Thoughts from a Sometimes Working Mother and Having it All

My eyes are bleary from a day of working at a computer screen and from the commute home on darkened Los Angeles streets jammed with red lights. I left the office where I'm working on Hollywood Blvd., smack dab in the bustle of helpless, hopeful, searching, desperate souls, and 30 minutes later, I'm driving down our quiet tree-lined street in West Los Angeles where the three most important souls in my life anxiously await my return. It's only like 10 miles at best but my worlds exist on diametrically opposite ends of the life spectrum.

When I pull up at our home, the front porch light is on, the shade in the kitchen is down, and light spills out from our upstairs windows telling me life is moving right along without me. I park the van, gather my work bag stuffed with my computer, my mug still stained from the perfect cappuccino brewed by my man this morning that I sipped on as I drove to work, and files and notebooks filled with new projects that are all a part of my master escape plan from my current work life.

I close the driver's door behind me, cell phone and keys clutched in my hand, and I round the back of the van and step up on the sidewalk. Our street is cozy quiet, families inside relaxing after dinner, it's almost 7 pm, and I feel a little shame wondering if any of my neighbors see me pull up so late from work quietly thinking to themselves, "Oh those poor kids, without their mama, all day long."

I stop for a minute on the sidewalk and take a deep breath looking up at the full moon gracing our Southern California skies shining a hazy glow through the coastal mist that hangs in the air. My breath brings me to the present helping me erase the work thoughts of the day and the million other thoughts that race through my brain.

I've been breathing more lately - or at least consciously breathing. Inhaling deep and long, centering me for a moment, reminding me that my life is right then and there. In my breath. Not in the corners of my brain where my thoughts live weighing me down and transporting me to everywhere but now.

I've known for so long that my life is a series of nows. That life only exists in the moment. Not in the thoughts of what was or what it is to be. But habits are hard to break. But I keep working on it. And when now comes to me loud and clear, I take it and I live it.

After a moment with the moon and my breath, I look towards the house and see two bouncing heads in our front office/den. My girls, already dressed in their jammies, coloring and gesturing and talking and wiggling. I've been meaning to get some window coverings for that front room since we moved in almost two years ago and still tonight, there are none. Just an illuminated room. A clear, perfect glimpse into the day that was lived without me.

I want to get in our home as fast as I can and hug them all up. All three of my babies. Smell their perfect skin and tickle their squishy bodies and listen to their sweet voices . And through my precious, limited time with them, I hope they will forgive me for my absence. That somehow, a hour and a half at the end of the day will make up for the thousand things that I missed.

And it has been a thousand things. That I know for certain.

I know because before I took this job I was with them. For almost two years. Home with them, knowing them inside and out. And everytime I have to take a project, for a variety of reasons, I know what I will be missing.

I watch my girls through the window, peering in trying to get clues as to how their day went. Who did they play with, what did they learn in class, what was the drive home like in my neighbor's van, what did they talk about, laugh about, how were they greeted when they walked through the door throwing their backpacks down and running to their room to get changed, what snacks did our babysitter give them, did they ask about me, did they cry for me, did they fight, how were they talked to when they misbehaved, did they listen, did they scrape a knee, did they cry, how were they comforted, what questions did they ask, what art project occupied them, did they beg to play more Nintendo DS, were they content to play Barbies in their room, did they run outside, swing in the backyard, ride their razors up and down the sidewalk, and for how long, did they eat their dinner, what did they eat, did they complain about taking a bath, did they decide on a shower, did they help take care of their brother, did they play with him, did they help clean up their room, did they have trouble finding their favorite pajamas, did they wonder when I would be home, or are they getting used to the long days without me?

The questions are never-ending, the list splinters off into a million directions. My kids are growing and learning and stretching and being. And standing there on the sidewalk staring at them through our window, there is only one thought running through my brain -

I am not there.

I can crunch on it in my head and justify it and validate it and explain it and believe it at times, but the truth is always there waiting to pounce in a moment of clarity.

