I saw where your kids went today.And I had a moment of panic. Did I screw up? Forget yet another field trip? Pack the wrong kind of lunch? Just generally forget something important? Did my kids go somewhere and I had no idea that they were even gone?
I think she saw the glimmer of panic in my eyes and rephrased her comment to tell me she saw where Eli's daycare center was located.
She followed that comment up with:
Working mom guilt in the summer is killer, isn't it?Yes. Yes, it is.
She is so right. I am always the first to say that we all work. Whether we are working in an office or a school or are home with our kids, I absolutely believe that it's all work. Just some of us receive a paycheck for it.
It all has benefits and drawbacks. It is all rewarding. But it is all work.
But as working mom (meaning one who works in an office), I can tell you that the guilt that comes with doing that over the summer is killer.
Yesterday there was a string of emails about Noah's 1st grade class having a playdate at a local park. The discussion centered around whether it should start at 2:30 or 3:30. I said nothing. Afterall, you don't have weekday playdates at 5:30 showing up in your heels and skirt.
As I rounded the corner this morning with Eli in the back of the car, I could see the boys across the street in their backyard, on the swing set, in their pajamas. And it was 7:30 and we were dressed, fed, in the car and racing. Eli spotted them too and declared:
I want to go play there, too!
Sorry honey, we can't. We're going to school.On the way to work, I drive by a city golf course where there are kids out taking junior golf lessons as their parents watch from the side.
My kids have longer days than I do. And yes, they do enjoy it. They go to wonderful camps and programs and lessons and daycares. But they have long days.
But they don't do those fun things with me. Or with Brian. And it makes me ache sometimes.
They wake up to their alarm at 6:30, jump into a routine that feels remarkably similar to the one they have all school year long. We have to scold them to get ready, we nudge them to inhale a breakfast and we race them out the door lugging their same old PBJ sandwich and juicebox.
We get home and I try to figure out a way to make something resembling a decent dinner quickly enough to get them bathed and into bed early enough to do it all again the next day.
And as they lay there in bed, they often call out to ask why the kids down the street can be heard yelling and cheering while they are in bed. And I have to answer, with resignation:
Because they don't have to get up at 6:30 tomorrow.I get that, to some degree, this is a choice we make. To work (for pay) or to stay home.
But with that choice comes consequences. And for me, right now, when it's summer and the sun doesn't set until 9:30...
That choice means guilt.
