Editor’s note: The diary below is, among many other things, an extraordinary record of the kinds of overloaded days that working parents experience as a matter of course. The diarist, a married professional woman with a six-year-old son, hustles cheerily through a day marked by caregiving tasks and concerns (for not only her son but her mother-in-law, who calls with a minor crisis during lunch), meetings, an unexpected night-time work event, and an aquarium emergency that is near-fatal (for the fish). It would take a post as long as the diary to highlight all of its insights and charms, and we have written elsewhere of the delightful surreality of the fish-tank episode. But perhaps what is most affecting, and revealing, about this diary its depiction of the mix of tenderness and stress that caregiving entails in the midst of a busy day. She is moved by the feeling of her son’s body in her arms as she carries him downstairs, and feels nostalgic-in-advance as she recognizes that the days when she can do so are numbered. But she also has to get him dressed and out the door to school, which occasions the daily “power struggles” with her headstrong child. As she succeeds in getting him into the car, she remarks: “I feel a sense of victory/accomplishment each day when we make it to the car and finally pull away.” Many parents will recognize this feeling; but when you see it here, alongside the seeming thousand other things our diarist does on this ordinary day–well, it’s impressive. Enjoy.
The alarm sounds at 5 o’clock and I shut it off, knowing that another will sound an hour later. When I finally give in to the fact that it’s time to rise, both dogs are already waiting for me, tails smacking the hallway walls. They follow their morning ritual which starts with peeking in at the sleeping 6 year old across the hall (just to make sure he’s there, I suppose?), then thunderously running down the back stairs into the kitchen and to the back door. As they clamor across the back porch and out into the darkness, I make note of how lovely the moon is this morning. Just a thin, bright sliver perched above the tightly-packed gables and chimneys of venerable Howard Street. It’s a brief pause before the morning scramble. Time to get to work: I yank the lunch box out of the fridge first….for fear I will forget it (because I did just that yesterday and felt horrible about it) and check that the backpack has the go-back folder inside, and pull out any contraband (stuffed animals, action figures). Two slices in the toaster, coffee poured. Dinner is put into the crock pot—a nice pork roast which will be divided and used for different recipes. I unload and reload the dryer. Get out the vitamins and fill my husband’s coffee carafe. I pull back the curtains of the bay window in the parlor so that the dogs won’t pull the drapes down with the first squirrel they see. I run upstairs and get myself dressed. The little one is stirred and is cross because I woke him from a nice dream. He’s still small enough that I can carry him, and for somewhat selfish reasons (it won’t be long before I can’t or he won’t want me to) I carry him all the way downstairs. He is warm and snugly. Once he is effectively awake, I put his breakfast in front of him: one piece of buttered toast with peanut butter on top, and one piece of cinnamon toast—both cut on the diagonal. He eats this every morning without fail. He will not accept toast from me without the diagonal cut. I’ve always cut it this way, just as my grandmother always cut my toast for me. I some strange way it made it feel special, and he seems to have adopted this idea as well. I will fully admit here that I also let him have the iPad while he eats. And now, I will go even further to secure my Mother of the Year status by admitting that, like some other mornings, I have given him a popsicle. I will point out that said popsicle is made of real fruit and vegetables, so I feel only slightly guilty. I go upstairs to brush hair, teeth, etc but am shortly called down to “guard” his toast from the greedy dog when F has to suddenly run to the bathroom. Once he finishes eating, its time for getting him dressed. The typical power struggles ensue. This kid is good as gold, but so headstrong. I cajole with him to for-the-love-of-god change his socks. We debate over the Mario or the Pikachu shirt for today. I help him with his shoes. I convince him to actually wear his coat (a major victory). We both go upstairs to say our good byes and I love yous to his father who is now up and getting ready for work…pausing in the midst of tying his necktie to get a big hug from the little guy. I fish my keys out of the swim bag in the foyer (son had swim lessons last night) and open the front door.
We step out to crisp, fresh air. It is beautiful today.
I feel a sense of victory/accomplishment/relief each day when we finally make it to the car and pull away, and today is no different. We are going to be on time today! We drive down West Charles and I give a longing look to the Caffeinery as we roll by. Double expresso…..sigh. I cut down Monroe to East Washington to get to the school. Pull into the half-circle drive in front of East Washington Academy, where my son attends first grade. F. climbs out and then thoughtfully buckles his plush Mario toy in the booster seat, and then tucks Mario’s brother Luigi in as well. I walk him up to the doors and we run into a parent we know…our kids went to the same preschool and we sometimes have them at social events. My son shies away from me when we get close to the building. There’s fifth graders here after all. No kisses for mom. Not here. No way! Not even a glance in my direction as he breaks away.
