“I want to stay home tomorrow and clean,” my not-quite seven year old daughter said.
After a long moment, when no punchline came, no “gotcha!” moment. No “you’re live on candid camera” announcement happened. And I didn’t wake up from a peaceful slumber in my bed….
“Said no one ever. What don’t you want to do at school tomorrow?”
“I dunno.”
“Uh huh,” I said with a bit of mom-i-tude. “Dada! Aliens abducted our daughter. And left a, um, is there a life form that actually likes cleaning?”
“She said she wanted to stay home tomorrow.” Dada emerged from his printing room. “I said she’d have to clean all day and she said: ok.”
“Good job, Dad.”
“It backfired,” he grimaced. “A bit.”
“Did something happen at school? Was someone mean to you?”
This does not make sense to me. My childhood summers were spent mostly indoors watching reruns of TV shows so old they had to be colorized. My mother swore to me and my two younger siblings that long summer vacations were a myth. No normal people had lives like that.
I would have loved to go on field trips, get out of the house, be away from my kid brother and sister. But mom stopped working to stay home with us – so our family didn’t have much disposable income.
And it was often a not-cool 110 degrees in the shade during a Texas summer. If Maslow had grown up in Texas, air conditioning would have been at the top of his hierarchy of needs.
“Because if we don’t do it, who else will (clean the house)?”
I sighed. There are times when talking to even a reasonably intelligent seven year old is like…Well, talking to a child.
“I have back to back calls all morning. Your father will be home, in the way. If you’re serious, write down what you’ll clean – on paper – and I’ll consider it.”
So she did, although I had to help her spell words like: laundry, living room. Upstairs had too many i’s. Dining room had too many n’s.
QOTD: “can we turn off Paw Patrol, I’m trying to write.”
I’ll give the kid some credit. While I was cringing and pleading with her not to lug my heavy laundry basket downstairs, she managed it. And there was some space clearing on a surface in the living room. A few blankets rescued from the floor “upistairs”.
She chose to start a donation box. And put all of two things in it on her own (an improvement over the last time).
QOTND: I’m giving away my baby shark puppet that sings. It’s SO ANNOYING.
Unfortunately for all involved, my ~3yo son ended up running a fever in the middle of the night – which continued until early afternoon. This meant EVERYONE was home (my least favorite situation when WFH); Dada was a slug because he had been up at 3:30a with the boy.
I still had back to back calls from 8a to 12:30p.
I gave colleagues a heads up that I was on FT mama duty after that – which is about the time husband goes off to work on Wednesdays (he takes the morning off to work Saturday mornings instead).
No, this isn’t the Indie Author version of: my dog ate my homework…in narrative form where you’re really rooting for the dog because F%# the MAN for giving you homework in the first place. 👀 …mostly.
It’s a bit more of, as I search for what this blog is or could be, this is my own way of saying: I’m human and I suck at this sometimes.
I’ll choose my children first. It’s not even a coherent thought if someone asked me which was more important: work, writing, sick kid, depressed kid (I’ll explain in a min). As soon as was reasonable, work took a backseat. Writing was hanging on to the tailgate (Texas thing).
But the nagging guilt I battle at times to choose to do the thing(s) I enjoy…If I want a few kid-free hours on the weekend or an evening or both – to work on one of my upcoming novels. To do things I really need to or should do for the business of being an author. Much less the things I *want to do* (writing ugly first drafts is #win!)…
I know not everyone here is or aspires to be a mother or parent. Not all of you possess any desire to be a writer, either – which is why I’m loath to (regularly) write here about my writing process and such. Or my “journey”. I’m still learning the business side of things.
The writing side; I’ve been writing for a long time, and while I still learn things on that front, too – I totally get that unless you’re a writer, listening to someone talk about writing is akin to hearing someone describe the five phases of paint drying. For anyone who really has no desire to sit down and try it themselves (it does require a certain amount of masochism) – there’s a Monty Python bit where they have sports announcers supposedly following novelist Tom Hardy as he begins his next novel. And that’s much much more entertaining than the activity itself.
