Hi All – Enjoy this hilarious post by badassmama (whom I also blog with at Working Mother Magazine )…that first sentence about working moms was all need to read to know that we are blood sisters! Please be sure to check out her blog when you can too, which is where I lifted this post from…

- Swati

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When you really think about it, most working moms are like a cross between Wonder Woman,Cinderella (without the whole need-to-be-rescued thing) and a dish rag.

Let me explain.

Most days of the week, we rise with the dawn and put on our superhero costume. While Diana favored golden hot pants and an eagle-encrusted corset, most working moms lean more toward the suit-and-pumps look. We apply our superhero mask (one part concealer, two parts tinted moisturizer and one part mascara/blush/lip gloss – we might even sweep on some eye shadow on a good day). We drop the kids to day care or school, leave them with the nanny or a grandparent and off we go to save the world (or at least our little corner of any given corporation).

Over the course of the day, at least a few times each week, we are complimented on our intelligence and strategic planning skills. Someone may flirt with us on the street. We are looked upon with admiration and even envy by young folks just entering our profession, or kids just looking to get their foot in the door with an informational interview. When we go out of town for a business meeting, industry event or speaking engagement we can feel inspired, aspirational, powerful.

And then we come home.

The front door itself can feel like Kryptonite, slowly but consistently eating away at our super powers. We remove our super suit (boogers and Oreo crumbs are never a good look)), take off the pumps and wash off the mask because really, what’s the point? We change into something dreary, comfortable, machine washable and slowly but consistently transform from the belle of the ball to something more akin to a dishrag. Always dirty, often smelly and constantly cleaning up someone else’s mess. And like a dish rag, we’re not much to look at. Taken for granted really. We do our jobs and end each day crumpled up, stained and thrown into the corner without much thought.

In the morning, we press repeat and the cycle continues.

I don’t know about you, but I’d really like to feel more like Wonder Woman than a dish rag. Well, a girl can always dream…

p.s. Took the trip to California. Gave a great speech at the business school on Saturday, took the red eye home and returned to 2 sick kids. Just call me Super-Cinderella.

Hi All:

Mandy at Since My Divorce continues to tell my story….this one relates how I started to dip my toes into the land of dating as a single mom (which often made me relaize I was standing in a swamp ) Oh well.  It ended well, didn’t it?

There is also another post about me trying to adjust to single life after my divorce..but unfortunately some things still remain tough.  That’s life – but I do choose to focus on all the gifts I’ve been given.

Thanks again Mandy!

Swati

Scene One, 7:17am:

Single mom peacefully sitting outside local Starbucks with Orzo (our six-month old Cavalier puppy) one Friday morning…daughter inside getting herself banana bread and getting me a decaf coffee.

Scene Two, 2 minutes later:

Disheveled stranger with adorable grey poodle plops at the table next to me.  Opens laptop and begins clicking away.

I feel a stare and look over at him, casually.  He is staring at me, not at all casually.

”I’m working until the coffee line goes down.  That’s why I don’t have anything yet.”

Oooo…kay?  Okay.  I only stare back.

Said poodle looks antsy.  Why?  Running all over the place – more than my puppy, more than my daughter at age four when she drank almost a full pitcher of lemonade.  Oh. Puppy really needs to go!  Owner bangs away at laptop.  Click clack, click clack.

Scene Three, 1 minute later:

Poodle begins running all over the place, first pees twice within 6 inches of my foot, then on a Starbucks chair then tangles into Orzo’s leash, where he pees again.  Owner *very* busy at laptop, notices nothing.  Poodle pees again, at the table his master is typing away at!

Click clack click clack! (Intense typing now)

Scene Four, 1 minute 33 seconds later:

How long before a Barista decides dogs won’t be allowed here anymore?

Surely if he noticed his dog was going to burst he would walk him four steps to that tree right there?  And pour a little water to dilute the pee on the Starbucks chair, table, and pole?  Surely.  Or look at all…embarrassed?  Surely?

I can’t help it…so…“Ummm,” (smiling) “Excuse me? I think he may need a small walk as he keeps peeing?” Smile, blink, blink.

He smiles back, laughing “with” me.  Grrr.

Then he nods in agreement.  Click click, click clack!  Grrr.

Click click, click clack!

Scene Five, 49 seconds later:

Poodle pees again.  We run for fear of what’s coming out of said poodle next, adorable (and completely ignored) as he is.

1. It’s 45 minutes before our flight to D.C. and we are nearing our gate at O’Hare. Between lunch, chocolate bark (vacation rule: desserts all the time), a magazine, a chapter book for “big kids”, and bottled water, we’ve spent nearly $55.00!
2. We arrive in D.C. at 4:30pm and decide to go for a walk to the White House; it’s 5 blocks away.  I diligently confirm with the hotel clerk that walking back to the hotel as it starts to get dark will be safe.  Her left eyebrow goes into a pointed arch; her eyes, now frosty, say “Really Lady?”  I realize I’ve just asked if it’s safe to walk within 5 blocks of the White House.  Only if you can get past the secret service, I quip in my head.  Heh heh…We leave.  We get some chocolate.Then we go on to revel in the exactness and sheer majesty of the Washington Monument and the crisp certainty of the White House.  All is good and right in America.
3. The next morning, we get a local map from the front desk and we are informed that we are so lucky to be here at the peak of Cherry Blossom season!  Hooray!
   
