Stay-At-Where-Mom?

I hate answering the question: "So, what do you do for a living?" Mostly because my answer ("I'm a stay-at-home mom") usually results in a polite nod and some bullshit about wow isn't that great. Then their eyes glaze over or they find someone with a real job to talk to. Because, obviously, we housewives don't really do anything, do we? And, obviously, if we were truly interesting people we'd have a real job. Sometimes I mention that I'm a writer, but then I just feel like I'm desperately trying to justify my own joblessness. And writers tend to make people nervous.

This housewife gig isn't bad. At all. I'm incredibly lucky to be married to a man, despite all his other faults, is completely okay with me not having a job even though our baby is now in school full-time. I'm an educated woman; getting a job that would both increase our financial liquidity and fulfill some emotional needs I don't want to go into right now would be fairly easy. And I do, in official fact, have a job outside the home: I'm the story lady at Barnes & Noble. For one hour every Tuesday morning, I punch the clock.
Don't feel sorry for me much, do ya?
That's okay; me neither.
But the thing is, I went into this gig thinking it would be heavenly. That I would simply be home doing homey things like baking yummy yet healthy treats, polishing my rock collection and all the furniture, creating awe-inspiring seasonal decorative motifs in my living room, and, oh yeah, writing a book. It only makes sense, right, that someone with seven free hours in a day could get a lot accomplished at home.
Except I'm almost never here. And when I am, I'm exhausted and have exactly zero interest in or energy to do any of those above things. Or even catch up with the laundry and dog hair.
Typically, my day inexplicably gets filled with Other Things. Take yesterday. I was awoken by a panic-stricken child who is convinced that her first-ever book report (which is due in three weeks) will be a complete failure and we should do it right now. This was at 5:30 a.m. Abandoning sleep at that point, we got up and I commenced the Morning Routine, which included trying to do my hair in less than 30 minutes, which almost never works. I scooted the girl out the door for school at 8:20 and frantically finished the Hair from Hell, found clothes that don't make me look like a housewife, made three phone calls, and headed out the door for a dentist appointment, which I had blown off last week when I had jury duty.
After my new crown was safely cemented in place, I ran to Macy's to try to find the Girl the new shoes she's been begging for. Um, they don't carry kids' shoes. Duh. Well, since the library is just up the street, I ran there to grab some books The Girl had wanted. Then, being hungry, I swung through the McD's drive thru. Remembering that our wedding rings were at the jeweler being antiqued, I ran back home and grabbed the receipt, then drove up to the jeweler. Got the rings, called The Hubby to see when I could bring him his so I wouldn't lose it, stopped at Smith's for some groceries and shoes, ran the ring to The Hubby and snagged some Peets coffee from the canteen at his office. Remembered the Payless has socks The Girl could wear with her new ballet flats that don't show and so drove down there. Made it back home with more new shoes. Picked up the Girl and friend from school, stopped at B&N on the way to the doctor's office. Waited in the doctor's office for 90 minutes to find out that The Girl hadn't broken her wrist. Blasted her home to change for soccer practice, stopped to pick up the friend for soccer practice, dropped her off for soccer practice, came home to...make dinner.
Are you still with me?
This is not an atypical day. The only variables are the wheres.
So days like this, days that have nothing on my calendar, are a sweet treat. I had so many things I wanted to get done today; not the least write the rest of my Halloween dead-haunted-baby story. Instead...I had to nap. Now I have two hours left to pound out some literary crap and justify my claiming to be a writer.

I swear, the next person who asks me "But what do you do all day?" is going to get the above description, in even greater detail.
That or my foot up their ass.