You see, I love my job. I really do. I can't think of anything else in this world that I would rather do as a profession, though I must admit to scanning the Help Wanted ads from time to time. And after a particularly difficult day, I've stronly considered the greeter's job at Wal-Mart. Deep down, though, I believe that teaching is my calling, and while I think I'd make a heck of a greeter, I'm going to stick to the teaching gig.
Coming off one of the best summers I've ever had with my kids, though, going back to work sure was hard. My children, being the considerate angels I've taught them to be, tried every way they could think of to make my transition easier. They spent the last few days of our vacation executing "Operation Help Mommy Want to Go Back to Work." This covert operation included screaming endlessly for no reason, crying at the drop of a hat, physically attaching themselves to me whenever possible, fighting over toys, and general unruly behavior. I'll tell you that their plan did help. After those few days, I was scratching at the door to get back to work.
That is, of course, until the morning I actually had to go back. I thought this process was supposed to get easier as my kids got older, but it hasn't so far. I dropped them off in capable hands, shut the door behind me, and cried all the way to work. Being a working mom is not an easy job. Now, let me insert a disclaimer here. I am about to expound upon the woes of being a working mother. If you are going to have a hard time reading someone who works full-time and raises kids complain about working full-time and raising kids, you might want to stop reading now. This blog will only frustrate you. If you, however, can enjoy reading about one mother's perspective on work and kids, then by all means, carry on.
The hardest part of being a working mom is giving everyone 100% all the time. I'm just going to tell you that it's not possible. On any given day, somebody's going to come up short. I try my very best to make sure it's someone other than my children, but that's not always possible. Most days for me, that means my house is a wreck and I smell my children's dirty clothes to see which ones I can get by with putting back on them the next day. After being away from my children all day, my time at home belongs to them. I'll clean the house and do laundry in 16 years when they're off at college. Right now, I'm going to step over those cracker crumbs on the carpet and sit in the floor and play Barbies and read books.
That does paint a lovely picture, doesn't it? Here's how that actually plays out (an example from just today): I'm tired from work, but I can't wait to see my girls. I leave work as soon as I possibly can so I can get the girls home to play with them before church. I open the door at Mrs. Heidi's and they both yell, "Mommy" and come running into my arms. There's much hugging and kissing and laughter. We gather our things and head to the car. I get both girls strapped in, start the car up, and Hallie asks me if we can go get ice cream. I tell her that I don't have any money and I'd rather not stop today, but maybe we could do that tomorrow. A compromise. Hallie wads my compromise up into a tiny ball and hurls it back at me in the form of whining, crying, and pushing on the back of my seat with her legs. Leah begins to mumble something at me that I can't understand because she's 2 and Hallie is loud. Taking her cue from big sis, because I can't understand her, she gets frustrated and starts to yell at me. This continues for much of the trip home until I've taken ice cream off the table for tomorrow and tell them both it's in their best interest to be quiet. We do play nicely upstairs together until Hallie decides she wants a snack, which I get for her and Leah. One snack isn't enough, though, so she asks for another. I tell her no because it's too close to dinner. She promptly goes downstairs and comes back up with a cereal bar. Another skirmish. So far, I've been with my children for about an hour, and we've fought for 45 minutes of it! After that she wants crackers. I'm not sure why my message isn't getting through. More arguing.
Now that it's time for church, I get a kicking and screaming Leah dressed. I'm thinking she doesn't want to stop playing to get back out. We finally make it to church for the meal. After Leah eats her token one bean for dinner, she decides to get down. She falls. She screams. People stare and give me that half-smile, half-pained look that means something like, "I'm sort of smiling so you'll think I think she's cute, but really she's just being loud and getting on my nerves so will you please get that screaming baby out of here because you're ruining my dinner!" Now, if you know me at all, you'll know that calling attention to myself in any form is my absolute worst nightmare. So, I'm tired, I've been fighting with my kids since I picked them up, and now everyone is staring. I'm trying very hard not to cry, and by the time I make it back to my seat, Leah is ready to go play again. When I hear another child screaming just minutes later, I start to do that half-smile, half-pained look at the poor mother (mainly just to make myself feel better) until I realize, crap, that's Leah again. Fabulous. I walk through the stares again to retrieve her, and some poor soul asks if she's hurt. I want to say, "No, this is just how Leah communicates. Some kids know sign language, Leah cries." And although that is completely true, I choose instead, to rush with my head down, mumbling something about "why's everybody staring at me" back to my seat.
By the time I get these kids home, it's all I can do not to drop them off at the foot of the stairs, pat them on the rear, and instruct them to run along and put themselves to bed. Instead, I put on my happy mommy face, give lots of kisses and hugs, zip Leah up in her little crib cage, and tuck those sweet babies in bed.
Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it all over again. I'll go to work, come home and play with my kids, and have a conversation with my husband when the kids go to bed, all the while, trying to do it everything perfectly. I will fall short on many levels. I won't be the mom, teacher, wife, housekeeper, cook, or friend I'd like to be. I'm not sure what the answer to that is; I'm just hoping that my kids have short memories and low expectations.