4. Around 9:00am, we mosey over to the Bureau of Engraving and Printing where our money is made.  We are informed that the free tickets are all gone, having been handed out at8:00am.  Since it’s extra crowded this week, people lined up at 6:00am to get them…it’s extra crowded because we are here at the peak of the Cherry Blossom season.  Hooray.We get some chocolate despite the fact that it’s 9:45am, because I am the best Mommy ever.
5. Refusing to be held back by just another pretty blossom, this single mom and her eight-year-old see the following over the next 12 hours: the World War II Memorial, the Vietnam War Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, a double-decker red bus tour, more ice cream, the Spy Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, the American Art Museum, Georgetown, and Arlington National Cemetery.
   

   I lose all composure at the Kennedy graves at Arlington National Cemetery.  How must Jackie have felt lighting the eternal flame for JFK?  How must her loved ones have felt burying her there?  My daughter knows something has shifted in her mom.  She asks if my allergies have gotten to me because my eyes are red.  I whisper no.  Then she gently holds my hand and we gaze at the beauty of this place.  Rows and rows of angle white headstones…I am totally overwhelmed by what our soldiers have done for us – just so my daughter and I can stand in this very spot.

   America is an amazing country.

6. The next day, we attempt to wake early to get tickets to the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.  So. Not. Happening.  We fall back into bed, asleep within seconds of our wake-up call.  Once we are up and moving, we wait an hour-and-a-half for free tickets to go up the Washington Monument…only to be told the 700 tickets they hand out each day are gone…we are about 20 people away from the ticket booth.  Because. It’s. Cherry. Blossom. Season.  Grrr.
7. 
   A ride on a different bus tour, a trip to Union Station, then the Capital, and then the Museum of Natural History put us back in good cheer.  No worries, we’ve squeezed in another ice cream at Gifford’s.  In the Hall of Human Origins, we are able to see what we would have looked like as Neanderthals, 200,000 years ago.   You may think that picture of me is awful, but I was a babe to the other Neanderthals.  My daughter loves the fact that many cave people were only 3 feet tall.  Secretly, so do I.  We are concerned that a 65-foot Octopuses exist (though it’s beautiful) and are silenced by the vividness of the photographs presented for a natural wildlife contest.  Except I think the momma gorillas look more patient than I do.  The 45+ carat Hope Diamond is, er, smaller than I imagined (am I Demi Moore?)

   Chinatown disappoints; it’s about one block long, with one open shop, and my daughter has saved $27 to shop the trinkets.  Luckily, Chicago’s Chinatown can compensate.  “Mom, what day are you taking me there?” Sigh.  Cup cakes.

8. J. arrives for the weekend, exhausted.  I decide I will get up early to get the three of us tickets to the Washington Monument – the only thing on my daughter’s must see list.   As she falls asleep that night, my daughter tells me to wake her because she’s coming too.  I wake her at 5:30am the next morning and she says “I love you mom” and goes to sleep.  J. hasn’t taken the hint at all (!!!) and so I am definitely the one getting the tickets – and it’s still dark outside.  I need COFFEE.  The hotel dining room is closed for business, as is the clerk at the desk.  Two nearby Starbucks are closed too.  Very few things make me curse spontaneously, but WTF?!
9. With martyr-music playing loudly in my head, I hail a cab to the Monument – and am relieved and amazed to see about 75 people there already!  My new ‘close friends” and I watch in awe as the sun rises over the Capitol and the Washington Monument while the moon is still out; it’s stunning.  Bullishly having worn flip flops, my toes are now fully frozen.  Tickets are handed out beginning at 8:30am; thirty minutes later, over half are gone already – but I’ve gotten three.  I want to tell the people at the end of the line, “don’t bother” but I don’t have the heart.They will be in line at 6:15am tomorrow.  Maybe I should tell them that Starbucks won’t be open either?
10. I get back to plenty of hugs and coffee.  My daughter says,”I feel jealous when my stuffed animals can get in somewhere really teeny, tiny and I want to get in there and I can’t.”  Well who doesn’t?
    Two hours later, we are set to go up the Washington Monument…but only after we wait in the ladies room line for 29 minutes (only two stalls)!

    The views from the top are truly beautiful – even those damn Cherry Blossom trees surrounding the Jefferson Memorial.  Why are the windows so small?  Why are we up here with fifty 8^th graders who are busy texting and flirting?

    The Air and Space Museum enchants some of us with the Wright brothers original plane (“Mom, there’s a bunch of planes all over…why do we have to keep looking at this one?”)

11. At the American History museum, we see Lincoln’s top hat (I thought it would be taller); but the exhibit fascinates me, J. and my 8-year-old – yippee!  Now that’s good exhibit design.My wish to stand near Julia Child’s kitchen is fulfilled along with the 126 others with the same wish…but the true jewel is the exhibit with the finely designed gowns worn by our first ladies for their husband’s Inauguration Ceremonies.  Jackie Kennedy out does all, once again.  And I imagine a day when this exhibit has a man’s tux as his wife becomes our Commander in Chief.At Ford’s Theater, we see the exact spot where Lincoln was shot.  We have to pause and just stop everything because it’s not humanly possible to be at that spot and just walk by.

    Another ice cream at Gifford’s cools us off and I wonder if it’s a public company so I can invest.  My daughter gives in to the flavor of the day: Cherry Blossom!

12. Sunday brunch at Paolo’s in Georgetown rounds out our trip.  We’ve forgotten to get cupcakes at a recommended bakery, but make our way to Gifford’s one last time.
13. Exhausted, we arrive home with 20 pairs of dirty undies, 3 extra pounds on the Mommy, and lots of delicious memories.  And we are so thankful to be in America.