I am a working mother. And I am not there.

I have been seeking balance since the moment I gave birth to my first baby, 7 1/2 years ago, and I'm not sure I'm any closer to it than when I first began. When I'm home full-time, the days often go by too slow, and when I'm working, they slip away too quickly leaving me grasping at the sun's sinking rays desperate to pull it back into the sky for a second chance. A chance to live that day again but this time as a mama.

I am caught in the middle it seems. A soul who craves both kinds of days. And who will never ever settle for one kind of life or the other. I want both.

But I know I can't have both. And when I think I can, I'm fooling myself.

Because life is only now. I know that in my heart.

Standing on the sidewalk, I take another deep breath, and I forgive myself for wanting it all. And then I walk towards our home letting the work day melt off of me, I open the front door, drop my stuff in the foyer, and I jump into the squeals.

Three squealing, smiling, souls running into my arms. And as I collapse onto the couch with them on top of me, I listen to their jabbering recollections of their day and I soak it all in. Because this is my now. And this is my life.

On a January evening 2010

••••••••••••••••••••••••

At 6:01 PM last Friday, my job ended. Two months early. It was a surprise and not a surprise all at the same time. But more than anything it signaled to me, that my life has changed since I started working in television almost 20 years ago. I am a mother. And it just may be time for me and television to break up, once and for all. Hmmmm.......

More later....

Looking for Me

Written by Lee

Oh it was supposed to be sooooo fantastic. My day off from work. A day with my babies. A happy mama buzzing around in the morning with no place to be, just making lunches, attempting to braid some wispy hair, sitting on the floor to help with shoes, not feeling rushed to get out of the house myself, smiley kisses as they hopped into the van with daddy and promises to pick them up from school.

And after homework and a snack, we would head out on an adventure of epic Thursday afternoon proportions. A trip to the mall to find some dresses to wear for their upcoming Christmas program. My girls love their fashion, twirling and posing in all of their eclectic fabulosity. I don't think I've dressed them since they were like 2 and now Claire is 7 and Phoebe is 5. Their look is all their own. I love that.

Or at least I think I love that.

I don't know exactly why I thought it was all such an awesome idea to take the girls and my lil' train obsessed 2-1/2-year old Tommy to Macy's for Christmas dress shopping. I guess I just thought they would dig the idea of a new fancy get-up and then they would get to pop into a toy store to start compiling their Santa lists and maybe, just maybe, they would see the ol' guy himself and get to whisper in his ear some of their most outrageous Christmas wishes.

If only they weren't so deathly afraid of large bearded men in red suits.

My girls are fierce. Independent. Strong. Creative. And imaginations that make me wish I could shed my adult skin and jump into their raw alive child-minds and run fast and free in their ever-changing story-lines filled with fantastical characters and the silliest plot lines ever concocted.

And my girls are expressive. And loud. And opinionated. And bossy. And irreverent too much of the time it seems. And dramatic. And wow.

So when I stepped into that over-sized dressing room pushing my gargantuan stroller and holding my bag of tricks along with a slew of holiday dresses, I should have known that disaster was imminent.

But I was in denial. Slightly delusional. Blinded by the high expectations a working mama has when she has a day off with her kids that is supposed to simply be fabulous.

The road to destruction was a slow but steady build. The first 15 minutes or so of dresses going on and off and Tommy pushing his brand new Hot Wheels I just had bought him to keep him amused while we browsed the racks all went relatively fine. But then the voices started raising, the temperature started rising, the walls started shrinking and with each costume hoisted over their precious heads, the drama in their little souls let loose with reckless abandon.

I'm not sure exactly what made me snap but it happened somewhere between Phoebe sitting on the ground in the 8th large puffy snowflake of a dress screaming "I looooook ridiculoussssssss!" and Claire dancing around in a hot little pink and purple number that had no place being hung on a Christmas dress rack all the while making Tommy scream as she attempted to yank his cracker bag out of his hand because "I am hungry toooooo!!" Red-faced and teary-eyed, Tommy wailed and slapped at his big sister, and she cackled and grabbed the crackers anyway because that's what big sisters do sometimes.