I am always the first to the office; Its only a few blocks from the school to downtown. Our office is on the third floor, and on mornings like this, the view of downtown and the river is lovely….I turn on the lights, the coffee maker and the printer, water my plants, and then start up my computer. I read and answer emails. They vary, but many of them that I send out are peppered with “thank yous” and many are requests….I am a fundraiser, after all. The greater part of the morning consists of a weekly touch base with my boss, writing my board report for Monday’s monthly meeting, following up on multiple fundraising campaigns and updating the my donor and volunteer databases, interspersed with trips to the coffee maker. We have four weeks to reach our annual campaign goal, so the pressure is on. We are nearing that goal and it will be such a relief to achieve.
I get an email update about the Athena awards luncheon which is to take place tomorrow. I am a nominee this year. This is my second go around for these awards. It’s an honor, but neither time I have felt that worthy.
At mid-day, we have a staff meeting that includes discussion of the holiday hours and updates from everyone’s areas of responsibilities.
After the late running staff meeting, I meet my husband in the parking lot and head out to lunch. We are fortunate enough to get to eat together most days. His office is just across the parking lot from mine at City Hall. Today we have leftovers at home: loaded baked potato soup for me and chicken fajita on a bed of rice for him. While I warm everything up, he lets out the dogs and I unload and reload the dishwasher, check the crockpot to see how dinner is coming. We are enjoying lunch and conversation when my mother in law calls about drama real or imagined—this is a quality that sometimes makes her hard to love. My husband walks her through what she needs to do to deal with her current dilemma, (its not something he can do for her) and through the course of the conversation it becomes apparent that she is not being totally forthcoming about the situation, or that she will likely take the advice that she solicited. Like most conversations with his mother, he is absolutely frustrated by it.
We pull back in the parking lot and she calls again. She’s gotten in contact with the person who can help her. It’s pretty evident that she did not do her do-diligence the first time as she had said. Before parting ways, I give him a kiss and we laugh and promise not to drive our own son crazy in the future.
I ride the elevator with a woman who works in one of the law firms on the second floor. Although I don’t know her name, we are often in this situation together and like each time we share antidotal stories about our day. I tell her about my hectic morning yesterday when the car didn’t start and she tells me about her 6 year old grandson’s uncanny need for punctuality. Good thing for us the elevator is slow. Perhaps I should actually introduce myself by name next time…
Back in the office our campaign chair calls and says he cannot make it to his presentation this evening at a local manufacturer. I agree to go in his place. The rest of the afternoon goes by fast. I follow up with donors and continue to work on my board report.
After work, I rush home to freshen up my make up and change my clothes. In my profession, I interact with so many different people; It’s important not to over or under-dress depending on your audience. Before I head out again, I remove half the roast from the crock pot and shred the remainder. I add some John Tom’s Eat My Sauce (local and the best) and put the lid back on. I head to the school to pick up F from Boys and Girls Club. He’s just come in from the play ground and his face is flush and his eyes have a sparkle. He’s probably been running, running, running. Such an active kid! We exchange good-byes with several children and Boys and Girls Club staff. On the way out, as daily ritual dictates, he runs over to the flat top benches in front of the school building, climbs up and runs and leaps from one to the other following their ‘v’ formation. The second part of the daily ritual is racing me to the car. He always wins.
Not long after we get home, B returns from purchasing movie tickets for the two of us and a few friends for later this week. Justice League. He’s a huge Superman fan, so he cannot wait. I take some allergy meds, as my eyes are very irritated. The little one zips around the house, pretending to be Sonic the Hedgehog. He plays Legos a bit and then requests to look at the iPad.
I head out for my presentation. It’s at a local factory on Cowan Road. It’s a big facility and at this time of evening (6pm) I am not sure how to get in. I hesitate to bother the shift that is filing in with their lunch pails. I finally locate someone at the main entrance just leaving and he shows me their new process for visitors. In the vestibule, there is a touch pad which requires me to create an account. It recognizes who I am there to see. It takes my photo. It’s an odd angle because I am very short and the ledge the pad sits on is high. M gets a nice nostrils-up shot of my head. This is undeniably the worst photo I have ever taken. At the least, I hope someone in the office gets a good laugh out of it. I sincerely hope that I don’t have to see it every time I visit their facility. After I check in, it’s not long before the HR manager comes out to greet me. I am taken through the office to the actual manufacturing portion of the building. I marvel at not only how huge the place is, but how clean and…well…pretty it is.
