Schizophrenia or My Life?

Is it just me or are the shifting roles throughout a working mom’s day enough to make you completely insane? Like the characters on “Lost” who seem totally okay, except when the random time travel starts to catch up with them and they get that telltale nosebleed indicating that their brains can’t take much more? (No, I don’t watch it anymore either.)

In the morning, I am the world’s worst drill sergeant, trying to get uncooperative kids off to school. They immediately have a million interesting things to do – or else are totally asleep because of all the interesting things they were doing at 11:00 the night before. My kids have perfected molasses-like movements in putting on boots and coats, etc. My script: “C’mon c’mon you’re going to be tardy, c’mon, C’MON!” In fact, I could run a recording of my lines daily, and get a little more sleep myself.

Then I try to turn into a productive member of society and go to work. Except I’m already mentally exhausted from the drill sergeant duty. It’s like 9 a.m.

I get to the law school. Get some work done. Maybe even teach a class.

Sometimes I shift into my creative writing personality – go off to playwriting class, sing crazy songs, talk about plays, check out everyone’s tattoos.

I return to the law school. Try not to fantasize about career as successful famous playwright. With many, many tattoos.

Meanwhile, those phone calls and emails and random ADD thoughts are coming in, relating to any and all of the above. Answer student emails! Call the school! Who’s picking everyone up? What meeting do I have to go to tonight? How did my kid get injured at preschool today? What’s due tomorrow? What’s for dinner? When can the law school committee meet? Who needs a letter of recommendation? What am I teaching in class this week? Who has to go to the doctor? What do I have to grade? When's the parent-teacher conference? What happens tomorrow?

That reminds me – human computer and calendar. My brain hurts.

In the evening, there might be some time as a loving parent. Unfortunately, I also have to be a child psychologist and social worker, and the occasional probation officer.

Not to mention the wife role, which I often ignore to my peril. Someone else needs my attention? Really? Now?

My parents are healthy, so I’m fortunately not in the position of having to parent my parents. But I see more roles on the horizon.

Yeah, I know I should slow down and enjoy this time. Too soon the kids will be teenagers, instead of pretending to be Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Jim and I will be older, and so will our parents. Work obligations and meetings won’t matter so much. There might not even be so many things on the calendar to keep track of, though I doubt it. (I mean, I’m sure to have a play premiering somewhere, right? Right?)

Until I can figure out a way to make it all work, the world whirls by, and I play catch up.

Mother's Day in the Life

I wrote this essay a couple of years ago when both my boys were in preschool. It reminds of that time, and it reminds me to be present for my kids when they ask me to play.

This Mothers’ Day, I thought about whether I am the mother I want to be. Ideally, I’d like to spend more time with my kids, maybe stay home with them and do something crafty. Not crazy crafty, like in the back of the parenting magazines, where you turn their sandwiches into sea creatures or wrap up the Kleenex boxes in aluminum foil. But I am pretty good with the basic toilet paper tube, for example. I’ve made a dollhouse-sized mailbox with letters and even a little potty, when that was a major matter of interest. My Play-Doh talents have been lying dormant since my older son stopped making requests like, “Mommy, make a radio!” and started making his own stuff. I’d love to return to these domestic artistic pursuits with my boys full time. I have stay-at-home mom envy.

It occurs to me, though, that if I stopped working outside of the home, we might find ourselves living outside the home too, because my paycheck helps pay the mortgage. Or at least, we’d be living less comfortably, with the utilities turned off.

And of course, there’s that open secret among moms that being with the kids all day can drive you completely insane. This is why I have so much respect for my stay-at-home mom friends. I can go to my office and relax. Sure, I have to work, but most days nobody’s going to spill anything. It’s harder for moms at home to get a break from the non-stop demands of parenting.