And I felt my insides boiling. I hated the sound of my voice as I tried to keep it quiet for the sake of other customers being subjected to our own personal hell. I felt spent from the hour it took just to get the dresses off the rack and into the dressing room. I was hungry. I was tired from trying to be it all. A working woman. A working mama.

And I was speaking in harsh tones with my mouth tightly clenched and I told the kids I was done. I had warned them already multiple times. We had made a pact before we entered the mall that we would stay happy and work together and for our good behavior, we would get rewards. A trip to the food court. A romp to the toy store. But now everything was being ruined. There would be no new dresses, no fun at the food court, no Santa lists being made.

My fabulous day was being ruined and I. Was. Pissed. Off.

And while I hurriedly picked up the dresses off the floor and tried to hang them back on the hangars, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. And it was not a face I wanted to see.

I remember in my younger, partying days in my mid-20's or so, I would do this thing that if I was altered in any way by a variety of partying uh, substances, I would every so often take a little look in the mirror and make sure I was still all there. And no matter what, I could always see me. Even through the altered brain.

But in that dressing room as a mama of three, I let my eyes linger for a moment at the face I saw in the mirror. And it was tough to see me right then and there. I have to be honest. It was not an expression I recognized. It was not a familiar face. I was really hoping that that person I was looking at was not me. It simply could not be me.

And my kids saw it too. Mainly my girls did. They saw something in their mama that made them feel sad and maybe even a little scared. And as they begged for us to stay and not to abandon our mission, I still silently and quietly picked everything up and firmly told them "Let's.Go."

They followed me out of that dressing room like good little ducks - all in a row. They were subdued and quiet and obedient. There were no tears just solemn faces of acceptance. There would be no new dresses today, they knew. No fun at the food court. No new toys to fantasize about.

And as walked past the rows and rows of holiday dresses on our way out of the store, Phoebe suddenly grabbed me around the waist and looking up at me she said "Do you forgive me Mama?"

And I stopped in my tracks. The tears welled and I said "Of course I forgive you Phoebes. I will always forgive you."

"Can we try again Mama? Can we try to find our dresses for our Christmas Program?" she said.

And with that face of light and innocence and 5-year-oldness that is palpable and precious staring up at me, my heart gave way and a part of me I recognized resurfaced.

I took a deep breath and said, "Sure Phoebes. We can try again."

And we grabbed some more glittery holiday costumes and headed back into the dressing room.

I don't know why I am still fighting so hard. To maintain the me that was. Maybe because I am working again and it's a tangible reminder of the person I used to be. Maybe it's because it's the path I am meant to walk on this eternal journey of surrendering to motherhood. Maybe it's because I, like my girls, am fierce and independent and opinionated and bossy.

But that glance in the mirror was a wake-up call to me. I didn't like what I saw in that Macy's dressing room that fabulous Thursday afternoon. And I hope I remember the visage that was staring back at me. 'Cause I believe it was telling me to find a new way.

It was telling me that I can't look in the mirror expecting to find the me that I used to find so many years ago. That me is gone. There's a new me in there. And it's the new me that I want my kids to see and know. The me that is head over heels in love with being their mother. The me that will always be willing to head back into that dressing room again and again and again.

December 2009 - Where we find ourselves on a Thursday afternoon

T.T. - The Supermom Spectrum

Before I jumped in headfirst into this deep, deep pool of bloggy-ness, an unbelievable story was brought to my attention courtesy of my beloved "Today" show.  At the time, I was actually thinking about starting a blog, or un-blog, or whatever this is, but I was, in no way, ready to commit.  

