Not Mommies!

When it came to the hey day of women's liberation, I wouldn't have been in the front of the picket lines, but I would have signed a petition or two and sent a check (even if they didn't send me return address labels first) to fund some of the fight. I would have posted links on a social networking site (they had Facebook in the sixties, right?) and read up on the latest before attending a cocktail party, just to piss off some macho men.

Zoe was begging for her Daddy to make her a Daddy Delight Grilled Cheese for lunch (what makes it a Daddy Delight? Well, it's a white bread/American cheese creation they always love, but he uses about a 1/4 pound of butter per sandwich and that is a delight)! I was kicking the darn washing machine because as it does a few times a year, it was refusing to do it's final spin, so clothes were taking a day to dry in the dryer and once again I jumped the gun and called the Maytag repair man to fix the dryer. A $60 service call, ma'am you just need to clean out the lint trap - gummy bears will affect the dryer's drying capacity, and a have a nice day later I realized it was the WASHER. So, I was perfectly content with my kids knawing out enough chocolate chips from granola bars to constitute as lunch (it not only gets them fed, but also gives me some mommy time), and not exactly up for some cheese grillin'.

"It's Monday. Dad's at work today!"

"Why he here yesterday?"

"It was the weekend. On weekends Daddy's and other's who work outside their houses get to stay home with their family and relax." Ha. Relax! How about bake 72 cookies for the church bake sale, three meals for other mom's who just had their second (or third babies), weather strip each outside door, decorate for upcoming Easter, reorganize the garage, and keep two toddlers entertained. Yeah, a real spa-like atmosphere weekends are...

"Not Mommies!"

It wasn't a question, it was an emphatic statement. And that is why my head swiveled around at lightening speed, and I put down the sledge hammer (damn washer).

"What do you mean, Not Mommies?"

"Mommies don't work! Just Daddies!"

"Do you think that Mommy doesn't work?"

"Yep!"

"Do you think this is fun?" I retorted, looking at a pile of play dough lumped in the corner I somehow missed when I mopped last month, at least five loads of laundry in various stages or laundering, cat puke all over the litter box (?) and a baby in only a size-too-small Pamper bathing in the dog's water bowl.

"Yep! It is fun, Mom!" Zoe exclaimed as she curled her little arms around my thigh and gave me her famous "hurting hugs" she likes to do to emphasize an 'I love you moment'.

At that point I realized my baby girl didn't care at all that I was a woman or a man, or anything about gender roles. She just knew that I was the lucky one to stay home all day with my babies. And she's right. As busy as a Mommy gets, it really isn't work. It's luck that brought all this chaos into our lives and as the wise women who came before us promise... we are gonna miss this!