My daughter Nori has this little story book called The Little Mommy. It’s a Golden Book with an original publication date of 1950 but is somehow still in circulation. Nori loves it and has me read it at least twice before she goes to sleep. My favorite line is “Billy is daddy and works in the city. He has a shiny new car isn’t it pretty.” And there’s little Billy driving away in his blue convertible while The Little Mommy- a little nameless girl-is left behind on the lawn with her three babies. At first I laughed at this antiquated little mommy thinking, “Gosh so much has changed.” But has it really? I may not be running my laundry through a ringer but the job seems to command little respect and maybe even a little less self respect.
Nori, Charlie and I live in the happy world of the stay at home moms. Color, creed, or commerce, we all seem to stand on common ground. We have all chosen to forfeit our careers to stay home, at least for now, with our kids. We all acknowledge that the job is harder than the one we used to have, but we have been able to choose this job and therefore we feel lucky. Although we are meeting each other for the first time as moms, we appreciate one another for the women we once were and for the women we are now. We are not our mother’s stay at home moms. We have modern conveniences and “hands on Dad” husbands. We coordinate play dates through email and have an endless of stream of resources to entertain our children. But outside of Gymboree and play group, our role in the outside world is that of “Little Mommy.”
Our front porch was in need of repair. A 100 year old house seems to always need something and this month it was the porch. Its peeling paint needed to be sanded and repainted, a job that seemed easy enough but one we would leave to the professionals. Bryan called a handful of guys (they are all guys) and collected a mish mosh of quotes. We went with the guy that I met with because I had a good feeling about him. He was on the higher end of the quote scale but we have gone with the cheapest guy before and thought maybe you get what you pay for. Long story short, maybe you don’t. Porch painter and his buddy showed up on a day that Bryan was away. They got to work and were done by the end of the day. I thought it was quick but what do I know about painting. The truth is, a lot, and I knew it was not a good job and I paid them anyway. Maybe you get what you let them think you will take.
How the hell did that happen? I have master’s degree from Columbia damn it-I should know what a crappy paint job looks like and I should be able to put a sentence together that expresses my dissatisfaction. Instead, I wrote a check from my husband’s account, smiled, said thank you, and made my way over to our email scheduled play-date in the park.
I have never been the bread winner of the dynamic duo of my marriage. I have been accused and revered as being “too nice.” Indecisive is a word I would use to describe me. Motherhood has diminished me to a paint plashed doormat. I have confidence in my mothering skills but at the sacrifice of other skills. I let these two guys treat me like “little Billy’s wife.” Let me go wash the clothes and make dinner. Let’s leave the decision making and criticism to someone else. My mommy duties have rendered my incapable of these things so let me go change some diapers.
So my porch looks better than it did, but not as good as what we paid for it. My self esteem doesn’t look so good either. The worst part, however, is that I have a daughter and I just showed
her how to be a “Little Mommy.”
