Ramshackle Glam is a website about parenting, divorce, aging, mental health, and other funny stuff. Free posts are published every week, but FYI if you want to upgrade you’ll automatically receive an eBook that I wrote just for paid subscribers.
Let me tell you about the moment when I realized that even though my work has always been vitally important to me, I also need to actively shut off sometimes – not just in a half-assed way (where I’m technically engaging with my kids but 60% of my brain is devoted to the email I need to remember to send), but all the way.
And I need to do this on purpose, because it doesn’t come naturally.
This realization has happened to various degrees many times over the years, but the first time it really stuck in was when the kids were little, and I had taken them to a Children’s Science Museum. They were playing with this massive model of hills and trees and buffalos, and I was half-watching them play and half-checking my text messages because even though I’d taken the afternoon off I still needed (wanted?) to make sure everything was cool work-wise, and suddenly I looked up and realized how photogenic and symmetrical the background was and how great the colors were, and thought, oh hey – I should Instagram this! It’s cute! And symmetrical! And those colors!
I went to open the photo app, and they moved a little to the left. And suddenly the background wasn’t symmetrical, and they were standing in front of a brown wall, not that pretty green one. I heard myself start to say “Oh honey could you go back to where you were standing before? On the other side of your sister…?” and then realized:
What. The fuck. Am I doing.
I was literally contemplating asking my children to stop playing so that I could “capture a moment” that wasn’t even the moment that they were in. (I did take a photo. It was in front of the brown wall, and it was really cute. And then later, when I was home and they were napping, I sent it to my mom.)
It’s so hard to remember, though. So often, I’ll turn down a movie or a game or a bike ride because I have work to do, and they’ll shrug and retreat to their rooms. Or they’ll come up to ask me a question, but I’ll be so focused that I don’t even hear the words coming out of their mouths, and they have to repeat them. Even as I say the words that I might as well have tattooed on my forehead by now (“You guys need to give me a minute so I can finish up work”) I hear two different people in my head: one is yelling at me that nothing – nothing – is more important than time with my children (don’t forget to savor! every! moment! time passes so fast!) and the other is yelling at me to stop feeling guilty about being an adult who loves both her kids and her work – and for god’s sake don’t apologize for it, because men sure as hell don’t.
The other night, I took my daughter out for dinner, just us two. I was angry with her for saying that she didn’t want her brother to come, because I thought she was making him feel bad, but mostly because I didn’t want to argue about who got to do what and when and where; I just wanted to feed them and be done with the day already.
She started crying. But mom, she said. You’re always in such a rush.
She qualified this quickly, because I guess she’s learned how much guilt I carry, which of course only made me feel guiltier. I know it’s because you’re working hard to take care of us.
Then: I just wanted to sit and talk to you for awhile.
…And so yes, my heart broke. She is right. Still, even after years of working towards some semblance of balance, I am in a rush, so much of the time. I’m in a rush to get out the door, a rush to get dinner on the table, a rush to go to sleep because if I end up having an insomnia night and don’t spend enough hours with my eyes closed I know that my brain will work at half-speed the next day and that is not an option when the things that you have to do are Everything.
Her words stopped me in my tracks, though. I just want to sit and talk to you for awhile. Isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted, really? A daughter who not only wants to be with me, but is able to express that so clearly?
We did go out to dinner, just us two. I didn’t touch my phone once, not because I was forcing myself not to but because we were busy singing Benson Boone into each others’ faces. We talked about the seismic shifts that our family has undergone. We talked about hair. When the check came we went for ice cream instead of heading straight home, and she beamed — I mean beamed — the whole way.