This time, it's about a couple of things I hate about being a SAHM. I may have mentioned this somewhere before, but I'm not going to dig through what Blogger tells me are 63 posts to find out. If you've read it before, you can skip it this time or just read it again.
Thing the First (and the biggest): Dear Professional People of the World, Guess what? I'm not dumb. Maybe you have a higher degree of learning than I do. Personally, I think that's a subjective thing; even if you've got a piece of paper to back you up, I can guarantee there's at least ONE something I know more about than you do. Maybe you just have a trade, a learned skill that I need to make use of because it's not in my repertoire. Yet. I can take classes and learn that shit, too; don't get all uppity on me. I know plenty of women who can change the oil in their own cars. I can do it, too, with instruction. And then *I*, for one, won't be paying *you* to do it for me.
So, yeah, I don't have a college degree, but I did go to college. And, no, I didn't flunk out. Maybe I screwed up a bit what with the whole "getting pregnant before finishing school" think, but college and I were on a break, I wasn't cheating! Hell, as a teen, I used to read the AMA journals, so I know a thing or two about some stuff. I listened and paid attention when my dad was all into making furniture and built-ins for my mom, so I could probably construct a halfway decent set of shelves if I were to set my mind to it. I know how to make bread, from scratch, and how to debone a chicken. Can you do that? All of it? Maybe yes, maybe no. And, ok, yeah, I'm a Stay-at-Home Mom. My kids are in the public school system, but I'm still not working. Therefore....
Therefore, dear Doctor who saw my son last year when he had pneumonia, please, oh, PLEASE don't talk down to me like that again. It may interest you to note that, while you misspelled the word on the note you wrote for me, I didn't have to look it up to spell it correctly on here. And the way you were using all your Real, Big People words with my husband? He was nodding politely, completely lost. After we walked out of there, he turned to me and said, "What the Hell was that all about? What's going on?" And I had to explain it to him. Here's a hint -- he has less education than I do. His d*ck does not automatically confer upon him the knowledge to translate doctorese. He's the one who needs you to lay it out in the simplest words possible. In fact, he's requested that from here on out, I take all the doctor's visits because he's afraid this will happen again sometime when I'm not there to translate for him, or to be talked down to like a babydoll.
Dear Tradespeople who look down on me when something goes wrong and I need it fixed, BITE ME. Yeah, my husband probably could fix it himself, but guess what? He's busy being a soldier and being deployed to a freaking WAR ZONE. Let's see you fix a drain from over there. I have puppy poop to clean up and laundry to fold and put away and toothpaste to try and clean out of the carpet and...do you really, *really* need more? I mean, I could save myself some money and attitude and wait for my parents to come visit because Daddy will take care of it for me, but I'd really like to be able to wash dishes over the next two months.
Thing the Second: Is it really so much to ask that I not either have another living creature literally attached to me every moment of every day, or else be trying to clean up the mess caused by said creature because it's Lonely Without You, Mommy!? Arranging occasional childcare sucks, and when I have to ask my neighbor to do it, it's like telling her "if you have something come up that normally you'd want to do, too bad. For today, MY needs come first and yours can suck it." I don't like doing that to people. And then when I get home I feel sorry for the puppy left alone too long who got all destructive. Destruction which *I* get to clean up, of course.
Thing the Third: So many activities scheduled for The Wrong Time. I'm either never invited to anything, or I'm invited to events that start at 2:15 -- 30 minutes before my kids get home -- or 4:00 -- the time my daughter gets home -- or 6:00 -- dinnertime, followed shortly by showers and bedtime. I'd love to find it in my schedule to see you, but can we please make it lunch? Or Saturday? You know, some time when I might *actually* be able to get there?
Thing the Fourth: I'm really sick and damn tired of being a target of other parents -- either I'm a sellout to feminism and setting women back *decades* by choosing to bow to the man, or I'm something like the so-called "Desperate" housewives of TV. Here's a newsflash -- a LOT of stay-at-home parents did not CHOOSE anything. We didn't have a choice in the matter. There are as many reasons why we were forced into this as there are SAHPs. Maybe we have medical issues that make it impossible to hold down a job. Maybe we have a *child* or more children with medical issues that require a parent being on hand just in case. Maybe we're in a position where, in order to be able to work we'd have to have 2 jobs -- one for the paycheck and one just to pay the child care bill. So, no, it's not a choice. And I don't have the luxury of being able to do whatever I want and create a "career" for myself, nor do I have a nanny/housekeeper and money for everything I could possibly want, twice over. My house may not be spotless, but I work DAMN hard, every day, making sure that whatever else it may be, it's also a home -- a place where friends and family are welcome and comfortable, where you can eat, or pull up a good book, and know that a friendly ear is there waiting for you.
So maybe it's not *my* name on the paycheck. Until you've walked that mile in my shoes, try not to judge me based on your observations of the outside of my life.
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