Reflections of a
Modern Mommy
“Doing it all”
It really isn't a matter of having it all. It’s all there,
ripe for my taking. Now that generations of courageous women have worked
tirelessly to offer me the option of, “it all,” I am simply overwhelmed by the
options. No, it isn't a matter of having it all. Frankly, it’s a matter of
doing it all.
I drive to work, the few moments in the day when I am
actually alone. Showers and restroom breaks don’t count. Nothing is sacred in
our home. I drive and I think of all the things I must do. I don’t mean laundry
and dishes, those are constants. I’m talking about the extracurricular necessities
that consume this modern woman.
The preschool teacher needs recycling items for a classroom
project. Yes! I can do that. Now, to remember to load the car on Friday when I take
my oldest daughter to preschool. Perhaps I should just drive around all week
with the items in tow so I don’t have to remember that task on Friday morning.
They also need plastic eggs for the egg hunt, and don’t forget the Mommy
breakfast coming up in a few weeks.
My daughter loves that new Disney princess but finding the dress
is impossible. Supply and demand were grossly miscalculated. So, of course I
buy a sewing machine and attempt to make her a princess dress. Let’s not even
discuss the outcome. I worry that I’m not doing enough with her to help her
progress in math and reading. She’s four but I’m sure her potential is
boundless. What could she be and do
if I invested more time in her learning? Do I yell at her too much? Is she
always in trouble? Do I foster envy and frustration with her younger sister
because I’m constantly trying to keep her from accidentally killing our two
year old?
Will daddy always be the good guy? I know it isn't a competition
but there is some irrepressible immaturity in me that permits a feeling of failure
when she shows preference to him. I buy her a frilly skirt, wash it, and lay it
out on Sunday for her to wear to school on Monday. I put away everyone’s
clothes on Sunday and check the weather to ensure they have appropriate outfits
to wear each day. Preferably something they won’t toss to the floor and refuse
to wear. It’s a delicate talent I’m still honing. She loves the skirt, twirls
and grins and assumes it was daddy’s work. Alas, it doesn't matter. I am
thrilled that she likes it and I've got one more item that is toss-proof. I
remind myself that I’m a genius for marrying this man, an excellent father and
husband. Of course he is everyone’s favorite…even mine.
My youngest is two now. We have to rid her of the beloved binky
soon, do I have the strength? Potty training is on the horizon. I've got to
find a way to get her to let me brush her teeth at night. She screams and cups
her mouth. It’s quite a scene. They watch too much television. No one else
seems to have this crutch. Why are we so lenient with television? Oh yes, we’re
staggering through each day packing lunches, fighting over getting dressed for school,
begging them to stay out of the road, prompting them to take one more bite of
dinner, chasing them down for bath time, surviving the screams as we gently
brush out their hair, reading just one more book, and inevitably falling asleep
on the floor beside their beds as we wait for them to fall asleep. Then comes
the guilty crawl to freedom, the one where I hate the crunch of the carpet
beneath my feet and the annoying springs in the door knob as I cautiously turn
it and pray they don’t stir from all the “noise.” Yes, I've read the books on
sleep training and I know all too well that I’m doing it wrong. Get in line.
Precious alone time! So, do I pick up the toys and pitch the
dirty clothes into the hamper…the ones that are strewn about in every single
room. Perhaps I should jump on the elliptical. We will discuss that
momentarily. Better yet, I should seduce my husband and fan the flame, right?
They say married couples are intimate twice a week on average. I call BS. He’s
still asleep on the floor in my other daughter’s room. I wonder if I should
wake him or allow him this nap, which I know he loves. We settle in comfortably
and watch television until 10, 10:30 if we’re feeling crazy and careless.
It’s difficult to “do” it all. Mother and wife are my
greatest titles. Yet, I am a woman who needs additional titles. I like to work.
I like to be the best. Offering my commitment, my mind, my ideas to an
organization and to the people I work with are a value for me. I have a need to
achieve. I have tried to put it away. It won’t be put away. I've spent a lifetime wishing to squash my competitive
nature, my shameful ambition. But it seems to be who I am and I struggle to
understand any other way.
That might be okay if I didn't have additional…undying aspirations.
There is something very important to me that I recently decided to pursue with
renewed determination. It’s always been important to me and if I’d had more
guts I would have studied it in college. I can’t let it go. It haunts me. I
have a nagging feeling that I’m missing something when I’m not running after it.
