About testimommy

I'm a wishy washy SAHM, a word that if you have dyslexia looks like SHAM. And I struggle with feeling this isn't a job every day since I can't get fired. Or quit. It's like tenure and a prison sentence all at once.

What I Do All Day

Tis the season for all that harvesty fall crap we love in the northeast: cable knit sweaters (not wearing), knee-high boots (not wearing), and pumpkin overload (gourd and bacon flavored dog chews? check.)

The seasons have changed over five times since the birth of my son. I have had five autumns to think about that next phase of life. And the question that I knew would be asked – over and over.

“Is kindergarten all day where you live?”

Answer: YES.

Proceed to question two.

“Now that your son is in Kindergarten all day, what do you plan on doing?”

I thought for sure the answer would be “duh, copywriting.”

But I’m not. I’m sitting here, right now, writing this “thing” in my jammies drinking a pumpkin spice coffee brewed in my Keurig. Oh God, the clichés.

I can’t go back to work. I just…can’t. At least not full time. Ill continue to take on projects that may or may not be soul destroying as long as they pay $50+ an hour. Write insert for Franklin Mint Doll of the Month club? She’s a real beauty this month. 100% Porcelain face with delicate blue eyes and proudly wearing her country’s dirndl.

My son is sensitive. Like, for realz. Cries over sad songs, pictures of himself as a baby, ascribes meaning to things that don’t deserve meaning “that paper bag with a yellow crayon line had memories and you threw it away?” Uh, yeah.

I have the “guilt.” I guess it’s like the vapors. Or the condition. I don’t want to hurt his feelings anymore than they are already hurt. But then I resent. Oh, you vicious cycle. You “condition!”

But then I think about all I do DO. And I don’t see how I’d have the time for a full day of work. And to every mom who does it including my own who did it without a baby daddy around: I salute you. But don’t think I’m watching The View everyday, fitting in gym time and mah Jong (oh, chef don’t judge.)

Here’s what YOU may think I do all day. (All day being 8:52-2:45 in case of confusion.)

YOU are either:

Shoe salesman at Nordstrom
Fed-ex guy that requires a signature for a package and sees I’m home to add my scribe to your screen.

All have looked upon me with disdain. Although if you ask número uno on this list, hell say its my insecurity that leads me to believe I’m looked down upon.

This is HIGHLY likely as I am slightly paranoid.

Here’s my day according to aforementioned list.

Take to school bus.
Come home.
Pick up from bus.
Drive to activity.
Good night.

Ta da!

Unfortunately, I can’t write anymore and say what I do all day. Because somewhere between “take to school bus” and “come home” is a life of endless errands and demands and I’ve already “wasted” 30 minutes writing this thing that I’m sure my mother will read and maybe a spammer who found this blog and wants to sell me low-cost Cialis.

Whether you work full time or not, carve out time in your day for YOU. To write, to reflect, to drink in fall’s pleasures – even if it’s from a K cup bought at the A&P.

Til tomorrow. Back to work.


First Day of Kindergarten, 10 Days Later

Kindergarten started on September 3rd, I think. Because the poster I made my son Jesse hold up to symbolize this momentous occasion was printed as September 2nd. Likely due to my utter exhaustion thanks to not sleeping for 5+ years.

Everyone said these problems would sort themselves out by kindergarten, but we’re three weeks in, up two times a night, calling out for me like an infant who needs a nipple straight away. These boobs ran dry years ago, and truthfully I didn’t even breast feed. And maybe that’s why I’m being punished.

I swore I’d start blogging on the first day of school. As a former “award-winning” ad copywriter who used to slave over copy decks with important notations like, “fluff up” and “romanticize,” I decided to write about parenting in the complete opposite fashion. No fluff. No romance. Just the truth. I’m a mommy of just one boy. And this is my testimony.

Welcome to Testimommy. Here’s to sprewing my feelings on pseudo paper rather than at my child who on day 10 of school, is still crying like a baby that he doesn’t want to go on the bus. And I’m crying too, yelling that he’ll be a nothing without learning.

I meant to start on day one. So what it’s day ten. So what this page isn’t pretty yet, with a fancy logo and serif fonts and pictures of my handsome, devilish and sometimes disturbed child.

Words should be enough. And for now they will be. Because the truth is always enough.