I’m gonna make it after all…really?

Imagine Mary with two boys, a husband and endless loads of laundry.

Note to self: when vacationing without children, do not go anywhere particularly kid-friendly. I say this because I’m out in Jackson Hole, Wyoming with my husband enjoying some seriously needed down time. Not much to do. Nowhere to be. Simple pleasures of hiking, biking, moose-watching, and so on. But there are kids everywhere. And each one is cuter than the next. Why? Because they’re not mine. And on top of that, the whole “absence makes the heart grow fonder” stuff is definitely true. I miss my kids.

I miss them so much it hurts. That seems weird to me. Because most of the time that I’m with them I spend fantasizing about being away from them. Don’t get me wrong. I adore my children. But trying to manage a home, pursue a meaningful career, and take care of two young boys is more than overwhelming to me. I want to be the June Cleaver of sitcom fame. But I’m not. I’m more a child-laden version of Mary Richards from the Mary Tyler Moore Show. Imagine me, in the middle of a snowy Minnesota roadway, tossing my infamous beret into the air and trying to catch it victoriously while also reigning in two impish little creatures who think it’s just fun to dart into the street between racing taxi cabs. It’s really not a workable scenario.

I really am torn between being a full-time mother and using my time on the planet to create meaning for myself personally. It’s a conundrum in which many of us find ourselves. We gave up lucrative and often fulfilling professions to be moms. We don’t regret it exactly. We know, deep in our souls, that bringing precious life into this world and raising it with care, love and respect, is clearly our highest calling. But that doesn’t help get us through the daily monotony that clouds our psyches and makes us question the reason for our very existence.

This vacation was supposed to help me relax. Help me stop struggling with the big issues that harass me on a daily basis. But seeing all these kids and happy families makes me feel selfish and more like a maternal failure than ever before. Why am I here alone, without my kids, when everyone else seems to be managing exceedingly well with their children in tow. None of these mommies needed “alone” time. They all look perfectly well adjusted, capable and happy. What is wrong with me?

Maybe next year I’ll go somewhere where they don’t allow kids. “Out of sight out of mind” as they say. Perhaps I’ll find a nice all-inclusive adult-only resort somewhere in the Bahamas where I wont feel bad about myself for being there. Of course, there’ll probably be tons of childless women there who wont have c-section scars or cellulite. That might highlight a whole different class of personal flaws for me. I guess maybe I just can’t win.

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Warning on a Halloween Batman costume:  ”This cape does not give the wearer the ability to fly.”

Has the whole world gone mad?

Parents today have reached a new low. I’m not kidding. This is utterly psychotic. My youngest, Eli, has been begging me forever to be on a flag football team. So I signed him up with a league in the neighborhood. I’ve heard great things about the organization that runs the league. It was close by. Sure it was adding an extra burden to our already jam-packed after-school schedule. But he seemed so intent on playing that I couldn’t say no.

The first slightly annoying incident occurred when I signed him up. “What day will the practices be on?” I inquired. “That’ll depend on which team he’s on and coach availability,” the impatient voice on the other end of the phone responded. “You’ll find out after the first game. “But what about all of his other activities?” I asked. “I mean, he’s not free every afternoon.” This clearly was an idiotic point to even bring up and i quickly surmised that if you want your kid on a team, you’d better be prepared to make some serious sacrifices. After all, what could be more important than flag football? I mean, come on.

Then about a week before the opening game, I got an email telling me to bring my son’s birth certificate to the first game. I thought it was an odd request and promptly deleted the email and forgot about it. But a few days ago I got another email reminding me that no child will be allowed to play without a valid birth certificate on file. This seemed rather draconian to me. But, since we live in a post “SB1070” world, I figured they needed proof of citizenship in order to be thoroughly legal. But I have come to learn that neither legality nor citizenship figure into this picture. The actual rationale for collecting my six year old son’s birth certificate is that apparently parents lie and try to surreptitiously slip their older children into younger leagues so that they will have some kind of height/weight/talent advantage. Really? What kind of parent would do that?

The fact is that some parent somewhere must have actually tried to sneak their kid into a younger league, right? I mean, just like the ridiculous warnings on baby strollers to “remove child before folding,” or the printed caveat on irons to “never press clothing while being worn,” or the label on my cardboard car sun shield, to “not drive with sun shield in place,” someone somewhere must have committed these inane acts. And there must have been more than a few parents who did this, right? Which brings me back to my initial hypothesis; Parents today have reached a new low.

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Unwed Mamas

The news came out yesterday that more than 1.7 million babies were born to unwed mothers in 2007. That translates into nearly 40% of all US births. Frankly, that’s an astounding figure. Now I consider myself to be a highly evolved feminist. I have little doubt that had I not found a man I wanted to have children with, I would’ve ventured down that unwed mother road myself. I can’t imagine losing the joy and satisfaction of having children merely because I couldn’t find someone to have and to hold until death did us part. But I wouldn’t have had a clue about what I was getting into. And now that there are two of us in this parenting duo, I want to be the first to say, thank God I didn’t do this alone.

As a mom, a working mom, who spends her life racing around between business meetings, volunteer sessions, and school field trips, I truly don’t know how anyone could do this on her own. Are all of these unwed mothers super women? Or do they all earn enough to hire fulltime live-in childcare help and housecleaning crews? I mean, by the end of the day, I’m so damn tired, I have to drag myself up the ladder of my son’s loft bed to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight. Thank goodness my husband’s around to do the ladder ascent half the time. I get up at 5a.m. every morning to greet my tireless imps and begin our morning rituals. By the time I pick them up, feed them dinner and harass them into doing their homework, I’m pretty much spent for the rest of the night. Plus, speaking of homework, I suck in science and math. (Stereotypical, I’ll admit that. But I do.) Having that strong male energy actually plays a critical role in our family.

I clearly get the feminist philosophy of not allowing a partner to dictate whether or not you have a child. I am woman hear me roar and all that stuff. But has anyone told these women what they’re really in for? I don’t mean to be negative, but when you’re the only parent, you’re the one who stays up all night with bad dreams, every night. You’re the one who disappoints when you have to work and can’t attend the end of the year recital that has to be inconveniently scheduled during the workday. You’re the one who soothes, punishes, delights, and snuggles. All of those things are great in limited quantities. But how can one person do this job, and do it well, all by herself?

I’m thoroughly elated that having a child alone no longer carries the stigma it did back in our parent’s day. And maybe the new figures are more illustrative of more couples raising children without the confines of legal wedded bliss. I’m really okay with that. I guess I’m more afraid that as we women strive for total equality and reproductive independence, we’re gonna end up shooting ourselves in the foot. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you really can’t have it all. As Steven Wright used to say, “Where would you put it?”