So, I've decided to practice this dusty old skill and put it to the test. I
have encountered only rejection thus far. Yet, I don’t want to give up. Unfortunately,
it’s a devouring process. It eats at my thoughts, my time, my attentions. When
I’m in –I’m all in. But I am not sure I can be excellent and devoted to
everything…and I truly hate to give way to that painful realization.
I want to be an outstanding mother. I want my daughters to
have happy lives and to learn and grow and achieve. Gymnastics is growing old
for us. We’re such wimps. Imagine the fun when we sign up for spring swim
classes as well. How can we complain? We know that lurking just around the
corner is a soccer commitment, maybe dance or cheer leading – god, help me.
Surely, they should learn a musical instrument. And we must find time for civic
duty, art exposure, and isn't it best to learn a foreign language when you’re
very young? It’ll never happen, but my intentions are grand.
I don’t want to just show up at school events. I want to
support them. I want the teacher to know she can count on me. I’ll stay up late
with my hot glue gun, my mixing bowls, my markers, and my recycling. I am
compelled to do so. I can do it all, right? I can go to every event,
participate, bake cookies, bring a pasta salad, grab an extra bottle of foam
soap for the classroom. It all seems pointless when I forget to bring snacks on
our scheduled day. Fail.
And I just went to the store. I had to purchase my weekly
lunch plan. You know, prepare a healthy lunch every night so I won’t be as
tempted by the burger place down the street or the candy dish that sits outside
my office door. Something changed and I don’t like it. I miss the days of
Doritos and candy bars. I’m too young to have to worry about this, right? I
smell chocolate and the buttons pop off my pants. How many times will I have to
run up the stairs at work to burn off that m&m? Can I possibly count
calories every day for the rest of my life? Absolutely…no way.
How can I push that stroller up the hill against the wind
for a half hour and only burn 98 calories? How can I be so hungry all the time
and the stupid scale relentlessly says, “Have another cupcake, chubs!” Why does
it bother me so much? Why do I immediately check out women carrying infants to
see if their midsections are as telling as mine? Moreover, how do they all look
so good so fast? More time on the elliptical. I can do an hour and when I’m
really motivated, I do an hour every day. I could go longer if my feet didn't
hurt so badly. Thank you vanity, thank you stilettos. I simply can’t keep it
all up. It takes forever to prepare the same healthy foods day in and day out.
I really dislike exercise. I’d rather be eating popcorn and watching reality
television. Strike that, I’d rather be eating ice cream and popcorn and
watching reality television. Calorie restriction is for the birds.
Nevertheless, there is some expectation that penetrates deeply – catapulting me
along the miserable path to fitness.
All this while I see my face changing too. There are more
lines and some of them don’t go away even when I make no expression. My
hairdresser suggested that women my age often begin botox treatments. She
always compares me to her mother. Doesn't that little nitwit know that she’s
only five years younger than me? I’m not sure how it is that age has crept onto
my radar. Perhaps it was my goofy hairdresser, maybe it’s because I NEVER get
carded. I think everyone struggles with aging. But it’s especially difficult
when your life long identity was partly as, “a pretty girl”. When it was or is
too important, it’s hard to let go of it. I’m working to redefine that part of
myself. I’m light years from who I once was…and yet, there are light years to
go. I suppose it’s hard-wiring. Some things take time to overcome. Sometimes we
have to accept that there are things we can’t overcome. I run from the same
demons my mother ran from and hope to find a way to protect my daughters from the
same fate. Insecurities are nearly genetic.
If I succeed, they’ll appreciate the healthy options, but
never count calories. They’ll remember their sunscreen but skip the botox. They’ll
stay active but they won’t loath a machine for it. If I succeed, they’ll do it
all better than I did.
But in a world of Pinterest, PTA’s, and plastic smiles…will they
too feel overcome by the need to do it all? Will they strive to keep neat
little houses with magazine décor and weed-free flower beds? Will it be their mission
to have good hair days, soft feet, and firm abs? Will they paint their nails
every Monday on the drive to work because it’s the only time that no one needs their
nose wiped, diaper changed, or boo-boo kissed? Will they surrender to the
notion that even though they can have it all…they don’t have to do it
all? I know I certainly haven’t, and I get the feeling that I’m not alone.
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