Chasing Superwoman

by Susan DiMickele

  Don’t get me wrong; it was just as hard to leave Abby to return to work—and in some ways it was harder, knowing she would be my last—but we soon got into a routine and I was thankful to have a loving caregiver for her in my absence. Besides, had I stayed home any longer, Jill would have fired me. God never intended for two women to run the same house.

  I don’t know any mother who hasn’t struggled with leaving her newborn to return to work. I always second-guess myself. Sometimes I wonder, Am I really providing what’s best for my children? Wouldn’t they be better off if I was with them all day? I could feed them healthy food, limit TV intake, read them stories for hours, potty train them early, keep them on a strict schedule, nap them religiously, sign them up for “mommy and me” classes, keep them away from sick kids, and screen their playdates. (Ok, I’m probably exaggerating a bit, and I would certainly skip the “mommy and me” classes, but you get the point.) Most days I feel as if my best hours go to client meetings, conference calls, and court appearances. Devoted Mommy is exhausted by the end of the day, and Doug and the kids are stuck with my leftovers. What’s wrong with this picture?

  I don’t have the answers. And I’m always leery when someone tells me she has it all figured out. I just know that it never gets easier. It’s just not natural for a mother to give up control. As my kids get older, I think they need me more, not less. It’s one thing to delegate nap schedules and diapers. But as they get older, it’s going to get harder to delegate homework projects, the Internet, video games, peer pressure, and after-school activities. I’m going to need to install a hidden camera just to monitor my teenagers from the office. So as I pull out of the driveway each day, I try to remember that God is in control—not me—and I ask Him to keep the children in His care until we are safely united again. And I cherish the support of other mothers who encourage me every step of the way.

  Lessons from Laura

  My niece, Level-Headed Laura, is one of those mothers. She is always sending me encouraging notes about being a passionate mother while having a career. I recently got to watch Laura go through the struggle of returning to work after birthing her second child, Harrison. My heart goes out to her as I watch her juggle it all with grace and confidence. It’s never easy. I always save her notes. This is one of my favorites:

  I really appreciate the way that you were so real and straightforward with me at Grandma’s about how it is HARD to leave your kids, even when you enjoy your job and know it is valuable too. It is so refreshing to hear someone just say it. Often, I feel like my working-mom friends want to hide that they cry when they leave in the morning. Anyway, I wanted you to know that you made me feel so much better knowing that I am not insane for enjoying my work and wanting to be home, too. And it also made me feel liberated to cry in the morning and then be okay in the afternoon.

  Level-Headed Laura, ten years my junior, has always been more like my younger sister than my niece. Just after she and Cole got married (and started to think about having children and balancing her career as a teacher) she would ask me, “Aunt Susie, how do you do it?” I’d give her my standard response, but also explain it’s not easy.

  We were all elated to find out that Laura was expecting. I waited with eager anticipation to watch Firstborn Sister be the first to have a grandchild of her own.

  After Laura’s first ultrasound, we knew things were not going to unfold as planned. On a cold Thanksgiving Day we will never forget, we gathered around the table and cried and prayed as Laura and Cole explained to us that their daughter was going to have some special needs.

  As Laura’s ninth month approached, the doctors were amazed at the baby’s incredible strength, despite her rare medical condition. Laura carried her for nine full months, and on Easter morning, Aubrey Rose was born into the arms of Jesus. Rose, a family name, taken from our grandma, Rose D’Ercole, symbolized the great determination and passion of the women in our family. Although Laura was physically and emotionally drained, she returned to work shortly after Aubrey’s passing just to say good-bye to her students.

  She could have ridden out her sick leave. Certainly she had every right to say, “Hey, I’m recovering from losing my firstborn, not to mention childbirth. I need some time alone, and I’ll see you all next year.” Everyone would have understood. Instead she wanted closure. She could have pushed people away. Instead she chose community.

