Multi-tasking Mama

Tonight, I ever so carefully super-glued a toy airplane to myself.  Which is shocking because I was giving the task my complete and undivided attention.  Well, okay.  Dinner was cooking, CeCe was wildly yanking dishes from the cupboard at my feet and Jeeper was standing next to me asking rapid-fire questions.  And I didn't really plan to fix the toy tonight.  It had been sitting on the kitchen counter for nearly a year and all of a sudden tonight I felt convinced that I had to fix it right now.  And I DID fix it.  But I also glued it to my thumb.  And then I panicked because I couldn't remember what to do.  Dish soap and hot water?  Nope.  A good yank?  Ow!  No way.  Fortunately, my husband walked through the door right then.  And of course he knew.  Finger nail polish remover.  Phew.  So, other than a little pale blue paint residue, I'm good as new again.  But the whole  adventure did remind me to slow down a little.  And to save any super-glue projects until after the kids have gone to bed.

I Don't Like This Sandwich

In the middle of this weekend's usual events -- dishes, bedtime routines, a trip to the store -- and extraordinary events -- homemade raspberry pancakes, our 10th wedding anniversary, an afternoon to myself -- I received a call that my dad had been admitted to the hospital and appears to have had a stroke.  Diaper changes and meal preparations were suddenly interrupted by frequent phone calls, sobbing fits and internet searches for flight schedules to Montana.  His condition is stable enough that the testing that will give insight into what happened has to wait for the holiday to pass.  So I am on hold.  And in limbo. Sandwiched between worrying about my dad and working with my kids.  I pick up CeCe's stack of blocks and at the same time I fall apart at the thought of my dad struggling to communicate.  My dad!  One of the most talkative, verbal and opinionated people I know.  I sit and sound out words with Jeep and I get a lump in my throat because, in his current state, my dad can't remember how to read.  My dad!  The one who taught me to love reading with his example of devouring book, after book, after book.

As a parent myself, I don't have the freedom to give my dad all the attention I want to give him.  I want to be on a plane yesterday.  I want to be at the hospital asking questions, holding his hand and making sure my mom gets time off to rest and eat.  But who will look after our kids while I take care of my dad?  Do I take one or both or none with me?  What favors do we call in from friends and neighbors and when?  How can we choose between the plane tickets and preschool tuition?  How do we make responsible financial decisions for our family -- our whole family?  There isn't a guidebook or one clear black and white answer right now.  And so I pray for the strength to make the best decision I can -- for my kids, my husband, my self, and especially for my dad.

Motherhood: Antonym of Makeover

This post was originally posted on Blog Mamas on August 13th, 2006.

I didn’t live a picture perfect life before my son was born, but in the last year, most areas of my exterior life have deteriorated. The other day a colleague who lives near me jogged by my house and I waved her over. As we chatted in the driveway for a few minutes I looked around and realized how much has changed in the last 14 months.

That morning I had “styled” my wet hair using the car vent blasting on high. The little makeup I was wearing had been hastily applied at a stoplight. Jeep was slimy (from the banana the produce clerk gave him that morning) and dirty (from crawling in our dusty lawn that hasn't been watered) and he had wiped a good amount of banana on my shirt. The dandelions in our yard were almost 2 feet high and our decorative grass was so overgrown that you can barely get in the front door (we use the garage door and are able to ignore the problem). I couldn’t invite my co-worker inside because I knew that the living room was covered in toys, the kitchen table was cluttered with months of paper, the sink was full of dirty dishes, our bedroom floor was a mountain of dirty laundry and the bed frame was covered with clean laundry washed a week before. Plus I didn’t want her to see the Pepsi and soft tacos that I had just picked from Taco Bell.

Sigh.

I’m thrilled to have my son in my life and am honored to be his mother, but sometimes I get overwhelmed by the pace and magnitude of change brought about by parenthood. I’m still learning the balance between self-care and self-sacrifice, but I think I get it right when I choose book reading over blow-drying, laughing over laundry and hugs over housework. So while I think my priorities are going through an appropriate makeover, please don’t come over for a photo shoot anytime soon!

Two-headed Beast

This post was originally posted on Blog Mamas on July 9th, 2006.

