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What’s a working mom to do? My very best friend is a SAHM living on the opposite coast from me. We talk on the phone often, e-mail regularly, and see each other once or twice a year when family functions, work, or other obligations bring us to the other’s neck of the woods. Recently, this friend took a long weekend trip away from home with another SAHM mom friend of hers. They had a blast, and I’m really glad for her. She needed and deserved the break, and had great girl fun. She enjoyed herself so much that when she returned home, she decided that she and I should do the same thing. It was her husband, in fact, who must have found his wife surprisingly renewed and refreshed after a break from her 3-year-old, who suggested it.
I love the idea and hate it all at once. Yes, it sounds like fun, but having just recently been away from New Girl for work travel, I really have no desire to leave her again for a completely voluntary weekend of fun. I know she, and all stay-at-home moms need that break. She is with her son almost 24/7, except the 10 or so hours a week he’s in preschool. I, on the other hand, am only with New Girl for about 10 waking hours during the entire workweek. While we both love, cherish, and adore our children, our relationships with them are very different, I think. Will that get in the way of our relationship with each other?
My son has officially been on summer vacation for three days now, and if these three days are any indication, I’m going to have quite a hard time getting him to agree to return to school in the fall. He’s already gone rock climbing, kayaking, and swimming. He’s eating and sleeping better than he has all year and his smile seems to have grown inches. It’s all good, as they say. All that is, except for the fact that he’s done these things with a babysitter…not with me. I’d like to be the one taking him on all of these adventures (okay, maybe the babysitter can stay on point for the rock climbing). I want to spend time with my kids running under the sprinkler, having picnic lunches, climbing every mountain.
There’s only one problem…there’s no summer break in the working world. Sure, I might be able to grab a few days here and there, but that’s not enough to elicit the unparalleled feeling of expectation, relaxation, and elation of knowing an entire summer of freedom and adventure lies ahead. So for now, I’ll have to settle for the bits and pieces my son shares with me about his day, relish in the photos my babysitter shows me each evening, and plan to make the most of every single weekend.
Did any of you read the article in the New York Times Magazine last week titled: “When Mom and Dad Share it All”? It’s about ESP — Equally Shared Parenting. Everything is 50-50. Parents share equal responsibility for running the house, taking care of the children, and working outside of the home, even laundry duty. In one of the families they profiled the husband was responsible for washing the darks, the woman the whites.
I’ve never thought about writing down a plan, but still feel Commuter Dad and I have a pretty even split; we share responsibility for Commuter Girl. Sure, I am probably on “Commuter Girl-duty” more weekends than Commuter Dad, but I don’t mind. I really don’t do anything for the dog, Commuter Dad does the walks and feeds him every day — and likes to do that. Commuter Dad pays the bills (from our joint account to which we both contribute), I do more housekeeping/de-cluttering than he does (and, we learned early on in our relationship that paying a housekeeper to do the cleaning did wonders for our marriage). He makes Commuter Girl’s lunch; I cook dinner. It seems pretty even to me, and I’ve never felt the need to create a formal 50-50 plan. In fact, if you have to break out a spread sheet and calculator to split your parenting, is there some other problem going on, perhaps? Yet, I do wonder if we implemented ESP, would parenting guilt be eliminated? Would I no longer feel guilty going out with the girls because, with equal time for socializing, I would know Commuter Dad would get his turn too? Would I no longer get annoyed when I’m playing with Commuter Girl while Commuter Dad spends an hour on the computer rather than having family time with us? If so, maybe it would be worth the energy to divvy it all up. If not, I think an imperfect split may be just fine...plus, when Commuter Dad does the laundry I end up with a toddler-size wardrobe.
Well, we’ve done it. New Girl, New Dad and I have all survived my first trip away from home since New Girl was too young to realize it. At least I think we’ve survived — I’m typing on the plane home and am hoping that my daughter has given her father a third peaceful bedtime routine. Being away was in some ways easier and in some ways much harder than I thought. When I was working, which was during most of my awake hours on this trip, I was able to concentrate and focus like the old, pre-pregnant me. Knowing Daddy was on call for emergencies, and that no matter how late I was running, I wouldn’t have to worry about picking up my baby, gave me a certain kind of peace that is elusive at home. At the office, my heart skips a little beat every time the phone rings, thinking it might be an emergency at the center. Every meeting or conversation that goes past 5:15 leads to a rush to get to my daughter before she’s completely exhausted herself. But 1,500 miles away from home, those responsibilities melted away.