So what’s the point, Rose?
Yeah, I should have one. But aside from starting a support group called: Writers Against Mom-guilt, I think when it comes to the things we have carved out as our bit of peace, our meditative state, our “jam” – there’s always something or someone making that space, or that activity just a little harder for us to fully escape to.
So while you might not see our shared experience in the #WAM life, I can completely empathize with the momentary irritation of having to cancel something you’d been looking forward to all week – to take your sick cat to the vet. Or even that jarring twinge in the midst of your happy place – that you left a pile of dishes in your sink.
And then, because of the interruption’s importance, we feel like we’re the ones who are wrong – for wanting something we actually need. But for reasons, our need “seems trivial” in comparison.
But it’s not trivial. And we can’t be the person we want to be, or even the person that the people in our lives need us to be – when we don’t take that time. That headspace. Or we constantly (consistently?) trivialize our own needs.
That’s just a recipe for burnout.
Epilogue
I managed my job-as-a-consultant work stuff. I spent time snuggling with my feverish kiddo, making sure he had fluids and all the Paw Patrol he could want. Made sure daughter was fed and I probably griped at her more than was reasonable – to do what she said she would (ish), or at least find more things to donate.
She mostly watched Fruits Basket and played with her Pokémon (mox) cards.
At the end of the day, when baby brother was in bed and my husband had gone back to his printing room. Author-me was researching “questions to ask readers in a newsletter” (wonder why)….
My daughter comes in, looking pitiful. She’s inherited mama’s eye allergies (but has zero tolerance for eye drops).
She asked if her class had a field trip tomorrow. We looked it up and they’re going to one of her favorite places.
…but she wasn’t happy about it.
“Why not?”
“I’ve already been two times.”
“Wow, I guess your life is too good then.”
She still looked sad.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
And then finally, the story: she was building this house using special blocks, and some of the other kids kept knocking her house down. Even though she had worked really hard on it and had spent time decorating it. (refrains from running off after analogies about life)
After some questions, it didn’t seem as though anything was deliberate on their part. It’s just that because we bring our kids to school on the “late shift” (8:30a), she gets there later than most of the others. Which means she doesn’t usually get to play with those blocks. Other people don’t always share – even though she claims she always does.
So she was finally getting a turn with these blocks and other people were being inconsiderate, knocking down her house.
“It’s not fair.”
Of course not.
The story came with tears and sad face. I am no child psychologist, so, the best I could do was tell her that sometimes, people don’t realize they’re being inconsiderate. Which doesn’t mean she shouldn’t feel mad or upset.
She has every right to be mad and upset.
But the first step for others to consider her needs is politely explaining (to the kids that kicked a ball into her house) that she would appreciate it if they wouldn’t do that. Could they kick the ball somewhere else? Or she could invite them to join her in building the house.
“If they keep doing it, talk to a teacher. If there’s no way to solve it at school, talk to me or your Dad. But don’t stay silent and bottle it up. No one can help you if you don’t speak / tell us there’s something wrong.”
I don’t get a lot of things right, still, after forty *mumble mumble* years on this Earth. But even with the chaos of the day, we found a few minutes to hold hands; she leaned on me, I listened.
And hopefully, that was enough for a Wednesday.
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Notes:
mom-i-tude – bad attitude behaviors we would not tolerate in our children but we can get away with for a certain number of years (before pint-sized versions of ourselves start dishing it back, making us confront our own hypocrisy. I figure I have ~3 more good years before my daughter is on to me…)
QOTND – quote of the next day
5 phases of paint drying – I hope to God there are not 5 phases of paint drying – and that is completely a fabrication of my addled brain.
Pokémon (mox) – Pokémon are known as Poke-mox in our house, because that’s what my 2yo son calls them (He can say Axolotl, tho).
Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs – something researched when one of my braniac characters had to be a smarta$$.
Monty Python (novel writing) – video at Youtube. It’s dry but hilarious. “Oh no, it’s a doodle! A very disappointing start. He’s signed his name and is now staring off into space.” (seems about right)