Trials of the Working Mum #1

This evening, at the GIPNA 4th Annual Fine Wine and Cheese party, I ran into my friend Meredith, who asked me about my new job, and whether I was still blogging, although not necessarily in that order. She told me that she used to read this blog and feel guilty because I was always taking my children on fabulous adventures, while she was working.

I now understand what she means, as I've neither written for pleasure in almost a month, nor done anything enriching with my children in twice as long. Where I used to have five solid days each week to take my children to museums, on playdates, and to IKEA, I now have but one (the other taken up with football with the cousins until early February). And that day is also the day that suburbanites trek into the city to see the fish, tourists on a mad-dash Windy City trip gawk at the Bean, and all of Lincoln Park/Lakeview goes shopping. Add in my regular chores of laundry, bill-paying, dry-cleaners, menu-planning, Target runs, and catching up on my sleep. Not to mention squeezing in quality one-on-one time with each child (one of whom insists that that time include a ride on the trip and a trip to Starbucks), and well, there's hardly time to breathe, let alone muster the energy to pack three children into a crowded museum for the day.

Yes, I know: this is a uniquely middle-class problem, and I'm fortunate to count myself within it. I've been spoiled by years of visiting the Field, the Shedd, MSI, the Notebaert, the zoos, the Arb, and the Garfield Park Conservatory (not to mention the big blue box) pretty much on my own terms. But: I now understand why people take vacations. I have not worked long enough to feel guilty, as Meredith did, about the adventures upon which I am not or no longer taking my children. Someone ask me in a year if this is still true.

Fucking Fours

Yes, I just used profanity on a blog that is primarily about my children. The Girl is four and she is a hellion in a dress. My mother calls her age/stage the fearsome fours, but my old neighbor, Debra, referred to them as the fucking fours. I think Debra's description is more apt for The Boy's four-year-old behavior and certainly describes The Girl's behavior of late.

We were supposed to have a nice outing with our friend Jenna and her kids, going to the Green City Market for organic goodies and then strolling down to the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum to eat our lunch and explore the museum. But, as I should know by now, things often do not go according to plan.

And today I was that mom -- the one screaming and sprinting down the sidewalk, totally out of control. I was the mom that other moms look at and sigh with relief that they are not, and their children are not mine.

I lost The Girl. Or more accurately, she ran away from me. And not just ran, she sprinted the full length of sidewalk from the south end of the Farm-in-the-Zoo to the U-shaped drive at the Cafe Brauer. The Tot and The Boy were walking, so we were paced much slower than she was. As I came around the curve along the farm fence with the boys, I called to her to stop. She turned, looked at me, and then ran along.

By the time I came to that curve, I could no longer see her -- the path was crowded with kids-on-strings, strollers, and other groups coming south along the east side of Stockton Drive. I sent The Boy to run up to her, but when I came to the entrance of the Zoo farm and still saw him running, I really began to worry. By then, I had The Tot in the stroller and sprinted down the sidewalk. A man with a kids-on-string group asked me if the boy in the red jacket was mine. I said yes, but I was more concerned about the girl in the green sweatshirt. He dropped his backpack and sprinted north. He was running, I was running, The Boy was running, I was doing the mom-panic shriek and I could hear moms pushing strollers in the opposite direction ask what was wrong as I ran past them.

Finally, The Girl had stopped near the entrance to Cafe Brauer. I grabbed her, and yes, dear readers, I spanked her.* Then I took her wrist and we rejoined Jenna & her kids. We said sorry and good-bye, and The Girl screamed all the way back to the car: she could not walk, her feet hurt, she was tired, etc. Later, when we were sitting in traffic on Fullerton, I explained why I was upset with her, to which she replied that she "couldn't hear" me and she just wanted to go to the nature museum.




* Despite using it twice in the past 7 days, I don't consider spanking to be part of my parenting toolkit. Given how often we go on outings, I didn't think it was necessary to remind The Girl to stay close to me. Clearly, I was wrong about that. What corrective action would you have taken if your child ran 2 blocks away from you?

Free for a Week

Good lord, I use the "shopping" tag a lot. I have always liked shopping, but working full-time precluded me engaging in it on a regular basis. But as a mostly stay-at-home mom, I often have a lot of time to kill. With three kids (and three kids' scheduling constraints), I often find myself running errands or shopping during the snippets of time I have rather than going on culturally enriching outings. But, once upon a time, that was not so. If the stars aligned, I could take advantage of Chicago's vast activities calendar to bring the kids to a free program every day of the week. In the winter or during inclement weather (summer affords us more/better options), these activities might include

Monday - Morning Glory Mondays @ Garfield Park Conservatory
Tuesday - Story hour @ Pottery Barn Kids Market Square
Wednesday - Little Red Tot Spot @ St. Edward Church OR day @ Lincoln Park Zoo
Thursday - Free day @ the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum
Friday - Story hour with Neely @ Book Cellar in Lincoln Square