Cindy

Droog

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February 11, 2008

From A (Amoxycillin) to Z: The Working Mom’s Alphabet

We’re starting to teach my oldest son the alphabet, and it hit me that as a working mom, “A” isn’t just for apple any more. In fact, I’ve got an entirely new alphabet to share.

A is for Amoxycillin, the prescription to end all ear infections, and frankly, one I’d never heard of until I had children. Call me lucky, but I haven’t needed it myself. The past year, I – or my insurance company, to be more exact – have purchased it at least three times.

B is for the Big Switch, which is what I call what happens to me every Monday through Friday at 5 p.m., when I go from singing “How does this project help our company meet its objectives,” to singing, “The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round.”

C is for Calendar Check. That’s the title of an email I send my husband every Monday morning to make sure we’re in sync with doctor’s appointments, late meetings and other shared responsibilities. Before we had kids, C was used more commonly in the sentence, “So what movie should we see this weekend?”

D is for Disinfecting. I’ve become the queen of it. I do toys. I do my computer keyboard. I do doorknobs. It’s one thing – some days it feels like the only one – I have control over.

E is for E-mail friends. I have several of these now. In the past, I considered it a negative term, using it as slang for friends I blamed for never having “real” time to spend with me. Now I realize I was an idiot. I need my e-mail friends. Especially my fellow moms. Otherwise, who’d tell me how to handle my son’s love for pepperoni and yogurt – simultaneously?

F is for Fantasy Alteration. That’s what my husband and I call our new fantasy life. Before, we’d dream of going back to the spot of our honeymoon, a peaceful Aruban beach, and drinking pina coladas at 10 a.m. Now, we fantasize about having time to see that movie discussed in “C.”

G is for Gerber Toddler Meals, that Heaven-sent microwavable invention that allows for sanity a few nights a week.

H is for Handy Manny, another sanity saver, whose adventures keep my oldest enthralled for the 15 minutes it takes us to get his baby brother ready every morning.

I, J, and K are for Imagination building (we’re committed to it with our kids); Justification, which is what we have to do when we want to spend money on something other than formula or diapers; and “Kicking kicking,” which is our phrase for our attempts to teach our son that not everything he sees is a football.

L is for the Lameness of not being able to think of an L.

M is for Maid, which is my ultimate fantasy, even above seeing that movie!

N is for the Nine o’clock work hour, which is when I catch up on emails these days, and O is for Old McDonald, which is the song I fear I’m going to break into in the middle of a meeting while I’m mindlessly doodling, I mean, intently listening.

P is for Personal Calls, which I used to frown upon before I had a son with asthma, allergies and a few other medical issues that require business-hour discussions.

Q is for Quacking, which is what I do to make my son laugh, and just like Old MacDonald, I am afraid I might do to a coworker one day when he needs to lighten up.

R is for Rush Hour, but not the driving kind. It’s what my husband and I call 6-7 a.m., when we’re getting four people ready to face one day.

S is for Skipper, another favorite phrase of ours that distinguishes important invitations from “would be nice” ones. For example, the Coopers want to have us over to meet another couple in their supper club? That’s a skipper! We got invited to another gala? Definitely a skipper! Cousin Susie’s wedding? Sorry, not a skipper; call the sitter!

T is for Twenty-minute grocery trips, at which I am now an expert. They take place during my lunch hour, and require intimate knowledge of every aisle.

U, V, W, X, Y and Z are kind of like they are in my son’s alphabet books. I could try to come up with some forced word – like ukulele or xylophone – but that’s probably not necessary. It’s likely my fellow working moms have their own alphabets, and as long as next time they sing with me, I’ll be happy just knowing I’m not alone. 

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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