Category: Mommy Guilt

It was only a matter of time before LIFE caught up with me.

Yesterday started off like any other day. I woke up refreshed, bright-eyed, and ready to face the day cursing the sun after another long night of “trying to get everything accomplished” (and failing miserably).

Mike had already left for work, so there wasn’t time for a proper breakfast between getting the kids fed, cleaned, and dressed.  I managed to cram a handful of cereal and a few strawberries in my mouth before Lou started screaming to be left down from her highchair. I made myself a cup of tea, but I don’t recall even taking a sip.

A quicky shower and hair in a bun, I was out the door to run errands before it was time to feed the kids again.

Our first stop for the day was the library, which is where I started to feel the first waves of exhaustion but that’s not unusual these days…

Mike’s been back in “crunch mode” since… I didn’t even remember when. That’s six days a week of being gone before the kids get up and home after they’re supposed to be in bed. On the seventh day, he’s exhausted from working nonstop and I’m out of my mind frazzled from not having any help all week.

Day after day of cooking, cleaning, quibbling, screaming, crying, clinging, changing… rinse and repeat with no more than a 10 minute nap/break in between… but only if we’re in the car… and the radio is off… and the sun and moon are in the right coordinates.

Bedtime is a joke since that’s the ONLY time my children see their dad, so of course, they want to be AWAKE and LOUD and SCREAMY… but who can blame them? They miss seeing him too.

No where in that combination is “time for Mommy to sit down to a meal or sleep or be ALONE…” So, in other words, “irritable” barely scratches the surface of how I’ve been feeling. Unfortunately, it’s probably the nicest impression my children will have of me for years to come.

Yet, life goes on. There are extended trips to see family, weddings to attend, first birthday parties to plan, another school year ahead…

Yesterday (like every other day), I planned to just muscle through and get stuff done as best I could.

I took Scout to claim his Summer Reading Club prize from the librarian. Feeling lightheaded, I had to sit down with Lou while he picked out more books for the week.  I faintly recall standing in the checkout line, because just as it was our turn the scariest, most helpless moment of my adult life happened.

My vision narrowed and I completely blacked out. Gripping tighter to Lou with one hand, I held on to the counter with the other until I regained my composure.  Then the panic set in. I didn’t know whether I needed to poop or throw up.  I didn’t know if I was hot or cold. I didn’t know how to ask for help.

Surrounded by strangers, do I just hand my kids over to another random mom while I run to the bathroom? Do I  just start screaming, “Help, Help, Help” or “Call an ambulance”… but then what?

My head was still spinning as I walked out the double doors. My son, for whom every moment is the Spanish Inquisition, trailed behind asking, “Why are we leaving the library, Mommy? Where are we going next? Why do the doors open like that? What does AU-TO-MA-TI-CALLY mean? WHY? WHY? WHY?”

“Please stop talking,” I pleaded, “I think need to throw up. Can you just help me get to the car?”

And with that he took my hand, looked both ways, and led me across the street. Let me repeat. My FOUR YEAR OLD had to help me across the street.

Once in the car, I called Mike and told him to come home right away. I managed to drive home, which I would NOT have attempted had we not been so close via surface streets and midday traffic been so sparse. Scout entertained Lou until Mike arrived and I laid down for the rest of the day.

The next afternoon, I took the kids with me to see my doctor. A father to a four- and a two-year old, he listened all too sympathetically as I detailed everything that I’ve been doing and feeling the last year and a half of my life.

In fact, he was appalled at how much Mike has been working, in light of our total lack of support from family or friends… and the man’s been through med school and residency. GAH!

We talk about how toxic life in Silicon Valley can be, uber-competitive, expensive, and isolating. Yet it’s the person at home, alone, trying to keep the family together that pays the price. My head nearly fell off from nodding in agreement.

He ordered some tests to rule out some of the bigger, scarier stuff, but his main advice…

Get help or move far, far away from Silicon Valley. You cannot and should not do this alone. You need help!

Moving far, far away from Silicon Valley isn’t in the cards for us. At least, not today.

However, as soon as I find the right non-smoking, non-animal-sacrificing person to trust with the well-being of my children,  I will be that rare breed of stay-at-home-mom with a cleaning service and a nanny. Doctor’s orders.

