All I Want for Christmas is Some Semblance of Reality
Moms of all stripes, and maybe particularly working moms, are smacked with a dose of reality every single day. Yesterday, for me, it was a meltdown over the seams in my daughter’s socks, paired with my toddler’s hysteria over the fact that I was wearing a sweater and not a t-shirt, and a hunt for my daughter’s library book all while waiting desperately for a response from my boss to an important e-mail while my husband sat calmly eating a yogurt and reading the paper. My co-worker, meanwhile, was relaxing with powerpoint slides for a key presentation, a welcome break from her morning which included having to hire someone immediately to get her daughter’s wheelchair which had accidentally been left in her husband’s car in the school parking lot where he teaches, while she called three different mechanics, none of whom had room to take her car, which refused the start that morning, while she simultaneously worked to rearrange work meetings and doctors appointments and find someone who would take pity on her and give her a ride to the office, 30 miles away. This is life.
And yet, somehow, supermodel Gisele Bundchen thinks she’s multitasking because she is surrounded by three professionals, one doing her hair, another her nails and another her makeup, all while she nurses her daughter, all in her $14-million apartment while she awaits the construction of two more insanely gynormous homes, one on each coast.
And a 16-year-old spoiled brat by the name of Ethan Couch, gets off with something less than a slap on the wrist using the “affluenza defense” after killing four people while driving drunk, with a blood-alcohol level more than three times the legal limit.
And it would all make great fiction if it wasn’t so sadly true. So please Santa, sprinkle a little reality and a side of sanity into my stocking this year.
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