the glamour of motherhood…

Wandering the ether on a quiet evening, i stumbled upon this fun post from expensive mistakes and cheap thrills (a member of kyknoords South African Chick Posse*). 

It brought back a very vivid memory from long ago…

During the early breeding phase, i took unpaid leave to stay home and care for the li’l critters.  After returning to work and abandoning them to the Charles Manson Family Day Care Center**, i became restless to find my own “groove”.  Fighting the “working mommy trap”, i wanted to make sure i wasn’t just a work drone, and didn’t want to get completely lost in day-to-day parental responsibilities…. so i became a volunteer at the local Planned Parenthood Affiliate.

This led to a position on the Board of Directors, which led to managing various advocacy and fund-raising events.  i was astonished at how easy it was to pick the pockets of the wealthy by simply hosting extravagant events and pouring liquor down their throats.  The return on investment for a bottle of good scotch?  Thousands of dollars in reproductive health care for women with limited options… 

After one particularly lavish party, hosted in one of the most decadent, collosal and ostentatious finest homes in the city, i came home in the wee hours of the morning, still floating a bit from the heady experience.  In my role as “dessert hostess”, i was decked out in a spectacular little black dress, hair piled romantically upon my head, and wearing my cheap, sparkly jewelery bought at the drug store finest accessories.  i was awed that i could fit in with this crowd – witty repartee with the local “who’s who”, holding my own with doctors, lawyers and perhaps even an indian chief… and they seemed to find me engaging***.  Me?  The Trailer Park Refugee?  Unexpected and encouraging!

As i returned home, moving quietly through the house to keep from waking my sleeping family, i was awash in the hope that i could balance all three aspects of my life: career, mother and self…

Crawling into bed, visions of champagne and fine chocolates still dancing in my head, i was surprised shortly thereafter by The Girl, standing at my bedside.  She was about 4 years old at the time.  Although the room was dark, i could tell she looked a bit green.  Before either of us could say a word, she barfed the entire contents of her digestive tract into my hair. 

Reality? Check.

________________

* seems as though they’re a bit like the gals from “Kill Bill” – without all the sharp objects and blood. 

** I was sold on the place when the sample “daily activities” list featured “fun with eating utensils” and “finger painting with kitten blood”. 

*** “engaging”?  i was surrounded by mostly sweet, partially-fossilized gentlemen who liked looking down the front of my dress.  unless they were sporting the “trophy wife” accessory package, i was certainly more “engaging” than the partially-fossilized spouse drinking too much gin and flirting with hired help in the kitchen…

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10 thoughts on “the glamour of motherhood…

  1. Ahhhh the memory of picking up little man by his ankles and dangling him over the toilet for fear of the projectile barf coming at me. His dad didn’t think that was OK.

    The little people need to know that It’s NOT ok to barf in anyones hair.

  2. uw – great technique! wish i’d thought of it!

    kyknoord – yes. she gave til it hurt. i’m looking forward to my geriatric incontinence. i’ll save it all up for both of my critters. if nothing else, they’ll have a good time laughing at me!

    nm – it was quite fetching. rhymes with ‘retching’. suppose it was my own fault somehow…

    az – sorry. it was ok til that last bit. should i post warnings?

  3. uncle keith – yep. see comment above from The Boy. Spending an evening drinking his sisters beer while they are hunkered down in a blizzard.

    one hit – don’t you have homework? nice link, by the way. makes me proud…

  4. “should i post warnings?”

    Nah, that’s okay, I’ll just stop eating. Between you, nursemyra and upset waitress my new weight loss programme should get an extra boost. And no, I’m not paying you, uw.

  5. Pingback: Another conversational snippet… « Trailer Park Refugee

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