Kinda bad news, or really bad news?

Here's what happened on my last night of kickball.

Yeah, I played kickball, and I got on base.  Once.  The entire season.  Count it!

The one time I got on base was the time that Seth and Lakeland came to cheer me on.  Just before I got up to bat, my cheering squad took off for a quick diaper change.  And that's when I kicked a heater right down the third base line, which is exactly what I'd tried to do every other time I was up to bat (and popped out to the pitcher). 

Anyway...they were gone a looooong time, and when they returned, Lakeland was not wearing the perfect kickball-watching outfit I had picked out for her.  She was in fact, not wearing anything at all.  Except her diaper. 

It's not abnormal, though, for Seth to change a diaper and not bother with redressing the child.  However, this being a public place, outdoors, I don't know...would he really do that?

Quizzically, I looked at my husband, who was slowly shaking his head from side to side as he shuffled toward me.  Here's what he had to say:

"So, do you want to hear the kinda bad news, or the really bad news?"

I was still on a high from getting on base.  How bad could this news really be? 

It turned out that Lakeland was unclothed for two reasons. 

#1:  She pooped through her diaper and onto her shirt and her pants.  Seth claimed no fault of his own.  He said (God, how many women have heard this??) "Babe, I think Lakeland must be sick or something.  That was NOT a normal diaper.  There was poop everywhere.  Her shirt and her pants are covered.

OK, how does this always happen?  I can change a shitty diaper, while Lakeland is squirming ON MY LAP, in a moving bus.  A moving bus that is going over speed bumps.  At 90 miles per hour.  And still not get poop anywhere it's not supposed to be.   

#2:  Somewhere in the process of flinging the dirty diaper round and round his head and then squashing it into her clothing (it's seriously the only way I can think of that poop got all over the inside and outside of the car, including a trail of chunks in the parking lot) Seth closed all of the doors, then picked up an unclad Lakeland, who had been playing with the car keys, from the back of the truck.  Then shut the door...the locked door...keys quietly lying on the floor inside, right where Lakeland left them. 

And this was the really bad news.

Mom wars are bullshit.

All I had to do was Google "mommy wars", and, oh, about 19 million websites popped up, referring me to various books and articles written about the "war".  Who started the "war", what fueled the  "war", feminism concepts and anthropological issues related to the "war"... I can go on...and on...and on.  Everyone else certainly has.

This idea of stay at home moms standing off against working moms has been discussed ad nauseum.  No.  Seriously.  I hear about it so often it makes me puke.  So earlier this week, when I was driving LL around in a gigantic thunderstorm (she was tired, I was bitchy...the situational details are boring), NPR was reporting about a college professor who breast-fed her baby during class.  And of course, the highly educated, bright, and accomplished women who made up the discussion panel brought up the ol' mommy war issue.  And I puked.

I also decided to share with you the life of a "stay-at-home-working-mother".  What?  You've never heard of us?  That's because we don't have time to argue about fabricated situations that will never benefit anyone.  We are too busy wiping orange juice from our work papers and scraping oatmeal off our laptop screens to weigh in on non-issues that, in the long run, don't really accomplish anything.

A "stay-at-home-working-mother", hereafter referred to as a "NoBS", is a woman who stays at home and raises the kid/kids while simultaneously maintaining gainful employment from her home office.  A NoBS usually has a pretty cool boss, somewhat flexible hours, tolerant co-workers, and super special abilities.  I can pretty much boil these special abilities down to two things.

1. Must be proficient at ignoring your child.  In infancy, this means typing, answering the phone, and doing other things work related, while breast/bottle-feeding.  In later years, it means being able to concentrate while there is a toddler sitting on your lap, with her face two inches from yours, saying "Mommy.  Mommy.  Mommy?  Mommy.  Mommy!  Can you HEAR ME?  Mommy!!!".
2. Must be able to work in a chaotic environment.  And by chaotic, I mean that your office floor (most likely your kitchen) is basically a fucking vat of crunched up cheerios, and sometimes you have to reply to emails while folding laundry, preparing snacks, or singing Itsy Bitsy Spider.  

It's really just multi-tasking.  It's doing two jobs at once.  Like driving a cab while editing a manuscript.  Or constructing a building while doling out financial advice.  It takes practice, but it's totally doable. 

A NoBS gets to experience all of the wonders and joys of full time motherhood.  She gets to take her kid to the park, go grocery shopping during off hours, and rock her baby to sleep.  She doesn't get stuck in rush hour traffic.  She knows exactly what and how much her child eats, because she prepares the meals and dines with the child.  She knows all the little daily details, and it really is magical and she really is grateful.

Of course, she hasn't had a haircut in 8 months, and hasn't been alone, even in the bathroom, for 68 days straight, and she has to take her kid with her to the dentist, and oh, right...she has a DEADLINE LOOMING.

When her kid is napping, a NoBS is working frantically, using that precious hour and a half to get as much done as humanly possible.  And after a 12 hour day of domestic bliss, when the kid is finally asleep, she still has 3 hours of business to conduct.  

I like to think we are all in the same proverbial boat.  We moms wake up in the morning with a long list of shit we have to do.  We do that shit and cross it off our list, hoping that we got enough shit done until it's time to do more shit tomorrow.  Why give two shits about who got what done on somebody else's list?  That's just another thing to write down on your list.  (#483:  Check to make sure Jenna helped her kids brush their teeth.)  Do we really need a longer to-do list?

Here's a little pictorial about my life as a NoBS. 

The situation:   I have to edit a transcription of a financial call, in real-time.  Meaning, I have to listen and read and make corrections super fast, and I have to do it for about an hour, and I can't stop or pause.  No. Matter. What.

Oh, and I have to entertain a toddler, so I come up with a "fun project" for her to do while I'm working.  I give her a spray bottle and a roll of paper towels right before my call starts, and hope for the best.  For the first 5 minutes of my call, I think how clever I am, getting her to clean for me.  She quickly humbles me by pooping her pants which, for the next 55 minutes, I can do nothing about except to breathe through my mouth. 

The situation:  Payroll is due and many emails need to be sent to get the numbers in order.
I figure I'll give Lakeland a snack, and she'll be trapped in her chair, rendering me capable of finishing my duties.  Within minutes, everything in her vicinity is caked in yogurt, and she is squirming to get down.  I can't stop the payroll process, and I can't have a yogurt-baby running around the house.  What to do?

Oh, I know.  I will just take my mobile office to the bathroom, throw her in the tub, sit backward on the toilet lid, and use a box of tampons for a mouse pad.  Done.

The point is this.  I'm thankful to have the opportunity to concurrently reach professional and domestic goals.  I get offered jelly beans by a two year old when I tinkle on the potty, and I get congratulated for a job well done by my boss.  My lunch buddy thanks cows for making cheese for her, and I get to learn about the quarterly financials and impacts of global companies.

I support every woman's right to choose her own path and do what works best for her, and for her family.  And for women that don't have a choice, and trust me, I realize there are many, I admire you.