Confessions of a Working Mom

The real scoop behind what it's like to be a working mom.



Heart. It’s that spot that aches to the left of your chest.

When you go with your husband to the hospital ER to visit his dying grandmother, you hardly expect him to come out after visiting with his half-wit sperm donor to tell you he has a brother. Yes, you read correctly. Over his dying grandmother’s body, my husband learns that, “oh, by the way, about 8 months ago I was approached by this guy who said I was his dad. And don’t you know, he looks just like me.”

Needless to say, this rocked our world. My husband has always been an only child on that side of his family. His mom (being a smart woman), ditched the sperm donor and found a lovely man to marry. One who adopted my husband and then subsequently produced his sister, M. To learn that there was a man out there who was his brother was shocking. The fact that sperm donor had known for 8 months and not said anything was angering. Finding out that the brother knew about my husband and hadn’t reached out, bewildering.

After much conversation, we determined that the brother had no idea my husband had been adopted and so was probably searching for some guy with a different name. With a little sleuthing, we were able to track him down and start conversations. My husband is very excited and we are going to meet the brother this weekend.

My problem? Since all of this has occurred, my husband has withdrawn into himself. He had laid out a plan of action. He wasn’t going to tell his mom until we’d gone through the DNA process and had a definitive answer. But, as soon as I go out of town last week, the first thing he does is tell his mom and his sister. He does it without me. This hurts because I feel excluded. Then, his grandmother passes away and I take some time off to be with him. He tells me there is no funeral. But, this morning (as I’m again out of town on business), he sends me a picture of him and our kids dressed up to go to the funeral. His withdrawal and complete exclusion of me from all of this hurts terribly. As his wife, aren’t I supposed to be by his side? I tried explaining to him last week how I felt about being excluded from dropping this news on his parents and how badly it hurt me. To have him immediately follow that up with excluding me from the funeral just makes my chest ache.

If behavior like this had been a constant part of our marriage, we wouldn’t be married. I can’t exist with someone who doesn’t involve me in their life. I know none of us expect to find out we have a sibling at 42 years old – and that this has absolutely rocked his life – but my fear is that he’s moving down a path that doesn’t include me in it. And really, where does that path end? With a life where I’m not a part of? Because that’s what I’m afraid of and that’s why my heart just aches and aches with the choices he’s making. I want my husband back but feel like he’s on the other end of a call that keeps breaking up due to static – you can’t really understand what’s going on and continuing seems pointless.



It’s Friday again and thank God.

Being an executive for a large company, a mom to four kids, and a wife to a stay-at-home dad is challenging. Springtime seems to be the worst. This week my 6 year old boy, B,┬ástarted t-ball on Tuesday. This lasts for the next 8 weeks. Tuesday involved rushing home from work, making sure my B had all his t-ball paraphernalia all ready to go, and getting us all over to the field by 6 p.m. We were all home by 8 p.m. and it didn’t seem so bad. Until I realized I still needed to get plastic Easter eggs and candy from the store to send with him to school for the Easter egg hunt. So off I went. The night ended with candy-stuffed eggs and me feeling like a lard because I’d consumed half of the leftover chocolates from the egg stuffing.

Wednesday was a rinse and repeat kind of day. My 8 year old daughter, C, had volleyball practice. Again, it started at 6 p.m. I found myself rushing home and doing the same steps all over again that had just happened the day before. This night, however, was hat making night. A hat needed to be made for Thursday’s Easter parade. So, after volleyball practice, off I went for a quick trip to the local craft store. The night ended with me high on spray adhesive fumes and with little bits of plastic grass stuck to my clothing. And I’d consumed the other half of the chocolates I’d hidden the night before in my sock drawer. But the hat was made!

Thursday there was a weird lull. There was the Easter parade (which I missed because of work) and not a lot else. I found it vaguely ironic that I had done all this prep work for the kids and I couldn’t even participate in the events at school. One of the glaring conundrums of being a working mom, right? But, lest we forget Friday, I still had one more day in which to achieve motherly greatness. Friday morning, starting at 7:30, was Muffins with Mom. I love my children, I truly do. But I work and so I don’t participate in a lot of the events at school that occur during the day. So I’m completely outside of all the cliques. I dread events like Muffins with Mom because it’s like being the new kid in high school all over again. There’s nowhere to sit in the cafeteria except next to the weird kid. And I’m the weird kid. So anyway, I wake my kids up an hour early Friday morning (myself included) and we lug ourselves off to grab a Starbucks before hitting Muffins with Mom. The only thing that makes the morning bearable is the fact that they are thrilled I am at school with them. But as soon as they scarf down their muffins, they are ready to be done with the whole thing. They kiss me sweetly and then completely ditch me. I’m left sitting there like a complete reject.

So here it is, the highly anticipated Friday. I’m plugging way at my job when my husband calls me. He’s a sweet man, one of the best I’ve ever met. But he thinks like a kid a lot of the time. So he calls me and suggests we have our friends and their six kids over for movie night tonight on the back lawn. When I ask how we’re going to do that because our back lawn needs to be mowed and our four month old puppy has chewed up and spit out half of the toys back there, he is affronted with me. How dare I question his plans? Am I just a dullard? No fun? Of course he’ll take care of that all. And move the TV outside. And string some lights. And buy pizza and paper plates and sodas for all. We’ll picnic he says.

As I am dead silent on the other end of the phone, it occurs to me that maybe I shouldn’t have looked forward to Friday. I love our friends. And my husband. And my kids. But I’m tired! I feel like I directed half of the military of the world this week and would just like 15 or so minutes in which to quietly celebrate my success. Without kids. Without friends. Without my husband. Just me in a quiet house alone. Does that make me selfish? I guess it probably does. But I feel like I’ve shared so much of myself already this week that I don’t have any left to give. I know when I get home, I’ll change and get comfortable and at some point during the evening, maybe while I’m sharing some wine with my friends, I’ll again think to myself, “TGIF”.

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