Archives for September 2013

Work, Mommy Guilt, and Box of Macaroni

Dont-Hold-onto-Your-Mommy-Guilt-700x477

I’ve been accused of dropping off the planet the last few weeks.

My blog has been neglected, my home a train-wreck (until my lovely housekeeper paid a visit yesterday) and my husband and I have passed like ships in the night.  Grandpa paid a visit to help me contain the chaos, but until I finish my project, the turmoil seems inevitable.

So, what detracts me?  What takes me away from reality?

I’m ghost-writing a book and my deadline is Oct. 1st.

No pressure for a mom of three smack dab in football and soccer season, ministry kick-offs and oh, another two jobs.

So, I came up with a scheme (and probably the only way I could finish the book on time) which was to pack my bags and head for the hills -or La Quinta, in this case, to my parent’s giant home in the desert.  I could get away for a few days, write like a fiend and finish the book.

I also thought I might rest a bit and refill my bucket.

But it didn’t work out the way I’d hoped.

Stinking Mommy Guilt interfered.

Oh, she is a nasty thing.  The morning I left, the “Berenstain Bears,” one of Kolby’s favorite shows was on and featured Mother Bear getting a job and not being there for her family.  Father Bear and Brother and Sister were left to flounder and fend for themselves in the wake of Mother’s ambitious dreams.

Kolby looked up at me with big eyes,  “You’ll never leave me, right Mama?”

“Uhhh, oh, ummm.  I love you.” (As my bag is packed and in the car)

Seriously PBS?  Is it a conspiracy?  I thought you were a pro-woman liberal show and now you make me feel like poop!

As soon as I arrived in La Quinta, I put on my pajamas.  These are the same pajamas I lived in for two and a half days.

After a few hours of work, I called home at bedtime and Kolby bawled in my ear.  “I want you to come home now Mama.” My big kids groaned…”We miss you, Mom, please hurry up and come home.”

And Mommy Guilt washed over me in waves of fury.

All I wanted to do was make the wails of my children go away as fast as possible.

So, instead of working and taking leisurely breaks to swim or leave the house and eat or shop, I holed in like a burrowing groundhog and worked twenty hour a day.  In my pajamas.

I took a few breaks to replenish my coffee cup, eat a few old crackers and demolish a box of macaroni.

I didn’t walk outside, watch TV, read, eat much or EVER relax.  Stupid Mommy Guilt turned me into a stark raving mad woman possessed by the desire to get home fast at all costs.

I was like Benji separated from his family and the mountain in between me and my babies and hubs was a pile of words.

I could taste home and it was all I wanted.

I drove home Tuesday evening and finally relaxed, reveling in the arms of my kids and husband. (And maybe crying over the state of my house)

And then one of my neighbor friends -a lovely mommy with three little ones said to me, “I hear you went out-of-town to write a book.  I’m jealous.  I want to write books too.  I want to go away by myself.”

And I shook my head and laughed.

Without a partner in crime, with no margaritas or a pool to lounge by with a friend, with ALL work and looming deadlines…getting away is highly OVER-RATED.

Work and vacation aren’t good friends.

And MOMMY GUILT is a horrible companion!

 

 

The Bench

t460x279

I clock a lot of hours on the bench at my kid’s gymnastics studio.  Not surprisingly, I hear more conversations than I would like to.  I’m not nosy, but I am female, so even though I try not to eavesdrop, sometimes it’s difficult to close my ears.

I’ve seen a lot of single dads at the gym lately.  You can always tell when there are drop offs between a tense mom and dad, usually in the middle of a divorce, and the gym is their neutral turnover zone.

Bags are exchanged.  Homework explained.  Guilt-trips are delicately laced with instructions.

Little kids wave goodbye to mommy or daddy and try and put on a brave face before their peers and coach.  Little tears escape, brushed away in an effort to be a “big girl.”

Shoulders are slumped.  Sadness exudes.  Defeat hangs like a dense fog.

I notice an air of confusion on many of the recently single parents.  It’s as if they wear a large sticker on their forehead reading “Why didn’t this divorce make me happier?”

One of these sad guys plopped himself down next to me the other day.  He looked well put together, effortlessly stylish –clearly he had money and confidence –and yet something was wanting.

Another man walked by and inquired how he was doing –and out the story spilled.

His wife left him for another man.  But not just any man –it was his best friend.  She is demanding $10k a month for her expenses.  She also left him with her daughter whom he was now raising.  They were married all of thirteen months.

Through his anger and liberal use of f-bombs, I heard heart-wrenching and desperately raw pain.

I tried to fade into the wall.  I didn’t want to hear it.  It brought back emotions and days I don’t want to remember.

I watched his little girl do a handstand and wave and blow kisses, trying to make him smile.  She could tell her daddy was hurting.

And it reminded me how every person I meet has a story. 

That even the uber-attractive and wealthy folks pulling out of the kiddie gym in a Ferrari are often dying on the inside. 

EVERY interaction and EVERY encounter I make is important to someone.  Each day I have the opportunity to bring life or death, joy or pain, comfort or more sorrow to an already suffering soul.

I was recently told by a pharmaceutical rep that our CVS Pharmacy in Ladera Ranch has the highest revenue in the nation of prescription anti-depressants. 

This means my community of beautiful wisteria clad homes, hard bodies, families with 2.3 kids, and happy smiley faces is secretly drowning in a disease of sorrow hidden behind image management.

I tried not to be intrusive, but as I left, I looked the man in the eye and acknowledged his pain.  He weakly smiled back and went on his way.

And I am brought to my knees, crying out to God for this hurting man, for my hurting community, and for a world where hope is holding on by a thin thread.

If you are one of those struggling today, please let me encourage you to hold on.  Reach out and let someone know you need help.  You can’t do life alone.  We need each other.  We need Jesus with skin on.  We need people.

God reveals himself and comforts us through those who have walked in our shoes and previously traveled down the dark roads. 

You aren’t alone.

Hang on my friends.  Hang on…

–Samantha

%d bloggers like this: