacher actually asked him to hand the phone to me!  What?

Why?  Why is it always the Mama?

**Just in case you're planning on answering my rhetorical question with an annoying or sarcastic comment, don't.  I don't want to hear read it.  Yes, I mean you.  You know you complain about your job, too, even though you love it and wouldn't want to be doing anything else.

1 comment:

  1. I know what you mean! I am trying really hard to look at this mothering and cleaning and boo-boo kissing as a blessing. Not easy when we are in the thick of it!


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