Month: July 2011

The Working Mother’s Guilt

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I feel guilty for working. My husband does not work much, but when he does, no one makes him feel bad. It’s a mother thing.

My sister-in-law who owns her own business reported that in a parent-teacher meeting one of the teachers told her, “I can tell that you work outside the home, because your children are very hard workers.”

I think about that conversation a lot. It comforts me. Although I am plagued with guilt – whenever I have to be away from the kids for a night or a late evening for work — I hope that the kids notice, appreciate and feel motivated to work hard too.

I hope women on all sides of the work equation realize that women’s lives are in flux.

One of my best friends whom I met when our kids were in preschool, is a banker. She wore a business suit to the preschool graduation. In my stained sweat suit, I was jealous. I was a stay at home mom, trying to scare up freelance writing work, but  found only new toddler Mommy and Me classes. I contemplated writing a book called Stay at Home Moms: How They Work! Then I landed my fulltime gig.

My friend quit her job. For seven years she was a stay at home mom, working for no pay — as in serving as president of the parent’s association. This year she returned to the paid world of banking.

I’ve been a fulltime working mother since the girls’ toddler years, saving my sweatsuit for the weekends.

I like to think the kids secretly like and benefit from the fact that their mother works hard and is the family breadwinner.

Working Mother magazine reported that ’57 percent of working mothers feel guilty every single day, and 31 percent feel guilty at least once a week.’ I am not alone.

This relates to my Rule Number 7 to Embrace uncertainty. One day you’re a stay at home mom and the next day you’re back in business. Enjoy it. Work hard wherever you find yourself and try not to feel guilty or jealous along the way.

Teaching Children Responsibility

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Six years ago, I borrowed a book from my daughters’ preschool. The book was called Teaching Your Children Responsibility. I don’t remember any advice from the book. All I know is that I never returned the book to the preschool lending library.

I have felt guilty about not returning that book for six years. I try to model responsibility and consistency. Sometimes I model guilt and blame.

For the mess in our apartment I like to blame my husband Chris and his Parkinson’s Disease and my children who have no good excuse. And of course I blame myself because I don’t discipline them enough and I would rather write before work and play tennis after work than clean and do laundry. I would rather go out to Happy Hour with my work peeps than make a family dinner. How often have I said, “Let’s order Chinese food again, kids”?

I may be irresponsible but I am happy. I may be guilty but I am keeping the Cottage, the best Chinese restaurant on the Upper West Side in business.

I may be messy, but I am creative. This is what I tell myself. In our country house there is a magnet on the fridge. It says, “A creative mind is seldom tidy.” So true.

This jibes with my Rule Number 5: Expect the best, love what you get. Even from yourself.

Someday I’ll return that library book. Until then, I’ll try loving myself.

Running Without a Soundtrack

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The silence running in the country was deafening.

I could not find my head phones. I usually run with ear buds listening to Pandora and the Omar Shariff sound-alike who calculates the distance of my run on my Cardio Trainer app.

I like running to Britney Spears songs like Piece of Me or Pat Benatar’s Hit Me with Your Best Shot. I think, “Yay, world, hit me. Try getting a piece of this.”

I know, I know. I am delirious after just five minutes of running, wondering, Is it time to take that well-deserved water break or walk yet? The music keeps me going.

So running without Britney, Pat or Omar, I felt a twinge of loneliness. The steadiest sound was the scraping labor of my own breath. Then the silence came alive.

running on a country road

There was a cawing of a crow, an old Buick rounding a corner, the wind swishing the hay in the field, and in the mix, my breath.

My breath was just a speck on the country road. Running helps you figure out where you fit in, a small piece in a big picture.

For this epiphany I rewarded myself by slowing down and walking.

Independence Day

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I let Hayden, my 14 year old, drive around the gravel road by the country house. He sat tall and proud. He was focused. He handled the minivan around the sharp turn as elegantly as if he’d been driving race cars his whole life. Which in a way he has — all that time in video arcades and gaming devices prepared him well for the finer motor skills necessary to

This was the 4th of July sunset over the Hudson River from the Amtrak train coming back from the country.

motor the family van.

He can’t wait to drive.

On the 5-hour drive to the country, from the backseat, my son asked, “Is it fun to drive?”

I had to think about it. Accelerating is nice. Passing people is sweet. Feeling the breeze from the wide open window is cool. Blaring music is happening.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “Driving’s fun.”

The best part of driving is that you feel independent. While my tall son may believe he’s ready to drive today, the quarter mile loop by the Big House is as far as he will go. He may be ready but I’m not.

Getting Kids to Help

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I really yelled at the kids.

“I am working all day, then I come home and I work all night.” I was trapped in the kitchen, lonely, scrubbing pots and pans, loading dishes into the dishwasher. Chris had used every cooking utensil we own to prepare a fancy dinner for a neighbor who’d just come home from surgery.

It was probably the most beautiful night in the history of beautiful nights and I was Cinderella. I’d have preferred eating a PB&J in the park, wiggling my toes in the long summer grass.

I have a Cinderella complex, love to feel martyr-ed and uninvited to the party. But remember Cinderella did get one free night. And on that night, she partied hard. That could be me.

I know I should insist that my kids help. A friend in a caregivers support group said that in looking back at her kids’ childhoods, she regretted doing everything for them — like me, she did so much for her kids because she felt sorry for them and for the fact that their dad had a chronic illness. I don’t want that regret.

Yes, in the school year, I do more for the kids because they have homework or they’re tired. But right now, they’re all out of school. “And kids, Mommy’s tired too.”  It’s true I love my job, but it can be tiring. I wish I lived in the 1950s where the breadwinner comes home, puts his feet on the ottoman, reads the paper and drinks a high ball. Maybe I’ll do that when the kids go to camp. ‘Cause I want to be lazy too.

Until then, I will keep crossing off items from my summer bucket list.

  1. Hold a baby
  2. Go to the IWWG (International Women’s Writing Guild) conference at Yale http://www.iwwg.org/2011-summer-conference
  3. Take art classes with my father and sister in Vermont  http://www.black-horse.com/PDF/Art%20Event%20Flyer%202010.pdf
  4. Take H. and his friends to 6 Flags for his birthday
  5. Continue to work hard and have passion for my day job
  6. Take family to Ocean Grove, NJ, Jones Beach, or Shelter Island over 4th of July weekend
  7. Keep writing every day
  8. Toes in the grass and picnics in Riverside Park as often as weather allows
  9. Get a mani-pedi
  10. Join Improv or comedy class
  11. Meet with agent again on book
  12. Revisit my young adult novel
  13. Read all books for book clubs
  14. Keep working out every day — tennis, Pilates, biking, or running
  15. Visit a church a day once kids go to camp
What’s on your Summer To Do list?
image
I took this picture riding my bike to work yesterday. I felt like I was in the tropics, but I was in Manhattan.