Updated: Sep. 15, 2015
Originally Published: May 5, 2011
For the last two years, I’ve been deceiving myself about my ability to juggle work and family life. Before 2013, I was self-employed, putting in about three hours a day while indulging in yoga and perusing the toddler clothing section at Target. With a law degree obtained before becoming a mother, I had landed a job as the general counsel for a corporation two years ago. I thought I was setting an example for my daughter, showing her that a successful working mother could have it all.
The reality was far from that. I despised my full-time job and was neglecting my family. I needed reminders to bring supplies for school events—at least three of them. This year alone, I forgot twice that it was my daughter’s turn to bring snacks for her preschool class and missed all the parent events at my son’s kindergarten. I learned from other mothers that they had to comfort my son when he cried because I wasn’t there. Just last month, I dropped off my daughter only to be informed that there was no school that day—how did I miss that notification?
I was failing miserably at balancing everything. Mornings turned into chaotic yelling sessions: “Get your shoes on! We’re going to be late! Do you want Mommy to lose her job?” They often skipped breakfast, their socks never matched, and brushing teeth was a rare occurrence. My daughter would sob as I struggled with her curly hair. I never engaged with their teachers or saw any of their school projects. A nanny was responsible for their after-school care.
In the past two years, I didn’t volunteer at their schools, as my executive position exempted me from state laws allowing parents time off for such commitments. My boss certainly wasn’t going to grant me that privilege.
On Monday morning, I dropped my daughter off and realized I was the only parent who forgot to bring in a shoebox for Valentine’s Day decorations. No extras were available, so my daughter had to find an alternative. I arrived at work clutching a chai latte and my makeup bag, only to be met by the new, apprehensive president. He ushered me into a conference room where my belongings were already packed up. “We’re going in a different direction,” he said.
After that, I went home, took a shower, and visited my lawyer. I had known this day was on the horizon. When I returned home to my kids and the nanny, I told them that Mommy now had more time since I was unemployed.
I was terrified, yet they seemed delighted.
On Tuesday morning, I stayed in my yoga pants and zipped on a fleece to drop the kids off at school. Once again, I forgot the shoebox. I tried to persuade my daughter to use a different box we might have at home, but she was adamant about needing the pink and white striped shoebox from Target just like two other girls had. Off I went to Target.
As I wandered through the store on a Tuesday morning at 8:30, I felt a bit disoriented. But then I spotted it—the last pink and white striped shoebox sitting alone on a shelf. I nearly danced. It had been so long since I felt this kind of achievement! I resisted the urge to text my husband about it, knowing he wouldn’t grasp the significance.
While I was at Target, I thought, Why not buy some Valentines? Several days early! This was uncharacteristic of me; I usually missed out on seasonal merchandise.
Twenty minutes later, I walked into the preschool with the shoebox hidden behind my back. The look on my daughter’s face when she saw me was priceless, and when she discovered the shoebox, I almost cried. Surprising her like that felt amazing.
That afternoon, while picking up my son from kindergarten, a mom friend asked how I was handling being fired. “It’s tough, but I’m winning at motherhood this week,” I replied, and she smiled knowingly.
On Wednesday morning, as I dropped off my daughter, her teacher asked if I’d be returning for Parents’ Day. Of course! I hadn’t planned on it, but now that I’m unemployed, count on me!
At 9:30, I returned to chaos—children wailing because their parents had just departed. I felt a wave of guilt thinking about how I had placed my daughter in similar situations over the past year. I asked her teacher, “Does my daughter cry like this when I miss events?” Miss Hannah chuckled and reassured me, “No, your daughter doesn’t seem to have that anxiety.”
Ouch.
That afternoon, my son was in tears over a lost red string for a paper kite he made in art class. We retraced his steps and found tiny pieces of the string. I tied them together, and we headed to the park to fly the kite, relishing the time together.
This morning, we held hands as we walked to kindergarten. He asked if I had time to look at his class’s rain forest painting. “Of course, I’m not in a hurry,” I said.
“Because you don’t have a job to go to anymore?” he inquired.
“I have a job, buddy. Being your mommy is my job,” I replied, feeling the warmth of his grip on my hand.
Yes, I’m scared. I need to figure out how to support my family, but my heart feels fuller than it has in a long time. I’ll update my resume and start job hunting, but that can wait. I have a Valentine’s Day party to attend.