Working mom blues

As soon as I walked in the door after work, without even acknowledging my presence, Levi turned to his babysitter and cheerfully said, “Buh-bye, Jenny!” He was thrilled to see her in the morning when she arrived and equally happy to see her go when Mama got home. Asher, on the other hand, well, we’re having some issues with this working mom role of mine.

Asher started to bounce around the house fueled by sheer hatred and shouted “NOOO MAMA!! GO – A--WAY!! GET OUT OF HERE!! YOU’RE NO FUN AND JENNY IS FUN AND YOU NEED TO GO AAAY – WAY!!”

I have only seen him as possessed as that when he dropped his nap at the age of 4. He used to transform into some sort of mythological creature from the darkest recesses of Hades at about 4pm every afternoon spitting hellfire and slamming doors. This went on for months until he adjusted to his new sleep schedule. Transition is no friend to Asher. And my working, is a big, fat, hairy transition that will rage on until we all forget that life was any different.

My return home indicated to Asher that playtime was over and oppressive regulations and lack of entertainment was once again his reality. Jenny is the mommy I can never be. She’s that mommy who bundles the kids up no matter what the weather and takes them out to run around and get fresh air and exercise. She’s that mommy who plays every game upon request. Countless rounds of Hide & Seek, cards, pillow fort construction. You name it, she’ll play it. She’s that mommy who bakes zucchini bread with the boys and adds that something special secret ingredient that results in an irresistible treat.

Asher’s vision of utopia is the undivided attention of a grownup who will focus entirely on him unconditionally and without interruption. Utopia is Jenny. A child’s hell of Dickensian proportions is Mom. When Asher hurled resentment in my face, I knew exactly from whence it came. I was the alarm clock making that hideously loud buzzing noise interrupting the best dream ever, and all Asher wanted to do was throw it out the window.

I took a deep breath and remained calm. “I’m so glad that you and Jenny are having a great time. She’ll be back tomorrow, and you can have more fun with her then. But now, we have to say ‘thank you’ to Jenny and let her go home to her own family so that we can spend time with ours.” Asher was screaming while I was talking.

“Bye, Jenny!” said Levi again. Asher screamed some more. I was left alone to serve yet another dinner that Asher refused to eat followed by bath and bed. The low point was when I finally got Asher into bed-exhausted from the tantrum marathon. I turned off the light and leaned in to give him a good-night kiss. “Bed time is so BORING! I don’t want to go to bed!! I’m so BORED and night time is so LOOOONG! BO-RING!!”

I snapped.

“You think sleeping is boring, do you?!?” I ripped the covers back and dragged Asher into the family room where a heaping pile of laundry was waiting. “You can stay up for one more half-hour, but only if you fold laundry. No talking, no games, nothing else-just laundry.” I thought he’d sulk off to bed, but instead he held back the tears and said, “ok.”

Asher and I folded all the laundry, and he liked it. Yes, yes, he probably just wanted to spend time with me no matter what we were doing. Thank you for pointing out what a cruel mother I am to force him to work for my attention. I gave him a quarter when we were finished and told him that he could continue to stay up a half-hour later but only to help me work around the house. He was thrilled.

Somehow, I made it to the other side of bedtime. And when I sat down with a big mug of herbal tea, I sobbed. I felt sorry for myself. I was sorry for losing it with Asher. I was tired. This could not be life as a working mother, could it?

The next day I sought counsel from my working mom friends. One of them told me that she is forever “Mean Mommy” and that from the moment she arrives home until bed time, all she does is assign time out after time out to each of her three children. Another mom of the crunchy-granola persuasion told me that she and her sons bake bread together. They love pounding out their frustrations in the dough, and they take great satisfaction in participating in the family meal. I’m not so sure that nights with “The Yeastie Boys” are in my future.

I did get some excellent, practical advice from a mom who knows. We’ve instituted a few new practices which have alleviated some of the transition trauma and have provided Asher with the routine and control that he needs. Asher helped me make a weekly menu so that there would be no more arguments over what was for breakfast, lunch or dinner. Once a week, we go out for pizza so someone else can prepare meals and clean up while we focus on each other. We're getting a little better at planning our weekends better so that we do something fun all together as opposed to letting Asher make up for all the television he can't watch during TV Turn Off in the week. I'm considering a weekly family meeting where we talk and share and just spend time together.

There are still nights when we’re all tired and cranky and nothing can prevent the boys from bothering each other and me. Occasionally, I still lose patience. Jenny is still super-mommy, but she introduced a behavior chart, and she’s not afraid to use it. Asher loves charts. We're going to find our groove-hopefully sooner than late. And I'm going to continue to put Asher to work. Where did I put that feather duster?