Dear "Elite" Mom

I've been growing increasingly irritated with you the last month or so, because I feel I'm being practically dragged into your sisterhood of mothers, with kids who just happen to attend the same school as mine do, yet have almost nothing in common with me. Nearly every week, I encounter one or three of you "elite" moms, and it's gotten to the point where I feel Karachi is loaded with ridiculous women. I mean thank you for inviting my kids to your child's birthday party, which resembles a circus, but it wouldn't be wise for us to meet up for coffee, or "do" lunch during the week. For one thing, I "do" lunch with my kids everyday.

Shocking!

But yes, sadly (in your opinion) this is the life I chose when I decided to stay home and raise my kids. And no, I do not have a nanny who cares for them while I attend mid week lunches, or spend hours at the salon. Sue me.

And, second of all I think it's both pathetic and hilarious that you arrive at the school gate, allow your driver to hold up traffic while he jumps out of the car, and opens your door, and you instruct one of your maids to sit still, while your two year old screams bloody murder in her lap, and then proceed to yell at the other maid to hurry up and get out of the car because you don't want to be late.

I slip my phone out of my pocket, and yeah, I don't carry my handbag to school because I have two hands to hold, two backpacks to juggle, two water bottles to prevent from being dragged on the road, and crazy traffic to fight my way through, while listening to a couple of excited voices telling me about their day. And, no I don't carry designer bags everywhere I go. But, moving on... I'm going to pretend now you don't exist, because I know you'll grab my attention in one way or another.

You don't disappoint.

I'm about to start pretending, when you march right up to the closed gate and loudly ask what time the bell rings. The guard gives you a look which says "You don't know what time your child gets off from school?" and then mumbles that you need to wait five more minutes. So, you huff and haw, till you realize there are people around you. Also waiting. Your eyes quickly pass over the two hijab clad women with whom you avoid making eye contact, as if they're contagious. You step away from the males, stare at a few maids, wrinkle your nose at another woman's shoes, and then glance down at your pretty slippers and smile.

And, then you spot me.

I pretend I'm busy texting someone on my phone.

I feel your eyes raking over my jeans and kurti, my barely combed hair, twisted into a knot and held with a clip, my phone which wild horses couldn't drag my eyes away from at that moment. You move closer... It is a Blackberry!

And, you've found a friend.

"Does your child go to school here?" You ask.

I groan inwardly, and look up at your face half hidden by massive Jackie O shades (which look ridiculous on your face btw). "Yes they do" Because you know, otherwise I would be just another psycho woman who hangs around outside school gates in the burning sun.

And, so begins the conversation

You: Which class?

Me: Kindergarten

You: Oh, my daughter is in Kindergarten.

Me: That's nice.

You: I don't usually pick her up, but the teacher wanted to see me today. She sent a note yesterday... Such short notice... I have a lunch appointment at 1:30, so this is really inconvenient.

Me: I can imagine.

Then I start my slow turn away, but it's not meant to be.

"And, my maid took the day off today, so it's been chaos since morning!"

I cannot.ever. and I mean EVER, resist this kind of stuff. I'm such a sucker for punishment, and a complete blog fodder instigator.

Me: How many maids do you have?

You: I have three... Well, two are nannies, and one does all the cleaning etc. I have a man who cooks.

And when you say "man," you do not mean "husband." I know that much.

Me: And, how many children do you have?

You (confused): Just two... That's why I have two nannies.

Me: That makes sense.

You: You know how difficult it is to manage kids, and my maid knows exactly the kind of day I would have if she doesn't show up, so she takes advantage and all these days off, and then my other maid has to neglect my daughter so she can do all the housework.

School Bell!

I smile sympathetically, but it's really a "STFU" grimace, and start walking. But, you match me step for step, rambling on about your maid problems, and the stress you endure daily at the hands of your three shrews. Then suddenly, all that's forgotten and I feel you pressing something into my hand, while you beam at me and say "Let's get together for coffee or lunch one day, it was SO nice meeting you... How about Thursday morning? Is 11:30 good? I'll ask a few friends to join us.... But, I have to be done by 1:00 because I have to be somewhere else by then."

So, while the tune for The Twilight Zone fills my head, I look down at a pretty cream color business card, with a golden motif and lettering. Your name and cell phone number printed neatly in the middle. And, nothing else. I mumble something about my kids waiting and practically run off.

Much later, once the kids have eaten lunch, and settled into boisterous play at home, I remove your embossed card from my pocket, place it on the table, pull my note book and pen toward me, and start to write.

