MotherBunker

If the CIA ever needed an expert in food stealthiness, I'm their girl. This is because MJ misses nothing. I often wonder if I was ever able to notice the little things she sees. She can spot a flag, for instance, miles away from where we are driving, hidden behind trees. And bunnies? Nobody sees a bunny, in stuffed or cartoon form, as quickly as she does. And it's a pretty neat trick -- except in the kitchen, where Randy and I have had to learn the art of covert eating.

A fiend for guacamole, he came home from work one evening, saw half of an avocado on the counter, and went to work making his favorite dip. When he’d devoured half his bowl, MJ woke from her nap, and he left to retrieve what would surely be a grumpy, moody, hungry little girl. While he was upstairs negotiating the wake-up, I snapped up the bag of chips he’d left on the table and put them back in the pantry. Looking at the half-eaten bowl of guac, I knew he would protest when he returned with Grumpy Smurf in hand. But it had to be done. I had just spent an hour chopping vegetables I had never met before (the ones they keep on the top shelves in the produce section, with helpful pictures so you’ll know which one is a parsnip) for a dish a children’s cookbook assured me my toddler would “love the taste of” (she didn’t), and I wasn’t about to have all that work ruined with the sight of the red, green and yellow chip bag sitting on the table like some sort of child-at-dinnertime’s answer to Zoloft. Predictably, after the she returned, safe and sulky in daddy’s arms, Randy drew his own pout when he went back to his guac bowl.

“Hey!” he started.

I shot him a look. “No,” was all I said.

He deposited MJ on the couch with "Curious George" (her failsafe program) and came back to the kitchen.

“Why did you put my chips away?” he asked.

“Look,” I said, talking low enough that she couldn’t hear over the TV, “you can’t eat those in front of her right now. Dinner will never happen if you do.”

“But … my guac,” he said, pleadingly, desperately, nightmarish scenarios of brown avocado flashing through his brain,. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Do what I do,” I said, pointing over my shoulder without looking at him. “Take your chips and eat in the bathroom. Or the laundry room. I don’t care which. But you’re not eating them out here.”

And that’s how our powder room became a dining room for one.

I had been doing this since MJ first discovered desserts. The worst thing ever to happen to a mother with a sweet tooth and only one Hershey kiss available is the home with an open floor plan. She sees everything. I keep a tray on our kitchen island, filled with tall things, just so I have a place to hide while I open a piece of chocolate, eat ice cream or eat the heel piece from a new loaf of bread between meals. Well, sometimes those are my meals. People think it’s just random clutter on that island, but it’s not, folks. It’s junk with a purpose. I did try to dress it up once with a bowl full of colorful fruit – it took something like nine apples to get just the right height – but that lasted about as long as it took me to get out my recipe for apple pie.

Situations occur, of course, when I feel like enjoying a snack in the open, in front of my laptop, while sitting on my couch, in the same room as the toddler. This is extremely dangerous practice, so I’ve learned to handle that, too. I wait until she’s still, thoroughly engrossed in an activity, or having an imaginary conversation with the puppy (who actually is outside at the time, but no matter.) Then I grab a graham cracker, wrap it in half a paper towel, sit on the couch with my knees bent toward my chin and slowly break off pieces, while quickly popping them into my mouth. It’s not an easy life, and you have to be fully committed to the operation, but this is how I manage to keep myself fed during the day, with one finger crossed behind my back, while trying to teach her the value of a square meal. Ah, hypocrisy, thy name is Mommy.