  I’ve never returned from maternity leave without the joy of a child to come home to after a long day’s work. What do you say to your colleagues when they ask you how you’re doing? How do you go home to a quiet house, and how do you forget about losing your baby when your body is still recovering from childbirth?

  I know Laura will never forget the pain. In many ways, she wouldn’t want to. But I also love to see her with Harrison, knowing that he is a special gift from God and she treasures every moment. So I pray that Laura would be strong as she balances being a passionate mother with being an excellent teacher. Leaving my children to go to work is never easy, but nothing is more rewarding than coming home to your children and being reunited after a long day’s work. Yes, my mommy cape is probably the hardest cape I wear, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

  FOUR

  The Daily Grind

  Be still, and know that I am God.

  Psalm 46:10

  My day typically begins at 7:00 a.m. I know what you’re thinking: This is awfully late. Most mothers of young children begin their day at some painful hour like 4:30 a.m. Been there. Done that. My get-out-of-bed time does have its exceptions, such as when I have to get into the office early, catch a morning flight, run with my neighbor Emily, take care of sick kids, or help Nick finish his homework that we forgot to do the night before. But most days, I relish every extra minute of sleep.

  Once I get out of bed and hit the ground running, there’s no turning back. In a matter of one hour, I have to shower, dress, get ready for work, eat breakfast, make breakfast for the kids, help Anna pick out her clothes, dress the kids, change Abby’s diaper, check backpacks for lunches and homework, check the calendar for carpool duty and other schedule changes, and get out the door. If we have carpool duty, that means we have to leave at least five minutes earlier to pick up Reed and Jack, so I really should have gotten up at 6:55 a.m. Most mornings, I’m cutting it close.

  It’s humanly impossible to get all of this done in one hour. But I try. The morning is the one time I readily admit I couldn’t do it without Doug. He does circles around me. By the time I roll out of bed at 7:00 a.m., he has already showered, eaten breakfast, read the paper, and had his coffee. (Mind you, I single-handedly put the kids to bed the night before while he passed out in his La-Z-Boy at 8:00 p.m. watching ESPN.) He’s pretty handy to have around in the morning.

  Even with Doug’s help, I still have to cut corners. The shower is the first thing to go. I can pull my hair back in a twist, spray on some perfume, and no one will know the difference. Showers are overrated, and most Americans are too obsessed with hygiene. I learned that in college traveling through Europe. Blonde Sister disagrees, but even she can’t argue that I’m pressed for time in the mornings. Besides, I much prefer an evening soak in the bath after everyone is in bed. Breakfast is also optional. My own breakfast, that is. I wouldn’t be a decent mother if I let my children go without breakfast, but I can always grab something on the go. I used to get a toasted bagel with cream cheese, or better yet, a moist cranberry scone. Bagels and scones unfortunately ended with my low-carb diet, so I settle for some granola and a few nuts.

  On a good day, it usually takes me twenty minutes to dress Anna and do her hair. The first dilemma: She can’t decide what she’s going to wear. She has one shirt she likes, “butterfly shirt,” that she rotates with pink and brown pants. Butterfly shirt is ripping because we wash and wear it five times a week, but Anna doesn’t care. She often prefers to get butterfly shirt out of the dirty clothe
s rather than wear something inferior. If I’m lucky, she’ll settle for her leopard tank top. Unfortunately, it’s usually the middle of winter when she wants to wear leopard tank top, and her teachers will ask me again why she’s not wearing clothes. My answer? I don’t have a good one. I just pick my battles. I’m going to spend most of my day fighting with Jerk Lawyer and trying to calm down Crazy Client, so I really don’t want to have a fight over leopard tank top.

  Unfortunately I’m not very spiritual in the morning. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I’ve set my alarm, bought devotionals, and even taken early showers. Nothing seems to work. I’ve heard lots of sermons about the importance of “quiet time” in the morning. I can’t argue with the concept. It makes perfect sense: Start your day out right, spend time in meditation and prayer, and order your priorities. I even heard a pastor say that he has yet to meet a “serious Christian” who doesn’t spend at least an hour in study and prayer every morning. Obviously I need to get with the program. But by the time I’ve gotten myself and the kids out the door, I’ve forgotten to pray. Besides, it’s time for me to change from Devoted Mommy into Lady Lawyer. Lady Lawyer is too busy to pray.

