One of the unfortunate consequences of having both parents  work outside the home is the struggle to determine who will miss work to stay home with the sick kid.  It starts to feel like an elaborate negotiation – full of rules, guidelines …  and trump cards.

When Sunday morning arrived, preceded by another night of restless sleep, spiking temperature, and coughing, I broached the topic again while pulling the thermometer from 6’s pallid cheeks.  “Still 102,”  I said, glancing toward Hubs’s Blackberry, and offering two more purple chewable Motrin tablets to 6.  “She’ll probably sleep it off,” he responded, slow to accept the ramifications of family illness.  “We should have a back-up plan now, though, don’t you think?” I said. 

And so it begins – the sophisticated game of Sick Kid Trump. 

Sunday Afternoon

Hubs: Begrudgingly Consulting Blackberry:  Three meetings …  I can put one off until Tuesday morning, take the other two as conference calls and put in a movie.   But I didn’t bring my computer home this weekend.  I’ll have to drive downtown tonight to pick up my computer. … In the Twins Play Off Game AND Taylor Swift Concert Traffic.  You?

Well-played.

Me: Cheerily Checking Google Calendar Because It Completes Me: No class (usually an almost automatic loss for me).  A student meeting, but I could reschedule that one (because Lord knows they always do).  But then, just as I am about to concede  … I do have a meeting in the afternoon with the same committee I bailed on last week when 4 was sick. They don’t have conference capabilities.

Winner:  Me.   Rule:  Can’t miss a meeting with people you had previously canceled on because of a sick kid.  Here, the double cancellation trumps the downtown traffic.

Monday Afternoon

Me:  How’s it going?  Is she better?
Hubs: She’s fine as long as she’s on the Motrin, but when she doesn’t have it, she spikes again.
Me: What do you have going tomorrow?
Hubs:  Let’s just see what she does this afternoon without Motrin.
This approach again?

3 hours later

Hubs:  I don’t think she’s going to make it to school tomorrow.
Me:  I have class. (Usually an automatic trump!)
Hubs:  I already have Thursday off because school’s closed on Thursday.  I can’t miss tomorrow, too. (Multiple days in one week – huge advantage)
Me:  But I have class. (Not sure why this isn’t working.)
Hubs:  Plus, I missed that meeting yesterday. (Sometimes negotiating with a person whose job title is something like “Senior Negotiator” gets frustrating.)
Me: …but…I…have…Class.
Hubs:  I know, but that guy’s only in town for two days.
Me:  I can see if I can find someone to sub.

Winner:  Hubs  Rule:  This was a close round, but Hubs employs good technique, plus with the out of town colleague and several days already off in the week, he ends up slightly ahead here.

Tuesday Afternoon

Hubs:  What did the doctor say?
Me:  As suspected she has “flu-like symptoms”, no infections, and she appears to be on the mend.
Hubs:  Good.  Poor thing needs to get back to school.
Me: But doc said she needs to stay home for one more day because her temperature is still over 100.
Hubs: Sighs. (Also, Coughs.)
Me:  I have nothing on the calendar, just the bazillion things I need to do. I can work from home.

Winner:  Draw.  Rule:  When you really can make it happen, you need to; it builds goodwill for future rounds and, well, makes good sense.

You get the idea.  Over the course of the last few days though, I have wondered, as I often do when I am bouncing around in this mad mothering world - just what it is I am trying to win?   On Tuesday afternoon, cuddled up over the lunch hour watching Hannah Montana: The Movie with my daughter while she ate her scrambled eggs and toast (just like my mom used to make),  I was sure I was the winner.  Six hours later, I would have paid my husband to let me get out of the house for a few hours, even if it meant sitting through a “New Hockey Parent” meeting (which it did!).

Happy “illness with flu-like symptoms” season, folks.  Here’s wishing you healthy days and, in the alternative, clear calendars!

“Because I am a mother, I am capable of being shocked: as I never was when I was not one.”

 The passage itself, and in the context of the protaganist grappling with her own personal history, conveys a concept I struggle with a lot:  How do we juxtapose our personal identity and worldview with the Job of Mom?   

For me, becoming a mother was like putting on a robotic helmet – envision Iron Man or Terminator.  I see the world as I normally would, but now with extras: facts and information  in digital red lettering springing  up in my peripheral vision  “DANGER” “UNSAFE” “OFFENSIVE”.

I used to see bare midriffs in music videos and covet the stars’ flat abs.  Now, I still covet,  but I also see flashing margin notes: terrible message for girls.  Or, while reminiscing about my own youth in facebook (as is today’s fashion) I think “what fun” and “no regrets” at the same time “Note to self re: teenage years: Not as innocent as she may appear,” gets bookmarked with a tab at the top of my mask.  Lofty ideas for gender equity and free choice hit me one way as a person and differently as a mother.   How’s it all playing out for you?

Ueland, a Minneapolis author who taught evening writing classes, often to women ‘homemakers’, published the book in 1938, and the title is somewhat deceiving. It’s less about writing as a craft and more about finding the freedom to foster individual creativity and pride. For me, the book has become a go-to source of inspiration and motivation on days when I am questioning whether to blog, or read my book club book, or run, or do any of those “low-priority” Google to-do tasks.

