One of life’s greatest lies is “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
This is not a post about leaning in, opting out, or any such thing. It’s just about me, my kids, my choices. Infer what you wish. Heed advice from between the spaces if you find anything resembling nuggets of wisdom. If there is advice or insight to be harvested, it is purely happenstance and unintentional. I’m just here venting, sharing, lamenting…writing.
Everyday I leave work with my laptop bag and a purse. On days I remember to take care of myself I also have a lunch sack. I am additionally weighed down by the heft of mommy guilt baggage.
This has been my first summer working. I’ve been fortunate enough to work for myself since Bird was born. I’ve always maneuvered my schedule to have the summer off, especially important once the boys started school. We spent time creating a list of summer adventures and one by one crossed them off. This summer the list is glaringly naked of inky black stripes marked through activities.
We used to be lazy and loll around in our pajamas all day. We hurriedly rushed to put clothes on before Mac Daddy came home from work.
We used to take day trips galore.
We used to try wacky science experiments, like baking cookies on the windshield of my car on a sweltering day.
We used to frolic in the spray of hoses, slip n slides, and water pistols.
We used to cool off in the movies, sometimes decadently opting for a double feature.
We used to paint, draw, build, color, talk, nap, snuggle, laugh.
Used to. Used to. Used to. This has been the chorus chiming from my children of late. They too feel the dimming days of summer and look back at the last couple months wondering where I’ve been. At work.
“All you do is hand us from babysitter to babysitter.”
“It’s as if you don’t even want to be with us.”
“We used to do more fun stuff.”
“You don’t have time for us anymore.”
Dagger. To. The. Heart.
The boys are right on all counts (except number 2). I should tell you that I only work 20 hours a week, sometimes from home. It’s a perfect balance, really, and I get to work with people I adore and a client whose work makes me proud. It’s a great gig. I know this in my head. My heart sees a different story.
Bird is just shy of 10. This is likely the last summer he actually wants to spend time with me. I imagine the accelerator is pushed all the way down now that he’s at sleepaway camp for the first time. He’s had a taste of independence, and if I know my kid, the amuse bouche is enough to make him want more. He is at that age that he wants to spend more time with his friends, not his mom. I get that. I remember being 10, even though it was 35 years ago. Bird and Deal have both said they liked summers better when it was “Camp Mommy.” Oh, there was plenty of whining and arguing and time-outing. Yet our memories taste sweet and make us yearn for what summer used to be.
Time flies in the absence of fun too.
Perhaps I am ungrateful. My work situation is flexible and gratifying. Perhaps I’m prematurely mourning the fact that my sons are growing up. Perhaps I’m averse to change. Perhaps I’m wistful of time gone by.
Perhaps I just miss spending time with my sons.
Oh my friend–I get it–so very much. This was the first summer that I was truly working from home and the chorus of “I have to work this afternoon” (aka, we will not be going anywhere or doing anything together) was plentiful. My hope is that not only are our children resilient but that the times we do set aside for them will eventually outweigh these other moments. Sending you hugs-
I hope when we are grandmothers that our children are enabled to find real balance between their career pursuits and raising their families. Because the world we live in now and its resultant guilt (no matter what you do) has to change.