When I think about mothering, I think of my own mother. She played both roles at different times: stay-at-home and working mom. My mother was home until I was about eight years old. When she told me that once, it surprised me, because I always remember her working. But seeing my mom with my boys now that she’s retired, I remember. I understand why I am so intrigued by the artistic possibilities of the toilet paper tube. She makes them shoebox guitars or a doll outfit out of an old sock. Now I realize that she did this when my brother and I were kids, and that’s why I know how to do it. It’s an act of love to make something out of whatever you have for a little kid, and it teaches that child to be creative and innovative too.

In the years in between having small children and her retirement last June, my mother worked. And worked and worked. Her job was her identity in a lot of ways, and it took most of her time. She was late picking us up from our music lessons (but her working probably paid for those lessons). She missed my high school graduation because she was traveling. But she was there for family dinner, and our concerts, and to help with our math homework. She worked hard to help support us, and she worked harder than she had to because she thrived on it. With parenting, your kids absorb it all. Lessons are taught and learned, consciously or not.

So I wonder: am I the mother I want to be? My kids are little (4 and almost 2) and I work full-time. I don’t spend as much time with them as I would like. I take them to all-day preschool when they don’t want to go. I take them to their grandparents’ house where they love to be, but still ask me to “stay here, Mommy. Don’t go to work.” I miss dinner twice a week when I’m teaching night classes. Yet, I am with them every morning for breakfast and I am home for family dinner on non-teaching nights. Sometimes, I can even chaperone the field trip or spend a weekday morning with the kids. I still find time to make something out of whatever I have, for them to play with.

When my boys pretend they’re going to work, they take keys and a purse with them to the door. Most of their friends’ moms work, and many of the dads drive to preschool. Daddy makes dinner and vacuums the house. This has to be part of what they’re absorbing from childhood – what they might not remember learning, but will have learned nonetheless, like the toilet paper tube and the Play-Doh.

But that’s the thing about working moms and stay-at-home moms (and dads, too) -- we’re all making something for our kids out of whatever we have, as an act of love. We’re doing the best we can, loving our children and working hard for them. We’re all looking to hold on to ourselves while we do our best by our kids. We’re teaching our children how to be the parents that they will someday want to be.

Cleanliness

Are working mothers messier than stay at home mothers?

A recent study showed that working moms managed to spend just as much time playing with their kids as stay at home moms. So what gives? Housework, of course, as many of us already know from cluttered and dusty experience. Apparently the time sacrificed by working moms is not the all too precious time with their kids, but quality time with their vacuums, dust mops, and sponges.

To be sure, there have always been those working moms who manage to do it all – stellar career, lots of time with the kids, and a sparkling home. What can you say about such people, if they are, in fact, human? Lots more husbands pitch in now too (I simply refuse to vacuum, but my husband actually likes it.) And those who can afford to hire outside help do so in increasing numbers.

But some of us just remain rather, well, messy, and at least we have the career and kids to provide some cover. I am particularly sensitive about my mess; if I had three wishes, one might very well be devoted to cleanliness. Growing up, my mom was the same way. The mess sort of takes over and makes you wonder if you will ever get our from under. Frantic pre-guest cleaning ensues. As that great Internet cleaning guru the Fly Lady says, we suffer from CHAOS – Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome. We at least hope that when we die, we won’t have one of those articles about us that says that the house was “filled with debris,” floor to ceiling of clutter taking over every square inch of space, suffocating the life within.

There are those who truly believe cleanliness is next to godliness. In a cruel parting shot in the break-up of our longtime friendship, a stay at home mother friend emailed me that I was so messy she expected Children and Family Services to take my kids, and I should spend some time picking up my house rather than thinking so highly of myself (and presumably my career). No, I assure you I am not so messy that CFS needs to come by and check up on things. My friend knew I was sensitive about the mess though, and she hit where she knew it would hurt. I suppose it elevated her status as a perfect homemaker to say those things. Would it be better if I cleaned more and played with my children less? Is my failure to attain a picture perfect home just that - failure?

Why can’t we all just get along in these mommy wars? It’s really messy out there, the dried up play-doh, the sticky juice boxes, the overbearing value judgments on both sides. Maybe it is time to clean up our act. Just don’t make me vacuum.