I am fortunate that my life has played out in such a way that I’m
able to work and still be with my kids. Owning my own business provides
me with some needed flexibility, and although some days it plays out
better than others, I don’t experience any guilt about working and
parenting at the same time. That part of my life is fine. It’s the
other work/life balancing act that I struggle with on a daily basis.
The one that has nothing to do with having a paid job.
The balance I’m talking about is the one between the work of keeping
on top of basic responsibilities, and appreciating the joy that can
exist in every moment. I would like to be the kind of person who can
make those things coexist effortlessly, but I’m just not that good. I
try. I make a point whenever I’m putting a shopping cart in the little
parking lot corral to remember how lucky I am to be able to walk. Even
when it’s rainy or cold, that’s a moment when I think about how much I
know my grandma liked being able to take herself to the store, or even
how other people in my own community can’t afford food. I’m consistent
with those short bursts of gratitude.
But operating as a single parent is hard. It just is. And I feel
there are days when I have to march ahead, grim-faced and focued,
because I can’t afford distractions. I keep a lot of lists and I have
many things to juggle, and it’s all on me. There is no one to take up
the slack or give me a break or catch anything I might have missed. And
there is so much of it that I am in perpetual fear that I’ve forgotten a
field trip or missed an appointment or neglected to pay something.
Now, most of the time I do fine. And there are people who find ways to
help, but I’m not entitled to it and I can’t assume it will be there at
the right moments. I have to be the one my kids count on. I try not to
worry about people passing judgment when I unwittingly send Mona to
school in shoes with giant holes in them, or I haven’t had time to read
and initial all of Aden’s school assignments. I’m doing the best I can
but some things slip past me. I can forgive myself for that.
But the days where I feel I’ve failed
are when I lose it over something unimportant. A lot of that is ‘the
last straw’ effect. It’s not that the kid spilling the juice was worth
yelling about, it was the endless unheeded warnings about not putting
the juice so close to the edge of the table after I just washed the
floor again and this is the last of the juice and there is no time to
clean it up but now I have to and we’re going to be late and I hate my
life at this moment and now I feel guilty kind of stuff that goes with
it. It’s never just the spilled juice. And I have many more of those
last straw moments when I’m already carrying all the straw. I miss
being able to laugh off the stress of my day with my husband and start
fresh the next morning. When he’s away, most of the time I just carry
that stress with me into the next day. And my fuse gets shorter.
And I end up with mornings like Thursday. Thursday it snowed and
snowed and snowed. Enough to cancel everything in Milwaukee but the
public schools, so I got up and made French toast and put in a load of
laundry and started nagging the girls to get dressed. They don’t
listen. We’ve had discussions that are calm, loud, tearful, and silly,
where I’ve even been down on my knees begging about how they need to do
what I ask when I ask them. I don’t have time to repeat myself. I
don’t ask much of them and I resent it when I have to say something more
than twice. I hate that they don’t move sometimes until I yell, and
every time I yell I ask them why they let it get to that point. In any
case, I refrained from yelling and asked them at least a dozen times to
get dressed before they finally got their clothes on and went to
breakfast. I tried getting through some work emails and bills but kept
getting interrupted with various breakfast related requests. Aden
didn’t want to do her eyedrops. Quinn never stops singing or talking,
which is sweet unless you want to think about anything. Mona had left
her snow pants in the car and I had to send slow-poke Aden out to get
them. Quinn can’t put on his own coat. Aden’s backpack was broken and I
had to rummage around for safety pins. I never did brush anyone’s
hair.
So my last straw moment that morning was that after a rocky start to
the day and running a good ten minutes behind (despite my getting up two
hours before we had to leave), I sent all the kids to get in the car
while I gathered my own things to take to work. All I wanted was for
them to be in the minivan and buckled. But I asked nicely instead of
yelling, so when I stepped out the back door they were all playing in
the snow. Aden was on the swingset kicking snow drifts with her boots,
Quinn was shuffling in circles, and Mona was flat on her back making
snow angels. I’d had enough and shrieked a little before I burst into
tears. They all looked apologetic and ran into the garage and buckled
up as fast as they could.
So here’s the thing: I love that they wanted to play in the snow.
They should have a chance to play in the snow. In the grand scheme of
things being late to school doesn’t matter at all. But when does it,
then? I get frustrated because I have to run such a tight ship just to
keep the ship afloat that I don’t get to stop and admire the sea.
I’ve always had trouble with the attitude that you should live each
day as if it were your last, because if I knew today were my last I
would not do the dishes. And assuming I’m still here tomorrow, I don’t
want to face that day with a mess of dishes in the sink. It’s the same
with spending time with my kids. If I knew today were our last day
together, we’d skip school to make snow angels, eat ice cream for dinner
and go to sleep in a pile on the floor of all the pillows and blankets
in the house, giggling and snuggling in the dark.
But if I have to get
them to school the next day, I don’t want to do that. To be ready for
tomorrow I need them to eat well and do their homework and get enough
rest. I like to feel prepared. I suppose I see the forest and wish I
had more time for individual trees.
The days I’m most proud of myself are the ones where I do find a
balance between what has to get done and what is really important. When
the kids help me make quiche by cracking the eggs and grating the
cheese that makes me happy. When Quinn holds my hand in line at the
post office, that makes me happy. When I accept I can’t change the fact
that we are running late and we decide to sing on the drive instead of
fret, that makes me happy too. Some days that comes more naturally than
others. And some days are just hard.
I don’t expect that it’s possible to be appreciative of my life and
my health and my good fortune every minute. But I do suspect I could do
a better job of it during some of the drudgery that threatens to
consume too many of my hours on this earth. I want to somehow keep
things running smoothly while finding space to loosen up a bit. I want
to learn to let the snow angels fly where they may.
(Mona my snow angel)
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