For example, she writes:

…[I]f you are always doing something for others, like a servant or a nurse, and never anything for yourself, you cannot do others any good. You make them physically more comfortable. But you cannot affect them spiritually in any way at all. For to teach, encourage, cheer up, console, amuse, stimulate or advise a husband or children or friends, you have to be something yourself. And how to be something yourself? Only by working hard and with gumption at something you love and care for and think is important.

I thought I’d share – just as a little reminder that whether you love to write, sing, or draw, to bake, craft or knit, to argue, campaign, or organize, to run, swim, or golf – it’s not just important to do those things “for yourself” – it’s necessary to your jobs as parent, spouse and friend.

Leondra and the Overwhelming, Frustrating, No-Breaks, Very Mom Day

My husband hit the snooze button but forgot to turn his alarm off and I woke up to Firehouse singing Baby Don’t Treat Me Bad. Then 2 came in screaming and when I put him in front of the TV the cable was out and I couldn’t find his Bob the Builder DVD and his yelling woke up the dog who started yelping. I went to get a cup of coffee but the coffeepot had leaked all over the kitchen counter.

I knew it was going to be an overwhelming, frustrating, no-breaks, very mom day.

At breakfast 6 wanted frozen waffles, 4 wanted sweetened cereal and 2 wanted homemade pancakes. We were out of waffles and we were out of cereal so I made homemade pancakes. 6 pushed his plate away, 4 said I was mean and she didn’t like me and 2 pretended his pancake was a laser gun and pointed it at me while making shooting noises.

I can’t wait until they’re all grown up with kids of their own.

4 wouldn’t let me fix her hair and whined that she didn’t like her outfit and 2 waited until we got in the car to tell me he had to go potty. I took off his coat and mittens and shoes and pants and underwear. And then he peed on the bathroom floor. I cleaned up his pee and when I stood up I hit my head on the bathroom counter. It was an overwhelming, frustrating, no-breaks, very mom day.

When I was backing out of the garage 2 threw a truck at 6 and when I turned around to yell at him I smashed the mirror into the garage and it broke into tiny pieces. Then 6 was mad because he was still hungry, and 4 was still whining about her hair and 2 kept taking off his seat belt. I screamed at everyone that if they didn’t behave I was going to turn this car around but then 4 took away 2’s big gee tick (big green truck) and 2 bit her on the arm. I said mommy really was going to have a nervous breakdown, but nobody even noticed. It was a frustrating, overwhelming, no-breaks, very mom day.

There was road construction everywhere and I hate road construction. There were Christmas carols on the radio before Thanksgiving and I hate Christmas carols on the radio before Thanksgiving. There were telemarketers calling on the phone and I *hate* telemarketers.

After school we went to the shoe store for snowboots. 6 wanted crocs and 4 wanted suede cowgirl boots and while I was explaining about how we live in Minnesota 2 bolted out the front door to the parking lot and I grabbed him just before he got hit by a big green truck. I told them when they’re all grown up with kids of their own they can buy whatever shoes they want.

No one would pick up their toys and no one could agree on what book to read. When I put dinner on the table 6 said “ew” and 4 said “yuck” and 2 said “no”. 4 told me my breath smelled and 6 asked me why we always have to eat what you like to eat. I said when they grow up I hope they all have three picky eaters who won’t eat any food.

It started raining and I had to let the dog in and she got mud all over the clean carpets. But by the time I finished cleaning them it was bath time and 4 found a bug in the bathtub, 6 refused to clip his fingernails and 2 pointed the bathsoap at me like a laser and made shooting noises. It was a frustrating, overwhelming, no-breaks very mom day.

At bedtime 4 screamed “MMOOOOM I need water!” And 6 screamed “I can’t sleep!” And 2 just screamed. I wondered if I would get any sleep when they’re all grown up.

I called my mom and told her I had an overwhelming, frustrating, no-breaks, very mom day. She said some days are like that.

Even when they’re all grown up with kids of their own.

I would groan, and sigh, and roll my eyes.  But, to this day, I don’t leave the house with chipped nail polish (or, I do, but I feel completely self-conscious and apologize about it to everyone I see.)

So, now that Kindergarten has started, I have been developing ways to bug the crap out of my six-year-old in order to be sure I teach him important life lessons. I have to admit, this is a mothering skill (perhaps the first) the mastery of which has come really easily for me.  I just might have been born for the role of annoying mom.

For one, I’ve developed a great Kindergarten drop off ritual.  I pull up to the curb, and I say  “I love you, bud.  Have a great day.”  He responds “Love you, too, mom,” and gives me a hug. 

Then, just as he’s hopping out of the van, I command in the most sing-songy voice I can muster, “don’t forget to smile today.”  For about a week, he smiled and waved as he walked into school.  Now, though, he starts preparing me as soon as we enter the parking lot. “DO NOT tell me to smile.”  As we pull up to the curb, he looks at me with eyebrows lowered. “Mooom, do NOT say it.”  We go through the rest of the routine, with him imploring me, begging me aloud and with his silent body language, not to tell him to smile. And I don’t.  Until right before the van door clicks shut. 

“You know you’ll do it, though!” I yell when it’s too late for him to respond.  Then he turns and walks away, and I can see him fight with the corners of his mouth demanding them to stay serious, but losing just a little. 

And then I smile, too, because I think, out of all the lessons we try to teach our children in a day, it would be a pity if they didn’t learn that one.  Indeed, even I need a refresher course from time to time.  Like my mom always said, “your outfit would look fine if you’d stop scowling in the mirror.”  I always hated that.