Re-Entry

Until last month, my main job was being a mom to my son, Walker, and daughter, Elena. I filled nine years with nursing, changing diapers, sweeping Cheerios, preschool and play dates. Although I always worked part-time as a tutor or elementary school science teacher, I made sure that my kids’ schedules came first.

Now, I’m teaching high school biology full-time.

I’m responsible for other people’s children, and my kids go to before and after school daycare every day. My husband wakes Walker and Elena up and makes their breakfasts and lunches, because I have to be at school by 7:30.

When I pick up my kids as the sky is getting dark, I’m exhausted. Some days, I’m just too tired to help them with their homework or play a game with them. Instead, I ask if they want to lie next to me on the couch and watch “Sponge Bob” and “The Fairly Odd Parents.”

Driving back from daycare one day, Elena reported that her friend, Anna, told Ms. Bruner’s second-grade class that she wanted to be a mom when she grew up. Walker snickered and said, “Being a mom isn’t a real job.”

I stopped the car, so I could turn around and glare at him.

“Being a mom is one of the most important jobs in the world. Do you know how much work it was to feed you, potty train you, and keep you happy?”

“But now I go to school,” said Walker

“Your school would fall apart without all the moms who give their time, for free.” I gave a dramatic pause. “Who do you think drives on those field trips, organizes those October fundraisers, or volunteers to help with math?”

“But you work, and you’re still a mom,” said Walker.

I felt like saying, ‘Yeah, but now I’m a cruddy mom who does take-out for dinner and forgets to prepare my kids for Friday spelling tests.’

I wondered if Walker knew that I couldn’t name more than three kids in his class. When he was in second grade, I volunteered once a week to help with science or math, and I knew every child’s name and face. I thought of how I no longer knew how much organic smooth peanut butter we had in the refrigerator, because my helpful spouse had taken over lunch duty.

I thought about how long it had been since I had culled the too short pants out of Walker’s drawer, or dusted anything. I thought about the two withered house plants that had paid the ultimate price because of my lack of domestic concentration.

I thought of the scratchy pencil sketches Elena had drawn for her homework cornucopia project, while other mothers had lovingly supplied tempura paint, glitter, and magazine clippings. I didn’t even know Elena had the assignment.

I thought of how I paid VISA two weeks late, because it had gotten buried in my To-Do pile on my dresser.

“Being a parent is a full-time job, Walker. We just don’t get paid for it. ”

I felt like continuing, ‘I have TWO full time careers now and I’m not doing a great job with either.’

Instead, I said, “You probably both will have lots of jobs when you are grown up. Just remember that the value of the work is not how much you get paid, but how much good you do. Being your Mom is the most important work I’ll ever do.”

By Beth Touchette