Last November, my daughter’s teacher sent out photographs of the Kindergarten Thanksgiving party. Little kids with cornucopias eating treats. I couldn’t look at the photos. I couldn’t bear it.
Mommy Guilt used to ache in my heart. Aching sadness about missing great expanses of my children’s lives. Regret for the haphazard rush of our lives. It was a cost of our dual-income life.
On Wednesday, I picked the kids up late from after-school care — just before 6 p.m. I had a 4 p.m. coaching client downtown and traffic was bad. I knew my 5 year old was going to be disappointed that I was so late, and getting dinner started at 6 o’clock with two hungry, tired kids is a drag, and the whole evening was going to be a rush.
As I walked toward the KidsCo doors late on Wednesday and could see my kids’ little heads bopping about inside, the Mommy Guilt kicked in.
And then I remembered that I had volunteered in the kids’ school on Tuesday and spent the rest of the day with my kids, and that I would be doing the same thing on Thursday. And doing the same thing the next week. And the week after.
I could feel the guilt lifting off my broad shoulders and dropping aside with a crash into the night.
This Thanksgiving, maybe I’ll be the parent taking photographs at the school party.
Mommy Guilt used to ache in my heart. Aching sadness about missing great expanses of my children’s lives. Regret for the haphazard rush of our lives. It was a cost of our dual-income life.
On Wednesday, I picked the kids up late from after-school care — just before 6 p.m. I had a 4 p.m. coaching client downtown and traffic was bad. I knew my 5 year old was going to be disappointed that I was so late, and getting dinner started at 6 o’clock with two hungry, tired kids is a drag, and the whole evening was going to be a rush.
As I walked toward the KidsCo doors late on Wednesday and could see my kids’ little heads bopping about inside, the Mommy Guilt kicked in.
And then I remembered that I had volunteered in the kids’ school on Tuesday and spent the rest of the day with my kids, and that I would be doing the same thing on Thursday. And doing the same thing the next week. And the week after.
I could feel the guilt lifting off my broad shoulders and dropping aside with a crash into the night.
This Thanksgiving, maybe I’ll be the parent taking photographs at the school party.
