I don’t know how mothers do it. I don’t know how I did it. Clean. Cook. Sort laundry. Make beds. Brush teeth. Shop. Iron. Check homework. Pack lunch. Drive everywhere. Shower. Have an adult conversation. Have adult friends.
And work.
How does anyone responsible for a small human being actually find time to work?
I had my seven-year-old granddaughter for a week last month. Her parents went on vacation, and I couldn’t wait for them to leave. I had big plans. Lucy and I would go to the movies and the Children’s Museum and visit friends and eat out and play games and have a great time. G-Diddy (her grandfather) and I would totally spoil her.
I hadn’t factored in school for her, work and travel for G-Diddy, and all of the above for me. I had it in my head that the week would be one great, big, endless, fun playdate.
A Good Start
It started out that way. Day 1 was a Sunday. We opened The Very Hungry Caterpillar Card Game. We made farm animals out of clay. We saw a musical production of The Secret Garden. We stopped on the way home and bought chocolate cupcakes. We made chocolate milkshakes to go with them. We read books and sang songs and then Lucy had a bubble bath and then it was bedtime.
Perfect.
Monday morning was perfect, too. I got up early and showered and dressed before I woke her for school. Made a yummy breakfast. Packed a yummy lunch. Made sure Lucy brushed her teeth after she ate her toast. I even put her hair in tiny ponytails.
Things were going well.
I worked while she was at school, picked her up at exactly 2:40, took her home. Gave her a snack. Brought her to gymnastics. Stopped for pizza. No bath because it was already time for bed.
So far, so good.
Day 2 I overslept. No time for a shower. No time for make-up, which a woman of a certain age needs. But who cares? As long I didn’t get in a car accident, no one would see me.
Hurried getting Lucy dressed. Hurried packing her lunch. Told her to hurry up eating. Hurried out the door. Forgot her homework. Forgot to put her library book in her backpack. Dear Mimi, her teacher would write, Lucy needs to return last week’s book before she can get a new book. Dropped her off at school with toast between her teeth.
A quick shower. No time to clean the kitchen or do a load of laundry. Worked a little. 2:40 came quickly.
Home to change for her cousin Amy’s recital. Ate chicken fingers at a restaurant. Late getting home. No bath again. Sang songs and read books instead.
And so it went, school, homework, gymnastics, reading, singing, hurrying, hurrying, the days like a carousel, going faster and faster as the week went on.
| Have you gained respect for moms since you became a grandparent? |
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Yes, they have it tougher than we did 72.0%
No, they don't realize how easy they have it 28.0%
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By Friday we were out of milk, bread, juice boxes, and clean socks, and I was dropping her off at school in my pajamas.
And I still had not found the missing library book.
What Really Matters
But here’s the good part: She survived the week with me. And I more than survived the week with her.
I didn’t clean the house or shop for food or make fancy dinners or iron or pay bills or pick up the phone and talk to anyone.
Not because I didn’t want to. But just because I couldn’t.
I had one seven-year-old for a week and everything that wasn’t related to her just didn’t get done. I thought about doing laundry but I sat down and watched Enchanted with Lucy instead. I wanted to go to the gym, but I wanted to be with Lucy more. I loved being with her. I loved that she was here.
I don’t know how I raised three children and found time to do everything else. To be a wife, a daughter, and a friend, as well as a mother. I don’t know how I raised three children and began a career.
But I did. That’s what mothers do. They do it all. And even more amazing? Every day, day after day, they make it look easy.
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