The Zen Mom

As most working moms, I live with my head perpetually in my ass. Today, January 2nd, I have it marked on the family calendar (see, we have one of those--I'm so organized, don't you just want to shoot me?) "Alexis goes back to work." But, because I'm an idiot mother who also holds down a job, I didn't realize that today is a national holiday so here I am. Not at work and reflecting on what I like to call "working mother syndrome," which, in my weaker moments, does things like make me want to subscribe to Working Mother magazine and go on the View to talk about "balancing it all." 

Let's be honest. Men don't have this issue (and don't get all "pc" on me because it's true...they don't). People don't walk around saying, "my husband's a working father." No, he's just a father. No one cares whether he works or he doesn't work, but whenever I'm catching up with someone, they always ask me "are you working?" I usually feel very comfortable in my role as a working mom, except when people ask if I'm working because it insinuates that there's another option...which there isn't..so it kind of makes me want to scream back, like a psychopath, "are YOU working ?!?! " But, I don't because, like most working moms, I keep my aggression completely bottled up inside so I can appear to be a Zen mommy, moving through the working mommy days as if it were some kind of Zanex induced twilight sleep...no guilt...no confusion...just acceptance. 

I actually thought I was doing quite well managing my "condition." I had the schedule completely down, Max was happy, Mike was happy and I felt like I had the "balance" that every parenting magazine and stupid Angelina Jolie-esque celebriparent with too many kids drones on about.

Until...the day I was served a bad margarita.

Yes, you see, one of the things no one really talks about is the importance of alcohol in a working mother's life...we momaholics are the types who come home from work and must have a glass of wine or we'll combust. If we're with our children, we look at the clock as it ticks closer to the bedtime hour just so we can pop open that glass of Ramona Pinto Grigio and start swigging. Many of us don't even wait until bedtime and that's just fine too. A drunk mom does things with her own panache.

Anyway, it was a Sunday night and Mike and I had been out with Max for several hours and it was getting late. Max had fallen asleep in the stroller and we decided to pop into a Mexican restaurant for their Sunday night happy hour. Nothing like having a cocktail under the "I really f-ing hope my kid doesn't wake up" umbrella. It's either a seize the moment moment, or it's the dumbest thing you've ever done. The thing is, when mommy orders a cocktail, it had better arrive fast and it had better be delicious. Now, my Zen self didn't realize how much of a momaholic I actually was until I took a sip of the worst margarita I'd ever tasted. Chock full of triple sec and sour mix and yuck. The minute I took that sip, I thought of how hard I work (yeah that's right...how hard I work...I'm no martyr...I'm bitching it like it is). I thought of that f-ing balance...the timing, the scheduing, the endless packing of snacks and lunches and the guilt and the worry and the....oh that waiter was so sad he came up to our table to ask me how my drink was. 

I looked at Mike and he stared at me with those big brown eyes all awash in "please don't...I cant watch..."

"Aaaand how's that drink for ya?" the just off the bus from Indiana to get an acting job waiter chirped.
"Let's talk," I groan.
"Oooohkay...."
"Heres the thing. I ordered s spicy jalapeño cucumber margarita..."
"Yes..."
"First of all, it doesn't taste spicy. It doesn't taste ccucumbery. It doesn't even taste tequila-ish...it tastes like fake lime juice and triple sec and that's about all and I'm sorry sir, I know you didn't make it so I guess...I'm really talking to your bartender through you but in any case it's bad. Also, you served this drink up, without ice, and quite frankly, if I order a margarita, I want it to be ice cold, on the rocks, and if you're going to serve it to me up, it should be advertised that way. Otherwise, I'm really drinking a semi cold, soon to be semi warm drink that I'll have to pour on the rocks anyway and I'd rather just save everyone the time and trouble and..."
"Miss? Would you like me to get you another drink?"

And like any working mother, like any nagging wife, I slipped back into Zen mommy mode and said, passive aggressively and with enough guilt inducing saccharine that this guy was probably going to go cut himself after his shift was over:  "No...no thanks. This is just fine. I...I just thought you should know that it's not what everyone says it is. It's not..what I expected."

And I drank the entire thing and then I was drunk (because working mommy really only needs a splash of triple sec to be wasted) and then max woke up and it was time to leave and contemplate Monday, work, packing and it's back to hoping that I'm doing something right and that I have enough wine in my fridge for when I get home...and for the next 363.5 days of 2012.

Ommmmmm ommmmmm ommmmmm

Comments

[Carolyn White]

This is hilarious... as usual. You never miss. It's all so true and you make it work so beautifully. I wish you could write a blog every day because then my days would be better. You are so refreshing and funny.