Hibernate Blog

Kids really do say the darndest things, how awkward when they do it in reference to your boss’s kid.

This is Nathan, Melissa’s 2 and a half year old son.

Here’s Avery, my two year old daughter.

Avery is really excited because tonight, “Napkin’s sister, Sara” and “Wissa” are coming to our house.

Napkin.

Seriously, she could’ve picked “Neptune” or “Nemo,” but no, she calls my boss’s son “Napkin”.

Ave’s dad just got home and informed that she also has a name for her friend down the street. His parents call him Cameron.

My Ave calls him, “Ham”.

I have a felling I know exactly who the real ham is.

Another day, another working mom post. Really, it’s not that we want to dwell, or that we at SaraBear define ourselves as working moms, because we don’t. We aren’t, or if we are, than our husbands are certainly “working dads,” a point illustrated very effectively by the lovely Andi at Poot and Cubby. It’s just that as we march forward, whether it’s at SaraBear, or the grocery store, or in our day-to-day routine at home, there are immutable realities to parenting.

Some things you can do and some things you can’t. Without help.

Ah, help, a devilish mistress. How do you find help these days? How do you accept it, or harder still, how do you ask for it? Are you failing as a wife, mother, person, employee if you ask for help? Is it realistic to expect that at some point you can catch a break? Find a sitter? An unscheduled hour thanks to an unexpected nap? I can’t remember the last time I went to the bathroom by myself, let alone the store.

There is so much to do between feeding and playing, cleaning and organizing, talking and teaching. What do you delegate and what do you manage on your own? Or do you do it all on your own? As wonderful as it can be to bring the kids in to work, some days it just doesn’t work. Cranky toddlers clinging to your legs and stern accounts receivable clerks in your ear are a highly combustible combination, which is why, sometimes the little ones related to SaraBear are not here.

While we are working, heads down, fingers clacking on keyboards and phones pressed to ears they are off playing. They read stories and make art projects. They cuddle and giggle, nap and snack. They are entertained, challenged and nurtured by special people, extensions of ourselves, allowing us to manage all the parts of our lives, delegating a small portion of our responsibility as parents. Not an abdication of duty, rather the keeping of a promise. Loving our kids, with us or not.

Nancy, an open set of arms as the kids get off the bus and a whole lot of peace of mind several afternoons a week, thank you for all that you do!

I’ve made no secret that being a working mom can be excruciating. I researched endlessly during my first pregnancy, the one thing I missed was the guilt. How do you balance working and playing? Marriage and parenting? You as mom and you as, well, you? I had no idea I would have such a rigid, inner-mama moral code.

Yesterday I worked from home, a luxury I do not take lightly. At times my need to prove myself to my employer is so fierce that it blinds me to the very reason I am home. My girls.

We’d just finished lunch and Briar asked to watch A Bug’s Life. I try not to park them in front of the tv, but yesterday it was chilly, I had a list of things to accomplish and Fin was finally asleep on my chest.

“Sure,” I answered, secretly delighted to have them entertained so that I could crank out a few more things on my laptop. I scrolled through our iTunes library and had just cued up the movie, when I felt a tap on my leg. It was Briar, her pale blue eyes shining up at me, in her hand a dog eared copy of Snow White.

“I would love it if you would read this to me,” she said it as a question, her voice soft, as if she expected me to say no, the unfiltered anticipation of denial hitting me like a punch to the gut. Avery sat waiting for the movies, seemingly ruling out the potential for a story. It’s so rare in this mad dash that is working and parenting, that we can see regret before we feel it, have the foresight to swallow a snap or hold back an exasperated sigh before the hurt takes root in the tiny faces of our children. Yesterday, mercifully, I paused.

I looked in the faces of my girls and I saw an opportunity to say yes, to give them my time and focus. I choked back a gasp that was part heartache and part gratitude as I said, “Of course, of course I’ll read you that book.” The surprise that registered in their faces cut deeper still, when did “no” become the norm? I swallowed hard and moved forward, unwilling to waste another moment. A gift of clarity.

We would read the story and enjoy the time, perhaps it is not the uninterrupted mom and daughter playtime that I experienced in my earliest days as my mom stayed home, but it is our time. The life I am building with my girls, like so many other moms, does not fit neatly into a known template, we take it day-by-day and moment-by-moment. Yesterday I had still pudgy fingers stroking my leg and husky voices asking me question after question as we sat by the window reading an old fashioned fairy tale. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that some days are harder than others, but when all is said and done, as long as I have days like yesterday I think we’ll be ok.