  The Commute

  I have always had a short commute. During my first five years of practice, we lived in the city. Even after having Nick, I was bound and determined: I would not flee to the suburbs. I would be an urban mother with urban children. Then, when Nick turned one, both of our neighbors were robbed at gunpoint and I forgot my urban ideals. We ran to the oldest and stodgiest suburb we could find and never looked back. The good news is that even on a heavy traffic day, my commute is still only twenty minutes.

  A short commute certainly has benefits. I spend less time in the car and get to see more of my kids. But a short commute also has its challenges. It’s short. Sometimes, too short. Every New Year’s Eve, I resolve that I’m going to use my commute for prayer and quiet time. But by the time I check my voice mail and return a few calls, my commute is over. Lady Lawyer is in full gear.

  My car has turned into my second office. When Nick turned five, he went to Safety Town and learned a bunch of things about safety, including what your parents should and shouldn’t do while driving a car. The result? “Mom, you really shouldn’t be talking on your cell phone while you’re driving. It’s dangerous.” And I actually paid for him to go to Safety Town. I wanted him to learn safety, not turn into the family sheriff. Aren’t they supposed to learn about bike riding, stranger danger, and poison control at Safety Town? Who inserted the material on parent cell phone use? Not a working mother. At least not one with my kind of job.

  For most mothers, multitasking is not optional. It’s a matter of survival. Asking me not to use my phone on my commute is like asking me not to breathe. I have to make the most of every moment, short or not. Then again, I’d probably be making the most of every moment if I used my twenty-minute commute just for quiet time and turned off everything else.

  Sometimes I ask myself what I would do if I had a long commute. I’d probably feel guilty for spending more time away from the kids. I’d probably pray more in the car, but I’d get home later, be more exhausted, and might even have less patience. For now, I’ll stick with my short commute. Every once in awhile, I just have to remember to turn off my phone and savor a few minutes of solitude. Once I walk into my office, I’m lucky to have an undisturbed moment in the bathroom.

  The Day That Never Ends

  One good thing about a busy legal practice is the days go fast. Incredibly fast. By 5:00 p.m. I wonder where the day has gone. I still have calls to return, emails to read, and deadlines to meet. I try to turn my laptop off and pack my briefcase, but my desk is like a vacuum, pulling me in with all its force, and my chair is like a magnet. I can’t get up. Lady Lawyer and Devoted Mommy start to wrestle. Devoted Mommy can already hear the kids calling and they’re starting to get hungry. Lady Lawyer can hear her clients complaining tomorrow if they don’t get a return call tonight. The struggle continues until Devoted Mommy prevails. As soon as Lady Lawyer completes her last email and hits the send button, Devoted Mommy shuts down her laptop and runs for the door ahead of schedule. It feels like escape from Alcatraz.

  But we haven’t seen the last of Lady Lawyer. Just as I pull into my driveway at 6:05 p.m. my cell phone rings. I almost don’t answer it, but it’s the president of my largest client. This can’t be good. Prior to leaving the office, I had emailed him the “final draft” of an agreement. He now needs another draft of revisions, and he needs it immediately.

  He starts to explain his latest crisis at the same time I have pulled into my garage. My children have already spotted me. I quickly put my phone on mute, blow a few kisses to the kids, and run into the house, thinking it will be a short conversation. Of course, I’m wrong. Given that it’s a beautiful summer evening and the kids are playing outside, I assume they will enjoy the fresh air and leave me alone in our home office. Again, I am wrong.

  I’ve come to learn the art of carrying on a phone conversation by utilizing the mute button frequently. My clients call me for legal advice and sometimes I actually have to talk back. Most attorneys, including me, talk too much. Using the mute button forces me to listen.