Really, when I think about it, I’d say about 75 percent of my days are spent in stealth operations. The key to surviving toddlerhood is to outsmart the toddler – no small task. When I hear the familiar soft sounds of a baby waking up on the downstairs monitor, I move quickly to turn it off. I know if I don’t, MJ will yell, “Babee! Babee! Babee’s awake!” and will be hot on my heels to retrieve her from upstairs. Which is fine. But now I’ve got a hungry newborn in my arms and a wild toddler running free upstairs, where power tools sometimes coexist with Legos, and I’ve got a problem. One free arm won’t cajole or carry the older one back downstairs, and even if it does, I’ll have to set the baby in her playpen or the play gym once I am back downstairs before I can secure the gate on the stairs and keep the toddler from running off again. Which is fine, except that if I set the baby down in either of these places, she risks bodily harm due to the flying Weebles that will surely be cleared for takeoff shortly after I head to the kitchen to make her bottle.

So I think ahead. I turn the monitor off. I turn the TV volume up. I make the bottle. And then, working quickly but quietly, I take the cap off the bottle, set it on the table in ready mode and creep in socks – and this is key; you cannot wear squeaky shoes on hardwood floors to complete this operation – up the stairs to get the baby and bring her down for her meal.

When someone asks me what I do all day with two kids under the age of three, I flash on moments when I secretly run around the family room with a Target bag during nap time, throwing away kid's meal toys with the dexterity of a professional athlete; or how, when I want to watch the news, I mute the TV as soon as I switch it on, so she won't have a chance to hear even one beat of the Noggin theme song before I can change the channel. I think about all the covert operations that go on in this household every day. And then I smile and say, "Oh, it's hard to say. The time just flies by. Who knows what goes on here all day?" But the truth is, I'm the only one who does. And I like it that way.

Motherhood, one of the biggest, baddest jobs in history, requires no interview with your future boss(es). It's a little nuts, when you think about it. But what would a job interview for Motherhood (not the clothing chain) look like? What would the questions be? How would you answer them? I took a few common questions people encounter in "real-world" situations and imagined how I would have answered them before I had kids. The result? I was shockingly unprepared to be a mother.

Motherhood: What experience do you have in this field?

Me: Well, I have a niece and a nephew. I kept my niece, when she was three, all day once while my sister was at work. That was seven years ago.

MH: How did that go?

Me: Um, OK. Actually, she begged me to fix her cereal and then wouldn't eat any of it. I didn't get that. She also never stopped running around the house. But I'm sure that's unusual, right? I mean, I'm not going to experience any sense of deja vu with my own kid, I'm sure.

MH: Do you consider yourself successful?

Me: I have two degrees. I must be.

MH: No, I mean: Do you think you're good at mothering?

Me: Oh. Sure. I mean, I have two degrees. What's harder than going to school?

MH: [sigh] What do co-workers say about you?

Me: They say I write well.

MH: Well, I guess that will come in handy for the baby book. Or when you start a cliche mom blog because you're going insane inside with kids all day long.

Me: [nervously] Heh heh...

MH: [clears throat] Moving on ... What do you know about this organization?

Me: Well my mom has worked here for some time now; she's kind of one of the experts in the field, even though nobody ever gives her any credit for anything. She says that's just part of the job, but I'm sure my generation will be the one to change that!

MH: Yeah. Good luck with that, kid.

Me: I'm sorry?

MH: Nothing. Now, what have you done to improve your knowledge in the last year?

Me: Well, I've been reading The New Yorker. Sometimes I even finish an article or two. Some really good stuff in there. Great story about this down-and-out actress named Jaime Pressley ...

MH: Anything about parenting?

Me: Well, no ...

MH: OK. Um, you'll want to cancel that subscription if you get this job. Is that something that you can do?

Me: Well I don't know. I mean, it makes me feel smart to get it in the mail. Is there anything I can replace it with?

MH: We have some very good trade magazines: Parents, Parenting, Wonder Time.

Me: Cool. Will they make me feel smarter?

MH: No. More anxious and less secure about your skills as a mother, actually. Unless you know how to make a quilt from old baby clothes. Do you know how to make a quilt from old baby clothes? Tell the difference between cereal that will give you cancer and cereal that won't? De-clutter your home while the kid's asleep?

Me: What does "de-clutter" mean? Will I have to do more laundry? I hate laundry.

