teaching virtually everything -- language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy.

1. TELL ME ABOUT IT ® The Washington Post
By Carolyn Hax
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Carolyn:
Best friend has child. Her: exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc. Me (no kids): Wow.
Sorry. What'd you do today? Her: Park, play group . . .
Okay. I've done Internet searches, I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do
all day? Please no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't
do them EVERY DAY. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day and why don't moms have time
for a call or e-mail? I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events)
and I manage to get it all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy -- not a bad
thing at all -- but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth? Is this a peeing contest ("My life is so
much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids and all us child-free
folks get the same story and have the same questions.
Tacoma, Wash.
Relax and enjoy. You're funny.
Or you're lying about having friends with kids.
Or you're taking them at their word that they actually have kids, because you haven't personally
been in the same room with them.
I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To
claim you want to understand, while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions
are that your mom-friends are either lying or competing with you, is disingenuous indeed.
So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form. When you
have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean,
dressed; to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries, questions; to having
two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys, and supplies for even the quickest trips,
including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from
unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest
they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line
screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.
It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.
It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your
needs to the second tier.

2. It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family and friends, well-meaning and otherwise.
It's resisting constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.
It's doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything -- language, manners, safety,
resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity. Empathy. Everything.
It's also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy, and
then, when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, wanted to be alone with your thoughts
instead of calling a good friend, a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual
friends, or marvel how much more productively she uses her time. Either make a sincere effort to
understand or keep your snit to yourself.
Write to Tell Me About It, Style, 1150 15th St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071,
or tellme@washpost.com.