Things to Do Before Calling and Confirming Meet-Up with School Gate Mom

Get your hair cut and styled.

Reserve a table three days a week for club coffee mornings.

Go to the gym everyday and work out.

Eat a 1500 calorie meal at some swanky place right after that.

Apply for 9-5 job, or insist J get rich enough, and then join at least two charity committees.

Employ someone to drive the car, or alternatively employ someone who will sit quietly in the back seat while you drive yourself everywhere.

Name him "Driver."

Import maids and nannies from remote villages across the country.

The younger the better.

Pretend you shop in Dubai and Europe only, but sneak into Zainab Market and buy all the export reject clothes you can.

Tut Tut and snicker at anyone who buys shoes from a Zamzama shop.

Insist J leave his job and start up some "business" so you can talk about it vaguely to your new friends.

Learn to complain incessantly about maid problems.

Find male, Bengali cook.

I rip your card to shreds and throw it in the trash.

Good Morning, Gone Bad!

So, picture this. You're up early on a lovely Wednesday morning, enjoy a nice cup of coffee out on your balcony, before you wake the huz and kids. You get them ready (the kids, not the huz), pack their lunches, and spend a good ten extra minutes taking care of those "must dos" they probably plan and plot every night to spring on your already cluttered brain each a.m. I must remove my pencil case from my backpack, rearrange it's contents, and put it back in... I must, I must! or I must ask Mommy if I can take my favorite doll to school, or my other favorite doll, or my other, other favorite doll. You get the picture. So, once they all leave, and silence descends, what do you do?

The laundry!

Well, yes, but only after you make yourself a nice big mug of coffee, and either watch the news, or go online. You never do laundry before you de-stress from the morning's madness. Never! And, if you do, then stop doing it, because it makes the rest of us lazy ass stay at home parents look bad.

Right, so you were supposed to be picturing something, and here it is again. The kids are gone, the spouse has left for work, you have your coffee cup steaming, the house is quiet and humming, and everything is lovely. Then you check your email, and there's one from estranged FIL. Nothing to be alarmed about, since all mails from the in-law camp are email forwards. You know, those annoying and crappy mails which you just delete without another thought? So, you get ready to hit 'delete' when you notice the title "Incorruptible Corpses."

Hmmm could this be some scientific article? You wonder, and you click 'Open'

BAD move!

Very bad!

Image after image after damn image of saint corpses! Or corpses of saints.

I mean... Who? Why? WTF?

Who sends people shit like that? Why the hell do they need to send it to anyone? WTF is their problem? Seriously!

And, some of them had their eyes open! OMG it freaked me the hell out! Like who the fuck wouldn't be freaked out by an image of an eyes open corpse of Imelda Lambertini, who apparently is some fourteenth century saint, who was twelve years old when she died?

Twelve!

Eyes wide open!

Corpse!

For the love of God, would people please, please stop ramming all this religious stuff down everyone's throats already? I am so sick of this shit, honestly! And, if that wasn't enough, there was all this bolded text praising Jesus and God. Really? You're praising God for a corpse? Have you stopped taking your meds? Do you even have meds? Is it OK if I insist you take meds? Like right now?

It's bad enough living in a place, where every other day you're subjected to news stories of violence, and horrible images, without having to open your personal email and see more crap. Now, I'll be dreaming about Imelda and all those saint corpses all night.

Message: Catholics! Bury your dead... PLEASE!

Mommy Confession: I Hired a Maid

And, being a stay at home mom, that tops the list of being a lazy slob doesn't it? I mean aside from the bon bons I spent years eating, while I watched soaps on TV and ignored my children, I wasn't satisfied with my laziness. No, I had to go and hire a maid to clean my house. I'm a terrible human being! This wasn't an easy decision to reach, and I spent many months contemplating whether getting some help would be a good idea or not. Then of course, I asked myself the questions which needed to be asked, and now you can sit back and picture me having a discussion with myself, while I lay in bed exhausted one night a few weeks ago.

Do you need help?

Probably not.

Are you tired?

Hell yes!

Do you accept defeat that it's all becoming impossible to handle yourself?

Never!

Can you make up your damn mind?

Fine! I'll hire someone to take over my house and my life, maybe she can also be J's second wife.

Stop being so melodramatic, and stop rhyming words ffs!

I'm not hiring help, because I'm not a working mother

Oh please! Think of long coffee mornings and true peace.

Sold!

Good girl!

