Miles Driven: 0
Emails Sent: 29
Decibels My Screaming Child Has Reached: 92
Today was a ‘weekend day’ for me. Because I tend to work a ton of weekends and evenings, I structure my weekly schedule so that, if possible, I have appointments Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday and I have Jonas (my 2 year old) home with me on Tuesday and Thursday.
Unfortunately, if I’ve been doing a ton of showing and running around the valley on my ‘working’ days, I often end up returning emails and phone calls and gathering paperwork on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today was one of those catch-up days where I spent 90% of it attempting to chase the Tiny Tornado around the house while simultaneously fielding calls and returning emails.
I should have known it was going to be one of those days from the very start. When I couldn’t actually get through the act of brushing my teeth without having to spit and answer my phone, that should have been enough warning. What I should have done was abandon all attempts at productivity and taken the monster to the mall. I’m a glutton for punishment; however, so instead, I sat down and made an extensive to-do list.
Number two on the list involved calling to check in on the progress of a short sale and waiting on hold at the bank. When Jonas’s screeching reached the correct pitch that it actually caused the phone system to believe I had made a selection to move to a new menu, that was a new low.
Why is it that my two year old, who doesn’t know enough to not stick his own hand down his diaper and pull out a handful of poo and rub it on his own chest (which he did tonight during dinner) is smart enough to understand that I will be more likely to give him what he wants if he screams at the top of his lungs while I’m on the phone? Evil geniuses I’m raising, I tell you.
The most humiliating thing about being a Realtor/Mom (a Momter, if you will) is the fact that I’m fully aware when I speak to agents and clients and I’m at home; they can hear every shriek in the background of the call. I’m positive most of them must think I’m either grinding the heal of my stiletto into the eye socket of one of my children, or ignoring him as he sticks his hand into the garbage disposal and turns it on accidentally. When, in fact, what’s actually happening is that he is standing at my feet, clutching the bottom of my skirt, sobbing his eyes out because I have refused to give him his 18th ‘dra-dra’ (AKA: cracker) in the last 6 minutes because I would like him to eat his lunch instead.
People always say, ‘oh it must be great to be a Realtor and have so much flexibility so you can take care of your kids too.’ ….Right…. Ask my kids how successful that is when they come home from school, I toss them all in the car and we drive 30 miles to a vacant, unairconditioned foreclosure property to meet a client who has to get in to see it ASAP. Those are the days when I feel like I’m failing at both. I’m a cruddy agent who brings her kids to show a house and a cruddy mom who drags her kids to show a house.
The days where I silence the Blackberry, grab the diaper bag and head to the zoo with my own personal monkeys in tow are the days that make it all worth it. The Phoenix Zoo is free all the Wednesdays in September. Next week I’m going to make it a date. (It will give Jonas the opportunity to learn poo-flinging techniques from the masters.)