Mommy is working

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 21/11/2008 (6350 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

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I do this thing with my kids where I hug and tickle and kiss them until they’re both red in the cheeks and snorting they’ve laughed so hard.

All the while I say, “I’m so lucky, I’m so lucky. Mommy has the best little boy and the best little girl in the whole wide world.”

Well, I never envisioned that they actually heard what I’ve been saying this whole time, trying so hard to protect their armpits and all, during the entire tickly-huggy-kissy experience.

I just thought I tickled them until they cried and then I held them very, very tight wishing they never, ever forget how much I love them, no matter how much they are inevitably going to hate me when they become teenagers.

But recently the two little stinkers have started copying my refrain as I tickle them.  And my son now refers to himself as “Mommy’s favourite little boy in the whoooole wiiiide woooorld.”

So what happens when Mommy’s kids know they mean more to her than life itself? Well, they start using it against me of course. 

When I occasionally raise my voice because everywhere I turn I’m stepping on wet glue or Thomas and his friends, I hear a little voice say “I love you Mommy.” 

Or when bedtime is nearing, and I feel tiny little arms hugging my legs and a quivering little voice pleading, “Sleep Mommy?” meaning sleep with Mommy tonight instead of alone in her crib, which is only four feet away from where I sleep anyway. 

The other night I had a big presentation to make in front of my graduate class. This being the last presentation during my four year program, I locked myself in my office for about three days straight while my kids spent time with either their dad or our delightful babysitter. 

Around supper time, on the evening of my presentation, the two little people caught a glimpse of me from the corner of their eye as I came down for a glass of water. Late already, I faced 75 pounds of affection as they both clutched on to me like I was the last life-saving device on a sinking ship. 

How could I not let them come into my office, as I put the finishing touches on my presentation, and cut up, crumple or run away with several of my visuals? All the while I heard them say things like, “Mommy’s working….be quiet…don’t cut this…”

So I showed up late and was dishevelled when I finally made it to the institution of “higher learning” and regretfully interrupted the presentation of one of my peers.

When it was my turn, my computer didn’t work and it took two technologically literate classmates to help me get started. 

I think I did ok.  I’m sure I got an A.  But I left out the part when I cried and cried all the way to school that night. I ignored my kids while I was “working” and I was too tired the next day to compensate.

Only today after I’ve finished all my writing for this blog and my column and look forward to a week’s break before my next major paper do I feel like I can give my kids my undivided attention again tomorrow.

Working outside the home is hard for moms.  Working from home is a whole other ball game.  If I were teaching, I wouldn’t hear my kids crying “Mooooooommmyyyyy!!!” on the other side of my classroom door like I hear outside my home office at least twice a week. 

The trade off is that my days are extremely flexible and it’s not very often I have to hide from my children for a long period of time to complete a big project.

My class ends in two weeks and I’ve already decided I’m going to take a long break before I get around to writing my thesis.  I probably won’t have the time needed to attempt this monster project until my kids enter school.

I told my husband tonight that, “it was going to be a very cold day before I decide to go back to University again for another degree.”

“You always say that,” was his response.