Common Sense, Dancing

*tchotchke: –noun (slang). An inexpensive souvenir, trinket, or ornament.

This job’s got a lot of perks. Oh sure, the obvious ones like the love and devotion of a delightful family; the satisfaction of knowing, when you put your head down at night, that they’ve all survived yet another day of being {14} or {11} or {10} or {8} or {41} or { }…; or even that you’ve got pretty good job security, which is lucky these days for sure.

But specifically? This SAHM gig’s got a lot of aspects to it that are appealing no matter where you work:

10.) Flexibility: Should I grocery shop today or tomorrow? Do we have enough milk to get us through the next breakfast without resorting to apple juice on Cheerios? What about toilet paper? (Certainly the boys think this is optional, but the rest of us might be in need. Quick! A Roll Census.) I get to decide.

9.) Creative expression: What should I make for school lunches — PB&J again? Or get crazy with tuna salad? What about a little wrap dealio, with some sliced leftover chicken? (Do the kids cry over my meals at school too?) And then there’s dinner. Ah, dinner.

8.) Dress code: clothing optional at the bus stop (and by this I mean, PJ’s are fine {keep your pants on, literally}). Even better when combined with a hoodie and some Uggs, provided your pajama bottoms are shorts, and not full-out long flannel pants (then you look like maybe you’re going to the farm stand and not the bus stop). As for the rest of the day….vary your outfit whenever possible. The folks at Shop-Rite are beginning to wonder.

7.) Break times: you can/must take them liberally. Make sure to catch what Rachel Ray’s cooking up (might get some of the gang sobbing later one), see what Hoda and Kathie Lee are drinking this morning (literally, it would seem), what the women on The View are arguing about, what Victor’s up to on Y&R, if Sonny and Brenda have gotten their collective act together (but ooooh, love me some Jason), and who’s on with Oprah.

6) See the world: or at least the delightful 6 mile radius around your home. To the store! Home again! To school! Home again! To school! Home again! To the store (turns out the toilet paper didn’t last)! Home again! To school! (Depending on the day, do this trip approximately 6 times.)

5) Meet new people! Probably at the bus stop while in your shorts and Uggs. Or better yet, at school, when your teacher introduces herself to you and makes small talk about what an interesting vocabulary your youngest has. Did she mean that in a good way?

4) Supervise others: Beg the construction guys to help you figure out why no stone match can be found for exterior of your house. (Never mind that it wasn’t covered in moon rocks or plutonium, but regular old everyday rock.) Confirm again that no one will accidentally unplug the sump pump, leading to alarming beeps overnight that wake the house and set the kids on edge.

3) Finance: Stretch your cash as far as it will go. Discover you  have exactly $2 in your wallet when called upon to pay for another piano book for your child’s lesson. And no checkbook. Debate about returning to the car to scrounge for quarters.

2) Foreign languages: Enjoy learning new languages along with your children as you drill on Spanish vocabulary cards. Follow along in some unnamed language as you wait for the gas station attendant to finish his call before pumping your gas (it’s NJ people — I don’t/can’t pump my own).

1) Sociology/psychology/counseling: Become a human snuggie or punching bag, depending on who gets off the bus and in what mood (also dependent, for some of us, on the performance of the 401k or the stock market in general). Be prepared to welcome them with open arms and a big smile or, conversely, arms crossed and a matching scowl. Tickling is sometimes a welcomed activity, but so too is the old “leave me alone,” technique.

This was prompted by Mama Kat over at Mama’s Losin’ It. Need Inspiration? Check her out!

I wrote a post yesterday remembering my grandmother, who was a wonderfully elegant woman and who passed on many lessons regarding the “domestic arts” to her children and grandchildren. We are lucky to have had her as a teacher. (I know, “domestic arts” is an awfully outdated expression, but I just can’t think of a way to lump the cut glass pickle dish, the importance of table linens, and silent butler use in one category. Domestic arts it is.)

My recollection got me thinking about what my children will say about me after I’m gone. I should pause here for a moment and say that my mother and I play this game with some regularity — usually when she has done or said something mildly outrageous that isn’t so “grandmotherly:” “Oh, that’s great Mom. It’ll be the nice for the children to remember the time that Grandma told them that math didn’t matter” (not that she’s ever said that — I just can’t remember a specific instance right now that won’t get one of us (probably me) in trouble).

Back to my point. What will the children say? Will they recall the all the times I lost it because socks were left in the family room after I specifically said about 4,000 times to put your nasty dirty socks in the hamper? Will they recall all the times that I knowingly and willingly broke traffic laws because I didn’t feel like following them?

Will they nudge each other and say, “Remember the time in that 4D movie when the shark snatched the seal out of the water and our chairs shook and the whole thing surprised Mom and she said, “JESUS!” really loud in the quiet theatre?” (Yes, I did. But I was startled beyond belief. What do you say when you’ve been surprised by a Great White? That wasn’t my fault.)

Will they carry on, reminiscing about the time I announced, in front of them in a (rare) parenting judgment lapse, that my favorite word was “Asshat”? And how delighted they were that I “swore” in front of them and then, for the next several weeks, would interrupt conversations I was having with other adults to say, “Hey Mom, tell ____ about what your favorite word is,” and I’d either have to explain or cut off their air supplies (my kids, not the other grownups)?

The truth is, they’re going to recall all of it. The trick will be to have them recall the quirky and the fun in equal measure with the not-so-fun and grumpy. Like the evenings when we had breakfast for dinner or picnics in the family room.

Like the time I allowed them to make up a holiday and then decorated for it. (Children’s Day. January 16. They didn’t understand why I told them every day was Children’s Day and why’d we need a holiday for it, but I decorated placemats anyway, and we took photos.)

Like the time they found me wrapped in a towel in the kitchen one night after dinner, soaking wet, with my clothes in a pile and when they asked why, I casually told them I had gone skinny dipping. Oh, the horror! (Particularly when Dad told them he was sorry he had missed it…“Ewwww, Daaaaad!”) And I was pleased with their horror and promised to do it again real soon.

Or when I tell them “Dinner tonight is poison, with a side of poison,” or that when they tell me I smell good they cut me off and say, “I know, Mom, I know. ‘It’s the smell of clean,’ I know. I’ll take a shower later.”

They’ll remember it all. That’s good, I suppose. And it certainly frees me up to skinny dip and use “asshat” when the spirit moves me. After all, some memories are indelible.

It’s Word Up, Yo! time again…..Join the fun!