All in a Day’s Work

I admit it – the term “Mom Blog” turns me off.   There are many mommy bloggers with a wide range of topics and specialities, but there are countless sites where mothers do nothing but vent and write out every detail about their day.  While I totally understand why these blogs exist, and I support a mom’s need to connect and feel supported by other moms, I just prefer a different voice and a more meaningful message.

But lately, motherhood and my days at home have pushed me to new limits.   Sometimes I sit back and watch in horror at what has taken place under my daytime watch, and I wonder if my kids are trying to send me a message.  ”We’d really rather play with our friends all day at school and day care.  Why don’t you hit the road, Mom, and go do something a little more your speed?  Dad seems to really enjoy his time at the office, perhaps you would to?”

I’ve realized I have to have a sense of humor.  And there is real value in sharing, for laughs, for tears, but most of all, for the simple fact that it keeps me from updating my resume and posting it immediately on Monster.com.

I’m kidding.  Am I?  I mean, who else wouldn’t question their strength against a two-year-old who helps himself to the kitchen knives when he wants his orange slices (“I cut it” he says with confidence).  Or a four-year-old whose ability to slam a door in response to disciplinary action bears an uncanny resemblance to yourself at fourteen.

Winter in Maine is a long one, especially for children too young for many structured winter sports and indoor activities.  Boredeom quickly leads to curious experimentation, as in “I wonder what will happen if I aim the kitchen sink’s spray hose at the countertop or the wall?”  With two, one kid could need your help in the bathroom while the other takes the liberty of flooding your kitchen for fun.  Or, let’s be honest, you could be taking a much-needed five-minute Facebook break or answering the phone when the sugar bowl quickly ends up in the living room, spilled out on the furniture as pretend dirt for your son’s imaginary construction site.

It’s that damn computer that has been tempting my toddler’s devious ways.  Not just Facebook, or any number of other distracting web sites, but my job as a reporter, which requires me to do much of my job from home by email and phone.  I’m lucky to have two mornings of day care each week, while my older child is in Pre-K everyday until 11 a.m.  But with the freedom of working from home comes the difficulty of a ringing cell phone throughout the business day – which could be during story hour or a playdate – or a last-minute crunch to fill the weekly page because your story just fell through with the weather-related cancellation of a town meeting.

What does this mean to a couple of little kids who want Mom to get off the phone and play trains?  Not much.  I try to explain to my oldest that I’m at work, just the way Daddy is when he leaves every morning after breakfast.  I’m sure she doesn’t understand our need for extra income, not to mention my need to feed my soul with something other than Bob the Builder.   But my hope is that one day, I’ll figure out when to let voice mail pick up and when to tell my kids they need to patiently wait for me to finish my story.  And years from now, they will both look back with gratitude for my presence in the home and not wish I was a different mom.

I’m new to this working from home thing.  We’re all figuring it out.  For the most part, I feel incredibly grateful and fulfilled by the opportunities I’ve had in my new role as a writer and reporter.  But there are those days, like when the previously potty-trained child starts relieving himself in some pretty unwelcome areas of the house, when I know it is my undivided attention he craves.  And I question whether or not I can be both a good parent and a fulfilled woman.

I hope I can.  Not just for my own personal gratification, or my family’s bottom line, but for my daughter.  My hope is that by the time she is an adult, she will have the freedom to be both a mother and a successful professional, if she chooses, without the struggles and guilt that I and generations before me have lived with.

Only time will tell.

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