  By the time I need to unmute and speak to my client, my three children have all followed me into the office. Where is Doug when I need him? I spot him out the window, but he’s already cutting the front lawn. I motion for him, put the phone back on mute, and yell, “Help! I need your help. I’m talking to a client.” But he can’t hear me because the mower is too loud and he assumes I’m just trying to make conversation.

  I have no options, so I panic. Desperate for some childproof space so I can talk to my client, I run outside and into the middle of the street and unmute my phone. By this time, my client figures out that I have arrived home, and I make some joke about the background noise. But my client didn’t call me to hear background noise. He needs the agreement now, and if I can’t help him he’ll find someone else who can. After all, there’s no shortage of attorneys these days. By this time, Abby is screaming at the top of her lungs, heading for the street. My neighbor graciously intercepts her while I finish my phone conversation, and Doug continues to cut the grass. I end my conversation promptly and head into our home office to finish the agreement.

  Why didn’t I just stay in the office? I’ll tell you why. It’s simple: I’m a mother. I need to see my children and they need to see me. Nick wants to tell me about school, Anna wants to show me what she’s been practicing in gymnastics, and Abby just wants me to hold her. I so desperately want to give them my undivided attention, but I can’t. Not yet. First I need to end my workday. Easier said than done.

  Just when I think I have things under control, my laptop freaks out. I’m starting to have “issues” connecting to the network from home. Unfortunately the last version of the agreement is on the network and, no, I did not save a copy on my hard drive. I call our firmwide “help desk” and get put on hold. “All of the help desk analysts are busy right now assisting other callers. Your call will be answered in the order it was received. Thank you for your patience.” What patience? I have only so much patience, and I reserve it exclusively for my children. Mothers need patience. Lawyers don’t. Speaking of patience, the kids have followed me into the office and all of them are screaming for my attention. Nick and Anna are still arguing about who gets my attention first. Abby is still screaming because she just wants me to hold her. I can’t hold her because I don’t have a free hand.

  I finally break through to an analyst named George. A human being at last—I’m in business. George explains in greater detail than I care that my router isn’t recognizing my wireless connection. I have no interest in understanding the problem; I just want it fixed. I can barely hear him as he walks me through a series of connectivity drills. This is what I get for leaving the office early. I wasn’t thinking like Lady Lawyer. She needs to do a bette
r job of keeping my mommy cape away from the office. Devoted Mommy needs some serious boundaries. For all I know, she probably sabotaged my laptop.

  As George continues to walk me through the drills, Abby is screaming so loud that I can barely hear him. I don’t press the mute button. The mute button is reserved specifically for clients. I don’t have to worry about impressing George and the firmwide technology geeks. In fact, the louder my kids yell, the more they try to help me just so they can be rid of me and my screaming children. Sometimes screaming kids can work to your advantage.

  I remember the days when I used to work at home and actually found it productive. When I first started practicing law, Doug and I would try to have a late dinner together most evenings. If I couldn’t get my work done in the office, I’d bring it home and get a few things done after dinner. After Nick was born, I found myself leaving the office early just so I could have some quality time with him before he went to bed. Firstborns, of course, always go to bed early, and I’d put him to bed around 8:00 p.m. and still have time to do some work at home.

  With three kids, all that has changed.

  By the time I complete the agreement, it’s 6:45 p.m. I still have to properly greet the children, have dinner, do homework, give baths, put the laundry away, unload the dishwasher, return emails in between baths and stories, read stories, do prayers, and finally tuck three kids in bed. Doug always tells me I need to put them in bed earlier—that I shouldn’t fall for one more book or yet another glass of water. He’s probably right. Why do I feel as if I have to read to each of them individually? Why can’t I simply read one story to the group, throw up a few prayers, and turn off the light? I’m probably just trying to make up for the fact that I’ve been gone all day. Even Doug doesn’t argue with my intentions. He just hates to see me totally and completely exhausted, and he knows that, chances are, by the time I put them to bed I’ll have more work to do into the evening.