When my youngest started kindergarten a few years ago, I suddenly became very popular. I was a stay-at-home mom who was sparking some conversation. Suddenly, people I hadn’t talked to in years were dying with curiosity. What was I going to do with myself while the kids were at school?
Surely, I was going to go to medical school, run out and find a job, or throw myself into volunteering. Nobody liked my response of, “I am going to do me for a while.” Well, nobody except for my husband. “Yes, honey! You decompressing means more hanky panky!”
Nobody cared about my stories of suiting up in my son’s knee pads and scrubbing all the grout in our house with a toothbrush (pee will stain grout like motherfucker) or how diligent I was about practicing headstands.
I wondered why it was their business.
My kids were all in school. I was alone for six hours a day, five days a week (minus teachers’ workshops, school vacations, sick days, holidays, summertime, snow days, and dentist, doctor and orthodontist appointments). However, if my kids were not in school and I dropped them off at day care to have a few hours alone, it is none of your business.
If I decide to breastfeed my 4-year-old and my newborn at the same time, in a public place, it is not your business.
If I try to breastfeed your 4-year-old, it is your business.
If I have a glass of wine in front of my child, it is not your business.
If you see me driving down the road with three kids in my car, throwing back a bottle of red, it is your business.
If I let my 10-year-old walk a half mile to school with a friend, it is not your business.
If I leave my child (or dog) in a hot car and go into a store with a wild look in my eyes, it is your business.
If I let my child have soda on special occasions, it is not your business.
If I am having your child over for a playdate and you tell me your family is vegan, but I decide to feed him a bacon cheeseburger with a side of chicken nuggets, it is your business.
If I swear on my Facebook page, it is not your business.
If I call your child a “little fucker,” it is your business.
If I decide to take a night gig stripping to pay for my kids to go to college, it is not your business.
If I ask your child to come see my act, it is your business.
If I let my 8-year-old see a PG-13 movie, it is not your business.
If I let your daughter binge watch The Walking Dead with me and she has nightmares for the rest of her days, it is your business.
If I give my child the sex talk when he is 4 because Tommy taught him a very dirty song, it is not your business.
If my child teaches your child said song, it is your business.
If I am approaching 25, 36 or 52 and do not have kids, it is not your business.
If I try to steal your child, it is your business.
If I let my child eat food off the floor, it is not your business.
If my child walks over to your plate of food and shoves it down his pants, it is your business.
In my 40 years on this planet, I found I am so much happier if I keep my nose on my side of the fence. Besides, I have two kids going through puberty and one who has perfected the art of making spitballs while we dine out.
Clearly, I cannot take on any more business.
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