Better than Bey.

 

Were this my mug, it would be filled with rage.

Were this my mug, it would be filled with rage.

Every time I see this ridiculous picture of this ridiculous mug, I want to smash the mug into a million ridiculous little Etsy pieces all over my kitchen floor.  Then quickly sweep it up before my toddler can eat it.  While it’s nice to know that Beyonce and I are currently both inhabiting the Planet Earth and get the same trip around the sun, we are not the same people.

I completely loathe this type of “motivation”, because it’s total bull.  Stating the obvious (personal trainers, nannies, chefs, chauffeurs, stylists, people who Photoshop and filter all Instagram photos) isn’t necessary.  It’s what, at least in my mind, this mug implies…that Beyonce has accomplished a lot of stuff, so get of your butt and do the same!

This mug sets us up for failure.  This mug wants you to believe not that you can, but that you should win Grammy awards, be nominated for Oscars and Tony awards, star in Feria hair color commercials, and have a clothing line designed especially for Vegas showgirls.  Or, in parent terms, that you can take on a dozen Pinterest tasks, cook wholesome and nutritious meals each and every day from scratch, have laundry in the closet instead of the dryer, know where your car keys are at all times (hint: they could be shoved in a sippy cup) and be generally more awesome than you are today, drinking your coffee from your non-Beyonce mug, you peasant.

Here’s the deal…I don’t want to be like Beyonce.  I want to be me; I want to be the working mom who spends nine hours a day in an office…on the phone, meeting with clients, consulting with realtors, banging my head against my desk at the insanity of Corporate America, who then gets to hit the door running at 5pm.  The mom who rushes to school to pick up the most amazing, incredible, smart, loving, sweet and funny boy, so we can carefully drive home in traffic, and spend two precious hours together, as a family, before bedtime.

Two hours.  Let that sink in for a minute.  Two hours to cook dinner, eat dinner as a family, take an evening stroll, get a few extra minutes of chasing each other around the dining room, then it’s off to bath and bedtime.  Two hours isn’t a lot of time, but it’s the best part of our day.

We do not live a life of wealth and fame.  We are not champagne wishes and caviar dreams.  And we have no desire to be.  We are working parents, and we are proud of it.   Sure, we work because we have to, but we are happy in our careers and blessed with what those careers provide for our family.  We are proud and blessed and filled with joy over the frantic days we have together.  And of course, we would sacrifice anything for more hours, minutes, seconds, with each other.  For this, I am an uncompleted Pinterest board of wrinkled laundry, spaghetti and “what’s that smell in the refrigerator?”  AND I LOVE IT.

Not taking a single ounce of respect away from my SAHM friends, but today I’m giving mad props (do people still say that?) to my working parent people.  We are a group that is overlooked at times.  We are the folks who rise at the crack of dawn, prepare breakfast in record speed, pack lunches, kiss foreheads, and shuffle off to their offices.  The folks who spend hours at a desk, wondering what their kiddo is doing, is he eating, is he napping, is he happy?  The ones who get precious limited time as a family each evening (and most weekends), but make the most of it.  You do a lot.  You do the work of a parent, and then some.  No, more than some…LOTS.  And you are all rockstars in my book.

Beyonce, keep the nannies and the stylists, the Grammys and the fashion line.  I’ll take the yogurt smeared yoga pants, unwashed hair and oatmeal kisses every happily exhausted day of my life, as long as I can have them.  Because this is the life.

Put a ring on it,

K

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3 thoughts on “Better than Bey.

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