Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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Workplace Beatdown

Last week kicked my ass. Specifically, work kicked my ass. A brutal beatdown that I've not quite recovered from. I suppose all this trying to be a full-time mom plus trying to be a full-time employee of The Man is getting to me.

"I don't ever have a second to myself!" I shouted last Friday. Max's eyeballs rolled in my direction as he lazily licked his paw. He's heard this shit before. Milo, bless his heart, trotted over to see what the commotion was but his concern was almost immediately usurped by an errant pretzel on the floor.

My proclamation horrified me as it's a phrase I heard my mom scream on several occasions throughout my childhood.
"I don't ever have a second to myself!"
I don't want to be a harried mama who careens through life with no time for my babies. I want my babies to know they are my first priority. But eating is also a priority and you can't buy groceries without money. You have to work for that money. I could totally get into the thrill of shoplifting but there's the tricky problem of needing electricity and water and such. Haven't worked out how to steal that. Dammit!

I've been told on more than one occasion that I am prejudiced against rich people. I regret to inform that there is merit to this observation. I'm not prejudiced against the wealthy so much as annoyed by people who don't work for their money, tending to believe my preconceived notions about folks who live off daddy's cash. MTV programming has done nothing but reinforce that notion. Sweet Sixteen, anyone? Laguna Beach and The Hills? Paris Hilton? Trust Funders. This rich people prejudice is wrong, I know. That girl who rode into her sweet sixteen party on an elephant and then drove away in a brand new Range Rover? I'm sure she's a lovely person. But I'll be damned if this here prejudice of mine isn't as as inbred as my latent desire for casserole and fruit-filled Jello at any and all familial get-togethers including and especially just after the funeral of a loved one.

No, it's not jealousy. I know that's what you're thinking. I'll concede that my rich people anger may have initially stemmed from jealousy back in junior high when I watched certain friends get every damn thing they wanted and I got nothing. But I moved on from that, learned to appreciate a kick-ass work ethic and working hard for my money. Now, that old junior high jealousy has morphed into disgust for those who get handed what others have to work their asses off for.

Lately I feel the old prejudices blooming in my dark heart because I can't be a stay-at-home-mom. I don't even know that I'd want to stay at home full-time... but I'd like the option, you know?