Scratch a Lilek, find a mommy

Looks like someone is retaining water and is just a tiny bit hormonal today:

Vacation now, you wonder? Pshaw. It’s not like taking care of a child is a job. No, I’m just a shambling lump of barely animate flesh who cohabitates with a tot. Granted, I make the meals – I know Gnat’s preferences in detail, including the daily negotiations to get her to eat her carrots and why it is necessary to have Craisens on hand for the days carrot-talks break down with a frank and open exchange of views. I do all the shopping, which means I am the Craisens procurer, as well as the one who stocks all the other things she wants or should have. I know how much TV she’s had down to the minute, how to install and help with the computer games and the internet; I play the games, do the piano lessons, take her to school, make her do chores and clean her room, refuse to help her with her socks because she can do it and I am not her servant, and so forth. Bandaids? There. Vitamins? Top drawer. Lunch for tomorrow? Already made. We’re out of juice! There are six gallons in the basement.

A job? Of course not. If this was a job, I would wear better clothes and arrange all the Polly Pockets to have a meeting about maximizing third quarter revenue projections. If this was a job, I’d worry that I hadn’t been promoted to Assistant Managing Dad.

If this was a job, I’d be out of here at five, and forget about the weekends.

Yup, Jimbo whose life is full of playing My Little Pony with daughter Chigger when he’s not shopping for Limited Edition Fall-Patterned Bounty paper towels at Target or arguing with the surly foreign help about the merits of cheese, is all honked off because Teresa Kerry dissed stay-at-home mommies like himself. I mean Jim could wear nicer clothes and maybe have time for a bubblebath or, for gosh sakes, even free up just one afternoon to go down to the beauty parlor and get his forehead done, but, noooooo, he’s a hunter and a gatherer with barely a moment to watch his TIVO’d episodes of F Troop.

To quote his President: It’s hard work.

And don’t even get him started on those columns that he is always mentioning and how he is forced to write them so that the Strib can fill that unsightly hole on page C10 next to Marmaduke and just above the notices for senior bus tours to Indian casinos. I mean, we’re talking work here, people! Deadlines! You think it’s easy writing about the mundane details of a mundane life with verve and wit? Just you try it, Sparky!

After a certain age, I think it’s fine to ship the tots off for the day. Me, I dread the day Gnat goes to school full time. But at least I had our years before first grade snagged her and pulled her into the machinery. My wife had six months when Gnat was born, and that made a great deal of difference; the time she had with Gnat when she was laid off was a boon, and she knew it. (She only went back to work because she knew I’d be home with Gnat; that was the decision we made a long time ago.) There is nothing – nothing in the workplace that matches the challenges and joys of the first five years. If you can’t make it work, well, then you can’t. But if you can, you should. Dare I say you ought to.

You might find yourself making Play-doh spaghetti one afternoon, and realize, to your astonishment, that you are happy. Why, you might even be validated.

Or in Lilek’s case: you have just overachieved…

Looks like Michelle Malkin has her grannypanties in a twist too:

Teresa managed to snub not only millions of teachers and librarians and Mrs. Bush’s 22 years of work as a mother, but also the hard work and dedication of all stay-at-home parents (moms AND dads).

Here is the end result of Laura the Librarian’s 22 years of work as a mother.

In the interest of disclosure, I should point out that Michelle’s husband is an ocassional stay-at-home dad, which is probably a good thing since Michelle scares the hell out of the kids.

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Yeah. Like I would tell you....