I Am a Mom. I Am a Myth. I Am a Legend.

The XX Factor
What Women Really Think
April 15 2014 4:20 PM

I Am a Mom. I Am a Myth. I Am a Legend.

Everyone is getting all the good feelings today from this viral video, in which a middle-manager type interviews a bunch of job applicants for the “most important job” he is hiring for. He calls this job “director of operations.” Job requirements include being able to stand up all day, never sleeping, and only eating your lunch after your associates have eaten theirs. The company is looking for applicants with a background in medicine, finance, and the culinary arts. There are no days off, workloads go up on holidays, and the job is unpaid. But wait, there’s a twist! This guy isn’t describing a job he’s hiring for at all. He’s describing your mom. Your poor, overworked, undervalued, slave of a mom. CALL YOUR MOM, you ungrateful son of a martyr.

And I’ll call my mom! Just as soon as she’s home from playing tennis or bridge or volunteering or whatever it is retired mothers in their late 60s do these days. I probably should have called her this morning, but I was busy sitting down drinking coffee while my three kids played with Legos and my husband showered. I’ll call her just as soon as I finish eating my salad, which I bought with the money that I earn at my real job, where I sit in front of a computer all day, sometimes getting up to stroll over to the table where people leave desserts they’ve brought from home. Maybe, actually, I’ll just wait to call my mom until after I put the kids to bed tonight, except that I’m really hoping to sit on the couch and binge-watch season two of Borgen. I really should, however, call my mom to thank her for making such a delicious Passover Seder for us last night, which was a real lifesaver, since I don’t cook. I’ll try to remember to call her before I go to bed at 11 p.m. and wake up at 7 a.m., but if I forget, I can always call her tomorrow, maybe when I’m walking to the park to exercise in the evening, or I could always skip my afternoon nap this weekend and call her then, except I probably need the nap since I’m only getting eight hours of sleep a night. God, how do I do it? I do not know. You’re welcome. 

Allison Benedikt is a Slate senior editor. Follow her on Twitter.

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