MH: Why do you want to work for this organization?

Me: I'm beginning to wonder...

MH: What kind of salary do you need?

Me: I don't know. Sixty would be nice.

MH: You can't buy much for $60 at Target. I mean, that's admirable, but you need to be more realistic.

Me: Oh, I didn't mean -- I meant $60,000.

MH: Yeah, I knew what you meant. But your request was so ridiculous that I answered in kind.

Me: I didn't know Motherhood was such a smartass.

MH: The job hardens you. Do you consider yourself a team player?

Me: Not really. I prefer to work alone.

MH: How long would you expect to work for us?

Me: Well the longest job I've ever held was for four years, so I guess about five. Maybe longer if I get a good parking space.

MH: What bothers you about coworkers?

Me: Oh, I'm pretty easygoing. I'm not big on people who whine a lot and can't do anything for themselves, but other than that, I can work with just about anybody.

MH: What is your greatest strength?

Me: You know, it's really also my greatest weakness: I just care too much. Oh -- and I'm also very organized.

MH: Why do you think you would do well in this job?

Me: I can really relate to kids. Everyone says so. Also, I'm late everywhere I go.

MH: What has disappointed you about a job?

Me: The inability to move up the career ladder. I hear the ladder is pretty short here, though, so that should work out just fine.

MH: Tell me about your ability to work under pressure.

Me: Cool as a cucumber. Unless I lose my keys. Or my wallet. Or have to do eight things at once. But how much can that possibly happen while taking care of a kid?

MH: Do your skills match this job or another job more closely?

Me: I've never failed at anything, really. I'm sure this will be a piece of cake.

MH: Are you willing to work overtime? Nights? Weekends?

Me: Oh, absolutely not. Is that going to be a problem?

MH: How would you know you were successful on this job?

Me: The same way I've known with everything else: Awards, of course!

MH: Don't you mean rewards, as in, intrinsic?

Me: No. I mean awards. Aren't there trophies?

MH: Would you be willing to relocate if required? You know, to a better school district?

Me: Um, would there be a bookstore nearby?

MH: Are you willing to put the interests of the organization ahead of your own?

Me: Well, with all due respect, that doesn't seem like a very healthy approach to a job or to life, does it? I mean, I'll need some time to myself.

MH: Describe your management style.

Me: Actually, I don't have one. I prefer to be managed.

MH: If you were hiring for this position, what qualifications would you be looking for?

Me: Someone who knows how to change diapers. I think that's going to be key.

MH: Do you know how?

Me: Well, no. But I'll just have my husband do it.

MH: How will you make up for your lack of experience?

Me: I've been doing a lot of reading. Parenting books seem like they would be really helpful in real-life situations. For example, I read one where they say not to rock a crying baby to sleep, just to put them in the crib and let them fall asleep on their own so they don't get used to you rocking them. That makes a lot of sense, and I bet it really works. I plan to try that one.

MH: What qualities do you look for in a boss?

Me: Patience, understanding, the space to do my own thing.

MH: Tell me about a time when you helped resolve a dispute between others.

Me: Oh, I don't get involved in disagreements. I prefer to stand back and let them figure it out on their own. People can be very reasonable if you let them be.

MH: We're talking about children here, not people.

Me: Yeah. Exactly. Thank you. I meant to say, "Children can be very reasonable if you let them be."

MH: Describe your work ethic.

Me: I like to start work late - you know, around 9:30, 10 a.m. Have my coffee, read the news. There's really nothing like the quiet of the morning to get you ready for the day, help you organize your thoughts. I have lunch at the same time every day, and I like to sit down and eat properly -- none of this standing over a counter and gulping down my food so I can get on with business. I mean, whatever it is can wait, right?

MH: Do you have questions for me?

Me: Did I get the job?

MH: Sure. Yeah. Why not.

Me: Really? Because I wasn't sure there for a while ...

MH: Honey, we let everybody in. We just do these interviews to amuse ourselves.