carolinad@robertis.com
I was getting annoyed. Standing there watching the salesman give precedence to a phone caller over a real live customer waiting to pay for a fair amount of merchandise didn't make any sense to me whatsoever.
"Insanity," I thought angrily as I continued to wait. And fume. "Bad business. Warped sense of priorities."
I was tired. It had been a long, aggravating day, but I had promised my 14-year-old that we'd go to the store so he could buy the cordless phone he had saved up for with his grass cutting money. But this wait was getting ridiculous.
Suddenly the salesman hung up the phone and broke into laughter. My ears perked up.
"Now, I've heard everything!" he announced quite gaily and loudly. "That was a mother on the phone asking me how you get a smashed peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of the video slot on a VCR."
I broke into gales of laughter too.
"Parenting," we both agreed. "What a hoot!"
I thought about that incident when I finished reading an article about a woman who is making the race for a County Recorder position into high drama. What caught my attention was not the controversy over double dipping. Nor over competence. Nor over time management.
What caught my attention was both candidates' comments on parenting.
Ms. B said of Mrs. G that "I think it's fascinating that a person that doesn't have any full-time job is criticizing somebody that is successfully doing two."
Mrs. G, who is a stay-at-home mom, said the comments were an affront to women who stay home to raise children.
Ms. B, who is childless and single, shot back that Mrs. G is making too much of the comment. "It's a misrepresentation," said Ms. B, in an interview. "I said what I said. She doesn't have a job. Surely she doesn't think being a mom is a job. That's supposed to be a love thing."
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Sure being a mom is "a love thing." What else but love (and commitment and responsibility and sustained caring and constant nurturing) would get a mom through the sheer tediousness of diapering, teething and colic? And toilet training, pre-school angst, separation anxiety, attention deficit problems, sloppy rooms and messy bathrooms, lost retainers, smudged homework, teen-age acne, teen-age driving, teen-age sullenness, broken bones, sibling nastiness, soaring college costs and less than exemplary attitudes and language. To name just a few "Joys of the Job."
I remember when I gave birth to my firstborn son, Harry, at the ripe old age of 22. To get back in shape, I decided to try tennis and started taking some lessons. It was hot, physically draining and frustrating. After awhile, figuring I could spend what little free time I had in a more enjoyable way, I quit. The relief was immediate. I switched to exercise class and never regretted my desertion.
The sheer ecstasy of abandoning something that wasn't working for me in order to search for something that would was a powerful feeling. I was giddy from the potent ability to be able to change my mind, re-route my course and leave behind what I didn't like.
About three months into parenting, I realized that being a mom didn't work like that. I was in it for the long haul. Whether I liked it or not. And so, along with the exhaustion and relentlessness (and joy and contentment), I experienced fear and trepidation. Was I up to the task? Would it all prove too daunting? Would I screw it up? Would it ever get easier?
Forty-six years and five babies later, having tried and quit a myriad amount of different exercise regimens, I'm still wrestling with the same questions about parenting. Am I up to the task? Is it all just too daunting? Will I screw it up? Will it ever get easier?
Is parenting a job? Or is parenting a "love thing?"
Webster's defines a job as "a piece of work, a specific task done as part of the routine of one's occupation or for an agreed price. Anything one has to do."
"Love thing" wasn't in the dictionary. Webster's defines love, though, as "a warm feeling of personal attachment as for a child."
I'm confused. The tasks associated with mothering very often aren't specific nor monetarily compensated. So perhaps parenting isn't a job.
But it's certainly a lot more than a "love thing." There's respect, camaraderie, bonding and joy on the good days - but there are also days filled with boring repetition, aggravation, fury and disappointment. Days when love doesn't surface at all.
Job. Love thing. Job. Love thing. Job. Love thing.
Seems to me parenting may not be considered a job in the traditional sense, but it certainly is a heck of a lot of work. It is an "activity" that demands attention to detail, constant skill improvement, flexibility, high tolerance for frustration, and crisis management skills.
Sounds like work to me.
Happy Mother's Day to all those wonderful women who take their role of "Mom" seriously, no matter how it is labeled.
If you want more information about Iris's forthcoming book Tales of a Bulimic Baby Boomer, or to sign up for her weekly newsletter, visit www.irisruthpastor.com or follow her on Twitter @IrisRuthPastor.
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