Almost. (When New Dad didn’t return my calls one day, I did call the center to be sure he had picked up our daughter. He had.) But when I missed New Girl’s evening call one night because the cell phone never rang, and I had to hear her say “love you” for the first time over voicemail, my heart both leapt for joy and nearly broke into pieces all at once. Missing her has been hard on me, but knowing she misses me is almost torturous. I cannot wait to get home and watch her sleep in her crib. I cannot wait until she wakes up in the morning, so I can surprise her with my return, and I can see that beautiful half toothy/half gummy smile. I can’t wait to get home…and stay there for a long while.
The other day my son’s kindergarten was cancelled for teacher meetings. Having just returned from a business trip, I planned to take the day off of work and spend some one-on-one time with him. Since summer has finally arrived, I had all kinds of plans: we’d go to the pool, have a picnic, play outside, and go out for ice cream. If there was time left over, we might even squeeze in some miniature golfing. Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans. We woke up that morning to cold, drizzly weather. And if that wasn’t enough to throw us off track, neither one of us was feeling well.
I figured we may as well use the unexpected free time to get some grocery shopping done (I know, I know, not quite as fun as swimming or mini-golf). There we were, trudging through the aisles, when my son spotted the cake mix and suggested we spend the afternoon baking a cake. I readily agreed —– any excuse to eat chocolate frosting. He asked me whose birthday it was, assuming it must be somebody’s birthday if we were baking a cake. When I told him it was nobody’s birthday, he decided we would make a “happy birthday nobody” cake. And did we ever. Frosting, sprinkles, glitter, and M&Ms decorated our masterpiece. Truth be told, it looked atrocious but tasted delicious. The best part was how much fun we had making it. We had our cake and ate it too, and I’m eagerly waiting the next dreary day: what better time to hold a “happy birthday nobody” party?
Lately, it has become fairly common for Commuter Girl to act out. She’s hit the “terrible twos” and is testing her limits like a pro. We recently had to end our outside play time when she ran away from Mommy – she ran down the street. Last week she went to school with one pigtail and lots of tears. I’m kicking myself for not getting a picture of it, but I was way too frazzled from the heated debate to think to get out the camera. The other day Commuter Dad reprimanded Commuter Girl while we were in the car, I don’t even remember what she had done. He said something I didn’t agree with and I turned to him and said “Don’t say that to her.” I’m sure you can finish the story…Commuter Girl looked at him and said “Daddy, don’t say that to me.” Oops. The real parenting test has begun – we have to be a team and it’s even harder now to hide the minor disagreements when there is a toddler watching. I have to come to terms with the fact that I may not always agree with how or what Commuter Dad does. But, I have to trust that he has everyone’s best interest in mind, he is a smart man, a wonderful Daddy…and, sad but true, not everything has to be done MY way.
1. When preparing finger foods for the baby’s lunch, double the servings and set one aside for the next day’s dinner.
2. Always do something mindless but productive while watching your own “must see TV.” I fold laundry or label NewGirl’s bottles and food containers for school.
3. Save drive-through errands for those weekend naps that always seem to begin in the car just two blocks before you return home. Drive through car wash, banking, and coffee runs all work for me.
4. Work breakfast or morning snack into part of your weekend grocery shopping adventure. Start by letting your child pick a fruit or veggie from the produce section that they can munch on in the cart. Work your way through the bread, cereal, cracker, cookie, dairy, and deli aisles as necessary.
5. Mix shampoo and conditioner in your hand before applying to your hair. Then you only need to rinse once. Save even more on hair prep time by making excessive use of barrettes and ponytails.
RSVP: “Répondez s'il vous plait,” or, in plain English, “please respond.” So why don’t people? My son’s birthday party is in three days. I mailed the invitations six weeks ago and asked people to kindly RSVP ten days prior to the party. I thought that was reasonable. And yet, here we are, just three days away and nine people still haven’t gotten back to me. There are pizzas to order, goody bags to put together, and a cake to buy, and yet I don’t know how many people are coming. The place where we’re holding the party needs a final count and I need to estimate, which means I may well end up paying for some of the non-responders who turn out to be no shows.
I’d like to assume that if people don’t respond it means they’re not coming. But at my nephew’s party last weekend, five people who couldn’t find the time to RSVP turned out for the celebration. My sister ran out of goody bags. Believe me, I get it…we’re all busy, we’re all managing schedules deserving of color-coded spreadsheets, and we all have tons of correspondence to deal with. But please, take a moment to respond…and in turn, I promise there will be plenty of goody bags and pizza for everyone.
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