Prepare to hate me, Internet.

I’ve had every intention to participate in “7 Quick Takes Friday” in the past. I’d get to number two or three five or six and then promptly get distracted by the shiny weekend ahead… putting it off until the next week… and the next…

Then, along comes a bad day- so horrible, so terrible, so devastating- that it can only be told in small doses. I’m not sure this is what  Conversion Diary intended, but here goes my first (complete) attempt at “7 Quick Takes“.

— 1 —

We’re renting our house from a family that moved to Texas.  (Hey, that’s where we’re from. Weird.) They took all of their stuff with them EXCEPT a few gardening implements and a pond full of koi.

We’re not contractually obligated to care for the koi besides feeding them every other day and shooing away cranes, but we’ve grown attached anyway. They’re like pets to us even though I know absolutely nothing about fish maintenance.

This morning, I stood in the yard in shock as I watched our gardener pull thousands upon thousands of dollars of DEAD not-our-koi out of our contaminated pond.

I have no idea what happened. Best I can guess, the filter stopped working  or backed up in the middle of night and the biggest (most expensive) of the fish ran out of air shortly thereafter. The rest continued to die throughout the day as I made calls to the property manager.

— 2 —

Picked up my son from preschool, dreading the TALK I was about to have with him about the fish…

I arrived at school to find the parking lot packed for 8th grade graduation. I finally found a teeny spot in the back, but  was already so late for pick-up.

Not only was  Scout the last kid left (which is devastating in its own right), I then had to sit him down and tell him about the fish in preparation for what he would  find… or in this case, wouldn’t find… at home. He was so upset he ran back into the school, crying.

His teacher had a talk with him which lifted his spirits and mine until we got to  the car and found a DENT in the rear panel.

— 3 —

Who knew I could be so devastated over fish?

Yet, I found myself in the yard bargaining with God to bring them back. I mean, OH. MY. GOD… I was bargaining with YOU over the lives of fish. FISH! Cold-blooded creatures incapable of love.

I’m never getting a dog. EVER!

— 4 —

Northern California has seen a ton of rain since we moved into this house. In fact, it rained on our moving day.  So, it made sense to turn off our sprinklers. Right? Only if you remember to turn them back on once it STOPS raining…

The gardener also had to informed me that the front lawn died last night as well.

— 5 —

I found a dead spider in our house, which means there was once a live spider in our house… crawling around… on the floor… with my BABY.

— 6 —

Moses. I’m ready to let your people go. Please make the plagues stop.  XOXO.

— 7 —

My face broke out earlier this week, so I tried a new peeling serum that specifically warns  STAY OUT OF THE SUN. Of course, where have I been all day?

Running around  the yard, cycling through the five stages of grief… over FISH… and now I’m splotchy as well.

I’m officially ending this day NOW. G’night!

Every other week, I rush home from preschool drop-off to let in the cleaning people. They scrub the toilets and dust the bookshelves while I pretend to be invisible in my own home.

Several months ago, it became obvious that I can’t handle it all. Painfully obvious. I was killing myself trying to satisfy every need around here, only to beat myself up when I fell short. It had everything to do with the shock of going from one child to two, of moving to a new place, and of having a parnter who works a ton, but I do have to take some responsibility too.

I am a perfectionist. I NEED a clean house or else I go bat. shit. crazy. And I have no plans to get over that anytime soon. So when I begged, pleaded, puuuu-rayed for help and it never came, I did the next best thing. I hired it!

I’m still weirded out by having other people clean my house while I essentially sit around and supervise, but I am even more weirded out by the thought of handing over my house key to complete strangers. (Remember? Trust issues.) So, I just stay out of the way while they work.

They’re efficient and are through just in time for me to run out the door again. I get approximately 10 minutes to savor the light aroma of lemon cleaner and admire my shiny counter tops before preschool pick-up.

From  school, I take Scout and Lou to lunch at Le Boulanger’s Corporate Headquarters/Bread Factory.

Scout grabs “our table” by the huge windows overlooking the factory while I  go to the counter and ask for “the usual, please.”