I'll give it a one month trial.

Pain in the ass!

So, now I have a maid, who is not a child, or even a teenager, or even a young adult, but neither is she old. And, I still do the laundry. Don't ask why, because it has something to do with a temporarily faulty machine which the maid cannot handle. No, I don't want any big wig company gifting me a spanking new washing machine. Oh wait, why would they care? I'm not a millionaire blogger. **snicker**

Anyway, so much for quiet, peaceful coffee mornings. Not that it's not fun, I really don't have much to do after the natives leave the house. Of course, the hour and a half before they all leave is enough to drain half my energy. But, overall I'm in a much better mood when the kids come home, have more energy to spend time with them doing kid stuff, help with homework, and cook their favorite meals. I could get addicted to this fancy life.

Or, I could get a job.

Which is another thing I have time for now. Seriously, I actually have time to job hunt, but I sit here writing something which is not job related at all. Judge me all you want, but I earned this vacation. I have twins you know, with no maid, no help, no babysitter, nothing for five years. Five! If you think it's not that bad, may you be "blessed" with twinfants and no assistance. That's all I'm going to say about that. Don't knock the SAHM lifestyle until you've tried it my friends. It's not as easy as we make it look! And, no I am NOT, repeat NOT saying working mothers are horrible parents and have it easy, so please let's not make it about that. Besides, the term "working mother" is redundant isn't it?

Daddies be quiet, this is not about you.

It's about me.

And, my maid.

She's working out really well surprisingly. And, I don't even have to stalk her and insist she do this or that, and anyone living in PK will appreciate what I'm saying. In fact, if I tell them she actually thinks for herself and sticks to a schedule, they might want to steal her from me, and keep her in a glass case in their living room, so they can pay her homage.

Life is good with her around (by good, I mean easier) and I truly am enjoying the break, working on long forgotten projects I planned but never had time for.

Like hour long showers.

Moral of the story: Don't be ashamed to get some domestic help, even if you're a stay at home mom.

Daddy is Not a Babysitter!

So, I'm sitting here and once again wishing people would stop congratulating me on what a fabulous husband I have. Not that he isn't fabulous, there's no doubt about that, but like any other husband and father, he does not require (or want) a pat on the back for doing his duty as a parent.

A few things worth mentioning...

When told he changed our babies diapers

People smile at him in amazement

When they hear he also bathed the babies

Most women swoon, as if he's Edward Cullen in the sparkly flesh

When I mention he cooked dinner for the family

They rush to the stores which sell trophies, and purchase one for him

When I go out with my friends

It's "Aww it's so sweet that your husband babysits the kids"

Babysits? He co-parents our kids!

I do not understand this, and really don't understand this almost religious adoration shown to men who "help" their wives with the children on some odd occasion. Why do we refuse to see it for what it really should be? Parenting! It's what needs to be done. It's what we're supposed to do. Change the diapers, prepare the meals, tend to cuts and scrapes, soothe a crying child... Parenting! Some of my friends think I'm pretty ungrateful because I dismiss their gushing over how "helpful" my husband is. Let me say this to them... I love my husband, I appreciate many, many things about him, I'm thankful for tons more, but I do not need to pay him homage when he spends half an hour with the kids, so I can cook dinner in peace. He doesn't want the thanks, and neither do I want to be constantly thanked for everytime I wash a dish.

There are many women who I think need to grow a little backbone, or alternatively stop treating their husbands like idiots who are capable of accomplishing only one small task at a time. They may surprise you, believe me. They're more than capable, and if they're not? They'll learn to be, and unlike small five year old children, they do not need us standing on the sidelines cheering them on.

It's time most stay at home moms mothers around the world also stepped back a bit, and allowed these guys to be fathers. Admit it, we take on too much, attempt to do everything ourselves, put our lives, interests, wants and needs firmly in a box and lock it. And while we're happily doing all that, telling ourselves we're so great, because we do everything to nurture our children, and shower them with love, we tend to forget there's another parent around, who needs to nurture and love those kids too. And, more importantly, the children need him to do that, free and clear of mommy butting her nose in. He may work 9-5 or 9-9 or whatever, but when he's around, he's right there and perfectly capable. And, don't give me that He works all day and is usually tired crap... We all work all day and are tired, get over it!

Step back.

And, when it's all done, hold the thanks and give conversation a chance. Let him talk about his time with the kids... And, listen. You may be surprised when you notice he needs no thanks, and isn't looking for any.

Because, he actually enjoyed his time with his children.