It’s the curse of all Working Moms. You feel guilty for working all the time and only seeing your kids for 3 hours a day. But when you get home, you really want time – wait for it – away from the kids, and then you feel guilty for that. If you’re me, you overcompensate and spend every spare moment of weeknights and weekends on the kids (some of which can also be blamed on the hubby’s coaching job). Then one day when your patience is beyond gone and you have melted into a deep pool of offspring-induced insanity, you completely lose it. You yell. You scream. You stomp. I yell. I scream. I stomp.
Here’s the thing: I like my work. I have something that’s mine, that challenges me and fulfills me. I miss the kids while I’m at work. I wish I could attend more field trips and have lunch with them at school from time to time. I do look forward to coming home to them each day.
But I would like to be able to come home and sit down for 60 seconds without a child asking me to get them something or help them with something or go somewhere with them. 60 seconds. Is that really too much to ask?
I guess for my kids it is, because before I’ve taken the six steps from the van to the garage/kitchen door, Ephraim is already begging for a snack and Madeleine is asking me to go upstairs to get her Elephie. And in the process of getting those items, I typically get asked to take off shoes/take off socks/put shoes up/help someone change clothes/take clothes upstairs/get someone a drink/get someone gum/help with homework/get the TV on the right channel/find a missing pencil/get someone a second piece of gum because the first one didn’t taste right/wipe someone’s bottom.
Seriously. 60 seconds. Give me a break. For 60 seconds. I’m gonna make a “Don’t Talk to Me Right Now” sign to hang around my neck for the first 60 seconds I’m at home every evening. Oh, and I may start downing a glass of wine in those 60 seconds, too. Just for kicks.