A turkey cranberry on wheat for Scout and I to split. A water for me, milk and a chocolate cookie for Scout and a sourdough roll for Lou.

The busser knows us by name. “Hello, Mrs. Duffy,” he says, “No worries about the mess.”  The three of us settle in for a long, leisurely lunch, like a sore thumb amongst the corporate crowd.

Each time, I point out to Scout that the bread he’s eating… the bread in his sandwich… was made over there.

And each time, he says, “Thank you for showing me, Mommy. I love it here.”

It’s our every other Tuesday tradition.

He thinks I do it because I’m an awesome mom. The truth is taking them out for lunch keeps my house clean for that much longer.

(…and they do double stamps on Tuesdays. 12 stamps = free lunch!)

A second baby isn’t an addition. It’s exponential.

That basically sums up my long-ish post for the Silicon Valley Moms Blog today.

I promise, my post was so much funnier in my head. I cringe rereading it now, wishing I had spent more time editing and less time meandering. It’s just that I’ve been so frustrated lately that it was difficult to  show restraint. The  whining… er, words just kept coming, but each rings truth.

My son was actually interrupting me every five minutes as I wrote. I set him up with chalk for the backyard, a brand new  box of crayons and a coloring book, water colors, Legos… All futile. He would just run back to my side, begging, “come plaaaaaay with meeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

I would be lying if I told you it didn’t make me feel loads of guilt, but I  DO spend all day with him and his sister.

I play. I feed. I cuddle. I laugh. I do silly dances and make up silly songs. I kiss owies. I wipe bums. I tuck them in with  the library books we chose together after story time. I give them the good kisses and the good hugs. And the next day, it’s  lather, rinse, repeat.

But after the unrelenting exhaustion that comes with that, what’s left for myself? For my marriage? For my LIFE?

Confession. Every third day, I  think about going back to work. Seriously.

Each time, my reason is completely different. Some days it’s because I caught a glimpse of the person  I once was. Take charge. Ambitious. Creative. Smart. I miss that girl. She was cool. I wonder what happened to her.

Other days, my intentions are less noble. Months and months ago, while potty training my son and cleaning up yet another puddle on the floor, it would occur to me, “If I were at work right now, this would be someone else’s problem. Not mine!”.

Most of the time, it happens because, simply put, I am worn down…from LIFE.  And as we all know, a body that is worn down is more susceptible to catching things….

Things like myopia and  “grass-is-greener”-itis.

Then, the phone rings or I remember that we’re supposed to be somewhere, and I get back in the game. My “ambivalence” is set aside for another day.  I go on doing what has to get done, because that’s what moms do.

It takes a book like Just Let Me Lie Down to remind me that the grass is NOT greener.  I remember that I left my job for some very valid reasons– two to be exact…

These feelings, while oftentimes overwhelming and isolating, are not unique to me. They’re unique to motherhood. As moms, we all face the same challenges, guilt, and sense of obligation. Financial issues aside, we all have choices to make. However, the supreme choice is whether or not to be happy.

So last week, when a opportunity presented itself, I jumped on it. A leap of faith, if you will.  It’s a role that’s completely in line with what I used to do, but would still allow me to be home with my kids.  So after tucking my kids into their beds, I held my breath and applied. A few days later, I was asked to submit a resume.

As part of my megalomania personal growth, I update my resume each year. Although with moving and baby and moving again, I’ve been a little behind on it this year… and last, but at least I knew where to find it on my computer.

When I attempted to open the Word doc, an error message popped up saying the “file is corrupt”. I tried  several  more times, but it was no use. It was clear that my resume, containing all of my accomplishments and  achievements, could not be salvaged.

There’s an analogy in there that I would rather not dwell upon.

Disclosure: I received a copy of Just let Me Lie Down, Necessary Terms for the Half-Insane Working Mom by Kristin van Ogtrop to read and discuss as a contributor for the Silicon Valley Moms Blog. The thoughts and opinions expressed above are my own.

Kristin van Ogtrop is the editor of Real Simple magazine and writes a blog of her own called Adventures In Chaos. Her book is a fantastic read for any self-described half-insane mother. (That would be every mother, right?) You can purchase your own copy from any of these fine retailers.

To read other posts inspired this book, please click here.