Remember: If we weren’t being Sh*tty Moms while writing the book Sh*tty Mom, what kind of hypocrites would we be?
Sometimes you have to work instead of parent. Dad is working. Or with his other kids. Or watching football. Or on the lam—tens of thousands of dollars behind in child support. Sitters are expensive, and the grandparents are far away, frail, or dead. You may have a friend, but you can’t waste her on this. Your car is making noises or, next month you are moving. She must be saved for something besides a few hours of computer work.
What you need is a contained space that your kids cannot exit without your knowledge. A space with a play area, food, reasonable lighting, and a place to put your laptop. Also, it needs to be free.
The park is no good. You can’t see the screen in the sun’s glare. And the park is open space—you’ll put your headphones on, zone out for twenty minutes, and then look up to find that your kid has wandered off. You don’t want to read message board comments about the news reports of a child disappearing while his mother was on Facebook. (That’s what everyone will assume, even if your weren’t. But you probably were.)
What’s a Sh*tty Mom to do? Aside from your local gym/play dumps, try one of these:
McDonald’s gets it. For no extra charge, they provide a jungle gym, toys made in China, Wi-Fi, and your own writing desk. And no time limit. Even better, the PlayPlace is too cramped for parents to join their kids on the slides. McDonald’s understands that if you actually wanted to play with your kids, you’d be at the park.
McDonald’s even offers healthy kids’ meals, with apple slices. They are for show, so you can tell yourself that you tried. Because kids are all about Happy Meals, and Happy Meals are all about french fries. And that’s fine. The unspoken agreement you’ve made with your children is that Mom gets to wear headphones and they get to eat fries. This teaches kids another life lesson: When authority figures aren’t paying attention, they can do bad things. It’s the first step to a well-compensated life of unprosecuted white-collar crime.
IKEA
IKEA should let you leave your kid in a children’s model bedroom, while you work at a desk in one of their model home offices. What better way to show off the functionality of both rooms?
Oh well. The next best thing is Småland, IKEA’s drop-off play area for short children. (They have a strict height limit that will exclude a tall seven-year-old.)
Unfortunately, Småland has a time limit, and IKEA makes you carry a tracking device so that they can summon you in an emergency or if you’re five seconds late. Even worse, there’s often a waiting list, which means you’ll have time to shop with your kid at IKEA. In that event, a babysitter might be cheaper.
On the plus side, their play structures have never been found to contain trace amounts of MRSA. (Sorry to bring that up, but jeez, McDonald’s.) Once you check in your child, go to the café. The coffee is cheap and the meatballs are Swedish.
But work fast, they are tracking you.
(Note: Single moms, you can’t afford to hire a sitter every time a horny, divorced dad wants to crawl in your pants. Meet him at IKEA for coffee and meatballs. If there’s no chemistry, having to get your kid out of Småland is a perfect excuse to end the date.)
Chuck E. Cheese’s
This is a reverse recommendation, because Chuck E. Cheese’s is a terrible place to try to work, and that fact needs to be in print. (Besides, anything written in the presence of a six-foot rat is probably not your best effort.) With the loud machines, noises, and tokens, Chuck E. Cheese’s is like Vegas for five-year-olds. It’s contained, yes, but it also attracts teenagers. Teens who are loud, bored, and unable to think of any place else to go but Chuck E. Cheese’s. They’re so young, and yet they have already given up on life. Their despair is distracting.
Furthermore, every procedural show with a story line about a pedophile takes place at an establishment that resembles Chuck E. Cheese’s. What do TV crime dramas know that they’re not telling us?
Remember: If we weren’t being Sh*tty Moms while writing the book Sh*tty Mom, what kind of hypocrites would we be?