Driven To Guilt

If you are a parent, you have had this moment.  A moment that makes you physically shake and sweat. A moment that forces you to blurt, out loud, “I’m a horrible mom.”

The day care closes at 6pm.  It is now 6:05 and you are in the car, white-knuckled attempting to drive through a downpour. The traffic isn’t moving.  You imagine your angel-faced child waiting on the stoop outside the locked nursery doors. Soaked and sobbing, she spits out the words “where is my mommy?”

We’ve all experienced that stressful drive, the result of getting hung up with a crisis at work, being thrown into a last minute meeting, or quite simply, losing track of time.

Although my son is no longer a toddler, I had a similar experience on Sunday.  Now 15, Jackson plays AAU baseball and was the scheduled 2^nd baseman in the semi-final match. We piled into my Honda and jetted from my home in Natick, Massachusetts to East Bridgewater—a solid 45 minutes on the road.

“Mom, is my game jersey in here?,” he asks as he grabs his bag.

“How would I know? I didn’t pack your bag,” I respond, fully dreading what was about to go down. 

He picks the bag up and walks to the dugout.  About a minute later, my cell rings. You guessed it.  No #9 Jersey in the bag.

As I’m racing home, many thoughts race through my mind.

·      First, please Lord, don’t let there be any early morning speed traps

·      Second, did I bring my inhaler? I just may need it for my panic attack

·      Finally and regrettably, I should have checked the bag for the jersey. 

Really?  The kid is 15-YEARS-OLD NOW.  Can he not be responsible for his own shirt??  Still, there is guilt.

Of course, I did the handoff with my daughter and raced back, tossing him the shirt with about 30 seconds to spare.  

Maybe someday I will get a “thank you.”

But next time? I’m definitely checking the bag.

Working Moms: One Big Happy Family

 

Misery loves company.

It’s certainly true if you’re a working mother.

For all the joys of parenthood – the snuggling when they are little, the standing ovation at their second grade chorus concert, and the pride of that diploma -- there are many significant, heart-palpitating, breath-stopping, anger-provoking, guilt-inducing, life-shortening incidences throughout that eighteen years that only other working mothers can relate to.

I was reminded of this when I somehow successfully carved an hour out of my Saturday to have lunch with three friends, also working moms.  For five years we experienced the ups and downs of pee-we hockey together, cheering on our sons from butt-freezing, wooden benches in rinks across New England.  The boys, now 15, have built a decent friendship.  But the bond between us hockey moms will remain super-glued for eternity. 

After ordering a round of martinis, the girls started in:

-       Over the summer, I feel like my son’s alone too much during the day

-       My ex won’t drive the kids to camp

-       My husband and I both work full time—so why does he assume I can leave my job when my son needs to be somewhere?

I must admit, it feels oddly comforting to hear others complain, echoing my own challenges and frustrations.  Suddenly, I am not alone battling to raise a decent kid while helping to pay the bills. In fact, I realize there are many others who feel that gut-wrenching tug between home and work.

And so begins this blog, Meetings, Obligations & Motherhood (MOM).  It’s a dumping ground for my experiences, mistakes, fears and lessons learned. And hopefully for yours, too (posted with or without a Martini in hand).

Welcome. Let's share and work through these issues together.