A Tribute to the Working Mom
I apologize for the 10 times my brother and I imposed nuclear-levels of stress on my full-time working Mom.
Going with the Flo
When I was just learning to talk, I called the daycare lady “Momma.” Mom moved to night shift after that for a while.
At almost 3 years old, I ate a whole bottle of chewable, baby aspirin since I loved the taste of Sweet Tarts. Dad took me to the hospital where mom was working night shift in the children’s unit. They made me vomit, and we went home.
That time I unplugged the deep freezer, and the family lost all that food my parents had so thoughtfully caught, farmed and prepped.
That time I cried and cried because I didn’t want to go to daycare. I was the oldest kid there, and the lady made me babysit the other kids. I bargained a little plastic swimming pool out of that tantrum.
When I was about 9 years old, I hung out on the side of a busy highway alone for a few hours. Mom and Dad got their wires crossed and thought the other one was picking me up from school after work.
That time Mom ran in to grab the phone, and my toddler brother took off walking in the backyard woods with the dalmation, Dolly (named after Parton). Helicopter searches and hours later, my brother is found safe and exhausted.
Around 10 or so, I wasn’t prepared for a test and wanted to take a sick day. I mixed talcum powder, water and orange food coloring to make “throw up,” and put it on the carpet by my bed. Not only was I in trouble for lying, Mom now had permanently stained carpet and was late to work.
At 13, I was home alone in the summer, and a felon, fresh out on parole, broke into the house. Ironically, I was watching One Life to Live. The cops later said, “Donna was calm. Her parents were incoherent.”
At 16, I wrote my mother a hate letter addressed to “Smother.” I was upset that she wouldn’t let me drive alone to a late-night movie on the other side of the city.
That time I was interning at 18 in London, and a sex-trafficking creep started stalking me. An extraordinarily expensive, last-minute ticket flew me home with the help of my Mom’s employer who had an office in London.
Happily, the only stress I’ve caused Mom in my adult years has been eloping and keeping my last name. She was happy with my spouse selection, but it would’ve been nice had I been a tad more traditional.
Happy Business Women’s Week to a Mom who worked full-time in the era of no cell phones, no email, no 911, no child-proof caps. No shortage of patience and love.