In the middle of the chaos of a September school morning, my eyes glanced up to the television and the chyron below the people seated on the couch being interviewed included the words "Supermom" and "Blog." Well, since I am obsessed with supermoms and with wondering if they really exist, I had to check that story out.   And after listening to this group of siblings talk about the tragedy that had struck their family, I headed over to my computer to check out the blog of the supermom that was mentioned - the NieNie Dialogues.

Now I know many of you, if not all of you, are like "Oh yeah, Nie Nie, of course. Like you didn't know about her already?"  Well, my non-blogging life is not that long ago so let me remind you that when you're a mom without a blog, there's really not much chance to know about a well-known blogging mom, you know?

So on that fateful September day, I was introduced to a blogging mama who had tons of followers and was about to add tons more - all because she was critically injured and burned in a horrible private plane crash.  I remember the early days of discovering her blog and I was literally in shock as I read the updates as she and her husband fought to survive - all while their four young children were being cared for by Nie's incredible sister, C Jane, another blogging mama extraordinaire.

I remember crying real tears when I thought about what this family was enduring and praying that she would survive so their children would not lose their mother. Half-obsessed with this mind-blowing story of tragic survival, I scoured past posts of Nie's to learn more about who this woman was.   

Who this supermom was. 

From what I read and learned, Nie is the kind of woman I am not. Nie is the kind of mother I am not. She seemed to handle the struggle of mothering four young children with a grace and ease I do not possess.  She had a knack for living her life bursting with creativity always looking for the next homemade art project.  She had a way of seeing life with optimism and she worked at giving that perspective to her kids.  Her energy seemed boundless - her ideas never-ending - her love and patience for her kids infinite.

The fact that we existed at opposite ends of the supermom spectrum was perhaps best exemplified in a post where she wrote about doing a project with her kids where she wrote upbeat messages on slips of paper like "Smile, someone loves you" or "Someone wants you to have a happy day!" and she took her kids to not only hide these messages around a busy shopping area of her town but also they would then hide and watch people find the messages so as to see the happiness they were spreading. 

Are you kidding me?

To put it bluntly, she bugged me.  

But I felt bad, really bad, admitting it because here she was fighting for her life. When I read her posts and saw the pictures, my own insecurities as a mother deepened.  "Who does this shit?" I thought, "I would never EVER think to do these things she does." 

No matter how shitty I felt reading about the kind of mother Nie was, I couldn't stop reading.  I just couldn't.  Something kept drawing me back in.  Somewhere in between the baking, and the cooking, and the photography, and the gorgeous self-portraits she is known for, and the painting, and the sewing, and the crafts, and the art projects, and the faith she exudes, and the way her life felt like one HUGE artistic expression, I became...well, inspired.  

And that is where, to me, the best of blogging exists.  In the unknown, undefined, private space of a moment in time when one soul with a story touches another soul with a story.   

In both reading Nie's past posts and by reading the updates posted by C Jane, I began to realize that Nie was actually not that different than me at all.  Sure, she expressed herself much differently than I do and she did all of those typical "supermom" things much, much better than I do, but in the end she was a mom choosing to fight for her life despite all the odds stacked against her because she couldn't stand the thought of leaving her kids.  

And you know what?  I would do the exact same thing.  I would fight. Nie made me realize that.

And boy did Nie fight hard to stay on the planet.  And she's still fighting.  For those of you who don't know, she started posting again this past Friday.  She has returned from death's door looking very different as a victim suffering burns on over 80% of her body but she is alive.  All because a mother's love is the deepest love there is and she refused to let go.   

She simply had to get back to her kids.  To make them dinner.  To read them a book.  To tuck them into bed.  

Just like I do.  Just like we all do.  

So this Tuesday's Tribute is for Nie.  For helping me realize that being a supermom really IS a state of mind and it's time I start getting MY mind into the right state. Sure, I don't cook, sew, craft, blog, or do anything that well at all, but you know what I do well?  I love my kids well and I'm willing to go to the ends of the earth to make sure they are fed, read to and tucked in.

And in the end, that may be all they need.

A Jay and Deb Production.