The Strike Manifesto

Now that blogger is back up, I can post what I wrote Friday night. Better late than never. :)

We all knew it would happen sooner or later. Better moms than me can go for years before it happens, but anyone who knows me is probably surprised I waited this long. Tonight, I went on strike. Happy 9 months, Sam, now go see Daddy! I'm outta here!
I've read about moms who eventually tell their kids and husband they are taking the day off as of right this second, and to just deal with whatever their problem is on their own--they just strike. I know some people are horrified by this, but I've always kind of admired women who can admit that the subtle hinting for a break is getting them nowhere, and they will hint no more. Amen, sisters.
For crying out loud, it's not like I'm running to Vegas, hitting a casino, and drinking bizarre things that come in really tall funny cups. I'm just blogging.
But there is so very much more to my blogging while I'm on strike. It's not about what I am doing, it's about what I'm NOT doing tonight.

I'm only blogging, but I am NOT...

• listening for crying, or watching for choking hazards,
  
• sharing my low-calorie jello with a small mooching seagull,
• getting my nose picked by an unwelcome third party and painfully realizing she needs her claws trimmed,
• weighing in for the bazillionth time on whether or not my hubby's facial burn looks better,
• ceasing my current action and smiling every single time Daddy "discovers" something Sam has done for me 400 times a day for the last 3 weeks,
• dealing with anyone else's bodily fluids--including but not limited to: poop, pee, boogers, spit-up, or blood (unless it makes up a significant amount of normal blood volume, in which case I will intervene to save human life).
• watching anything animated other than The Simpsons.
  
• concerning myself with the birds' continued failure to use the very overpriced water bottle we can't return
• going to the bathroom with an audience crawling in and clapping for me
  
• coming "here for just a second" or a minute, or an hour...
• worrying about money, work, or how my diet is going.
  

In short, I'm not multi-tasking! Heck, I'm not even bi-tasking, I am doing one single task--blogging. And it feels good to do only one thing for a change.
What prompted the multi-tasking strike you ask?
I had just read an article that said a huge percentage of women get angry with their husbands for their inability to multi-task on anything, ever. I thought it was kind of funny. Ten minutes later, I was packing the diaper bag and going to load the stroller in the trunk to take Sam on an outing. I was also putting dishes in the dishwasher, and discussing our schedule and finances. Daniel came up to me as I was about to head to the garage and said "Take Sam. I have to call my sister."
Turns out, men can't multitask, or for that matter, even notice that you are already multitasking and avoid adding to your pile of stuff to do. I gave him a look and said "You do realize that I make calls from home for work, while watching the baby, and you can't even hold her to call a family member for like two minutes?"
Daniel's response, "Uh, nevermind, I'll call her later."
It was too late, the damage had been done, and the article was no longer funny--it was just painfully accurate.

Thus the strike.
I'm not quitting being a mom, I'm just walking in dad's shoes for a while and refusing to acknowledge anything not directly in front of me.
Oh, wait, actually...
I hear Sam up playing and it's way past her bedtime. If I don't intervene I'm the one stuck with a crank all day tomorrow. Dang it. Mom is back.
Duration of strike: 57 minutes.
It was fun while it lasted though.