I stumble through the presentation. I do these so often, and just every now and then there’s one, like this, that I walk away from feeling completely bad about. I think it was the fact that a few in attendance had been at the earlier presentations that day (which I did not do) and they were so moved by a personal story the speaker had shared. Their first question was “Did you know that family? Can you tell the story, too?” It is disingenuous for me to make that story my own, or tell it with teary eyes as the previous speaker had. I was not there and telling it second hand is…well…telling it second hand. It loses its luster, its raw emotion. But I caved to the request and found myself veering from my usual presentation and trying to add this story, a story that was not my own. It did not work. It’s not that the crowd was not receptive, but it just did not feel right to me.
My typical presentation outlines the challenges we face in our community, the root cause, and how my organization is seeking to end the cycle of generational poverty. I visit all sorts of places and talk with all sorts of people. There is so much generosity and compassion in our community. So many people behind the scenes working to improve lives.
When I get out to my car, I replay the presentation over in my head. I am not happy with how it went. I look down to see I have a message to call the husband as soon as I can. There’s a fish tank emergency. The heater exploded, clouding up the tank and setting off a breaker. The fish: a pleco, a recently widowed black skirt tetra, blood fin shark and a few Buenos Aires tetras all need the heated water to survive. I run out to Petsmart and use my phone to help figure out which heater he needs. I get behind a sour woman at the check out who had multiple complicated transactions and a well-behaved poodle which she still finds reasons to glare at and reprimand. She doesn’t even end up completing her transactions, because she’s there for an obedience training class which is ready to start. She makes the cashier hold her return items for after. As I purchase the heater, the associate marvels at how a tank heater could have combusted. We joke about it being a haunted fish tank and I muse that we “inherited’ it from a friend who did not really give good reason as to why he did not want it any longer….
Although I have dinner in the crock, the unexpected presentation and subsequent trip to the pet store means there are no sides with the main dish. I decide to pick up French fries and drinks at Mc Donalds on the way home. No one on the other side of the phone call home objects to this idea. There’s a long line and I get cut off by the car in the other line. Another glaring, cranky older woman. No poodle this time. At the drive-thru window, the young lady taking my payment apologizes for the wait. I tell her its ok, and nothing that she can control, I’m sure. She tells me the car (that cut me off) yelled at her.
Two blocks from the house I see a stumbling silhouette of a man making his way down West Jackson. I wonder if he is drunk or high or needing medical attention…or all of the above. I see a police SUV idling in the parking lot at Gillespe Tower and so I pull in and let the officer know. This is not unusual in my neighborhood. It is both a wonderful, weird, beautiful place and at the same time troubled and blighted. Its not what I would call dangerous by any means, but we do have many, many residents who have addiction problems. Others who don’t possess the type of tolerance and fortitude to live in a historic urban neighborhood would not understand. I know I should report the things I see, and I almost always do, but have just a little guilt that the guy may have simply had a horrible day and just drank a little more than he should have. I may have helped escalate his problems.
At home, B shows me the old heater, charred and in pieces. He quickly installs the new device and no fish seem the worse off for any of it. If anything, the shark is being more social.
We eat the pulled pork bbq and the McDonald’s for a late dinner. I help F with his homework. It’s the usual first grade fare and he gets through it quickly. It’s odd to me that they do word problems in math already and know terms like “addends.” It was not like that in my day. I realize that is such a middle age thought. Ugh.
I play Mario cart with F for a half hour and have a glass of Riesling. We are both lounging on the bed, with our legs draped over Hiro, our 85 lb. lap dog. I take a break to check on the laundry and then F switches games. We play little big planet 2, and he shows me the level that he has created on his own. It’s quite impressive. Again, I don’t think I was doing things like this at that age. It takes less convincing that normal that it’s time to get ready for bed. Once he (and I) wash up and get his jammies on, we read a little portion of an “I Spy” book. B pops in to give us both a kiss, and goes back to working on a power point for an upcoming presentation. F zonks out on my bed. Later, his dad may or may not move him to his own room. We all sleep better when that’s the case.
Before I lay down, I browse my closet, making the final decision of what to wear for the awards luncheon tomorrow, and think about what I will say in the remote chance that I will be called to the podium. I’m pretty sure it won’t happen, so I don’t linger on it too long. I choose a vintage looking emerald green dress with a black damask pattern. I will wear red lipstick with it. I’ll also wear my grandmother’s Stephen’s College ring for good luck. It’s pretty and delicate: a square onyx set in yellow gold with the school crest in the center of the stone. I pick out another outfit, the one I will wear to the presentation I have scheduled in the morning at the fire department, something less assuming and celebratory. I will change into the dress before the luncheon, and then back into the other clothes for the remainder of the day.
I make one last trip downstairs and get the coffee maker, pack lunch and make sure that the downstairs is tidy before I turn in for the night. I detest waking up to a messy downstairs…it sets the tone for the day, I suppose.
I lay down and try to get some sleep.