While I totally agree that BlogMama deserves validation for the choices and efforts she has made/is making, I don't think the grass is much greener over here in Working Mom Land. I don't get bonuses or an especially fat paycheck but I do earn enough money to cover exceptional (and exceptionally expensive) childcare plus a few economic ends including my family's health insurance. Although I try to be more efficient than ever, I can't give the time, attention and travel that I used to give to my work and I've seen the compliments & appreciation decrease as a result. Plus I still do the lion’s share of kid-care and household duties at home too. With no more thanks or appreciation than the average Mom – working or not.

What I find the most difficult about being a working mom is my split personality. I feel like almost every minute of everyday I frantically flip my focus from my son to my work and back again. The “to-do” list never ends and I have two of them! It makes me pretty crazy and I’ve spent hours talking to my husband and other mama friends about the perfect solution. I’ve come to the conclusion that there isn’t one perfect reality for all mothers but I hope there is a unique balance for each of us. So far, I’m still on a teeter-totter, but Jeep’s awesome daycare, a couple of hours of paid housecleaning a month, and lowering my standards in almost all areas are a few of the things that keep me from toppling.

I have thought a lot about the “career set-back” that can happen when a mom chooses to walk away from work and stay at home these days. While I'm not satisfied with the current economic & cultural situation and the choice mothers are forced to make, I’ll admit career progress has a small part to play in why I’m still in the workforce (although not nearly as much of a role as the health insurance). Honestly I don’t feel like I’m climbing the corporate ladder right now. If I’m lucky, I’ll hold my spot on this particular rung.

Even Prisoners Have Book Readings

This post was originally posted on Blog Mamas on July 3rd, 2006.

In April my friend Bea invited me to a book reading with Anne Lamott. She had arranged for a family member to watch her kids and was looking forward to time off, spiritual intellectualism and a few laughs. My only experience with Anne Lamott was a quick skim of “Operating Instructions,” but listening to an author who has wrestled (somewhat irreverently as I recall) with both mothering and faith appealed to me.

I work a demanding job in addition to the demands of motherhood. I feel caught in the stereo-typical “mommy wars” - judged for working by friends, family and strangers who are/were “stay-at-home” mothers and also pressured by society and economics to be a successful professional woman. So when I read about Lamott online, I was drawn to the description of Anne “exhorting readers to go easy on themselves and with each other.” I look forward to hearing “essays that are howlingly funny mini-sermons” and a “quirky, funny perspective [that is] nothing short of a salve for tired souls.”

The day of the event I realize I haven’t confirmed that my husband can pick up our son so when I learn he has to work late, I’m disappointed . I call Bea and tell her I’m tempted to bring Jeep and stay until he cries. She encourages me to try it and agrees to get there early to save us a place.

Jeep (10 months old at the time) is in a good mood and flirts with Bea as the crowd files in. There is no cry room so we sit in the back row near the hallway. Anne reads about Easter and cancer and it is as funny and poignant as I had hoped. Jeep giggles when anyone laughs at Anne’s wisecracks and turns with wide eyes every time the audience applauds. How refreshing to stretch my mind and soul while sitting on the floor with my wiggly, happy son! Although on occasion he spouts baby gibberish, I feel relieved and grateful to have the best of all worlds.

After reading, Anne takes comments and questions from the audience. While she tries to come up with an answer to “How do you connect with Christians in red states?” a gray-haired curmudgeon from two rows ahead turns to glare at me. “Get that kid out of here!” he barks. I’m caught off guard for a moment, then retreat to into the hall with bouncy babe in arms.

From the lobby I listen to a woman describe how "Operating Instructions" helped her get through life after the birth of her son. My eyes fill with tears that don’t stop. I return to the auditorium and whisper good-bye to Bea. She helps shove gear into the diaper bag and whisks me outside where she offers sweet words and hugs.

I cry on the drive home as Jeep chatters about the passing trees, cars and whatever else occupies the mind of a pre-toddler. Some tears are angry tears at my husband for having to work late, some are frustrated tears for the man who couldn’t relax and hear the wisdom of a writer/mother because he was too distracted by a few happy sounds from a baby, others are tears of embarrassment because I should have known not to bring a baby to a book reading.

Then I recall a recent NPR program about authors hosting book readings in a women’s prison. Sound like a good program, but what about moms? Like many parents, I struggle to juggle a life that includes a kid and society’s expectations and norms. The lines are fuzzy and I don’t always know where to comply and where to protest. And while I believe it is perfectly fair to ban babies from symphony concerts, I also believe that grumpy old men should be banned from Anne Lamott book readings.