The Confessional

Today I pulled the mini-van up to the Wendy's drive-thru window. The glass slid open and a women about the same age as I am appeared. "Hi Hon, you're total is $8.27.  Are you off from work today?"  I felt worried about my answer.  I defiantly didn't look like a woman on her lunch break.  My hair was doing some weird Jared Leto pony-bun thing and my sloppy t-shirt under my jacket was a dead give-away that I was not coming from, nor going to a paying job that day.  I am on my second week of classes and briefly thought about saying that I was a "graduate student" or that I am "working on my masters".  But who can take that seriously when Kids Place Live is playing in your mini-van.  No, I was just there because I am out of my tub of Wegman's organic spring mix salad and I really love Wendy's salads.  I was going to have a gem of a moment where two kids are asleep in the car and I was going to sit and eat my salad and listen to the radio.

My mom worked when I was a kid, and her mom before her, and the one before that was from "the old country" and probably racked up some good hours of farm work.  Why I couldn't get the tall beautiful model Eastern European genes instead of the short, strong, babushka wearing Eastern European genes is a crying shame.  But I certainly have a lot of natural energy passed down from those working women, and I am very thankful for that.

My maternal grandmother, Helen, left school after 9th grade to work.  She told me that she was tired of being poor and wanted "nice things".  She was a factory worker - silk mill and donut factory are two places that I know of.  My mother complains of being a chubby teenager because of all the donuts my grandmother would bring home. Helen got married at 18 to my first grandfather and had a toddler and a newborn when she lost him in WWII. She was then a young, single, working mother until she met my second grandfather several years later, got married, and had my two uncles.  Two husbands, four kids, ten grandkids, and fifteen great-grandkids later, Helen is now almost 91 and going quite strong for her nine decades of life.

My mother graduated high school and entered the "white-collar" world as a secretary where she met father when he came to fix her type-writer (I know, how cute is that?).  Mom and Dad married young at 20, and my father finished college with 3 young kids and went on to be a successful electrical engineer.  My mother had me later, at age 36, when my siblings were almost all teenagers.  She worked when I went to school.  I was then a "latch key" kid.  Came home, got my hidden key from the magnetic box my dad put on the water meter, and spent about 1-2 hours alone until my mom got home from work.  In the summers, she would drop me off at the pool for swim practice before 9 am with my cooler packed with lunch and I would stay all day there doing tennis lessons, swimming, and running around with other kids until 4:30 when she would pick me up.  Sound dangerous? No way! It was the 80's! Those were the best summers ever...

Anyway, I don't remember missing my mom.  Not because I didn't want her around, just because I was too busy having an awesome summer full of memories.  That's because I had a mom that left me every morning feeling so loved and cared for that all had to do was think about having fun.  And then she would pick me up and take me home and make sure I was fed and clean and rested for my next day of awesomeness. She loved me so much and I knew that.  It was a blanket of confidence that followed me my entire childhood, when she was home and when she wasn't.

I handed the woman a ten and answered, "No, I stay home with the kids". 
She raised her eyebrows, "Well, then you aren't off at all are you?" 
"No, I guess not" I answered with a meek smile.
"How old are your children?"
"16, 7, almost 3, and 5 months... all boys"
"Wow! I have two daughters 8 and 9.  They look like twins, you should see them! My oldest was in the NICU for a while and her sister caught up fast.  I also have a 4 month old son, I am so thankful for him because I lost twin boys in a still birth..."

She went on to tell me that her new baby was colicky.  He was colicky the minute she couldn't pump anymore and switched him to formula.  I felt like I was lost I time with this woman, telling me about her sweet little son.  She had slid open the doors to a mom to mom confessional with me and the working mom guilt oozed out of every pore of her being. The nervous way she fiddled and just wanted to talk about her kids for a few minutes. The earnest look in her eyes when she told me how thankful she was to have this little man to love.  And love she did. God, I could tell she loved her kids.

 I knew how much she agonized about leaving that baby to go to work.  I wanted to tell her that it would be ok, that if I could feel how much love she has in her heart, her kids could feel it 100 fold. I wanted to tell her that her yearning and second guessing and guilt was real and justified and that's what good moms do.  I wanted to tell her that her kids were going to grow up so loved and secure that they wouldn't ever remember missing her, they would just remember love and fun and mom coming home.  Because that's what kids remember and need and thrive on most, the feeling that their mother loves them.  Their mother loves them while they are the cashier at Wendy's for eight hour shifts or while they are just in the next room folding laundry.  Your kids will remember that you loved them. 

But then a car pulled up to the order point, our moment in time was abruptly broken, and she had to go back to work.  "Enjoy your day" she said, "You too." I replied.  The confessional window closed and I drove away.  I wish I could have said what I wanted to her, but nothing I say will make a good mom like that stop feeling guilty.  I was just glad I was able to let her talk about her kids for 5 minutes. And I know she'll clock out and rush home and squeeze that baby and try to soothe his colic, help her daughters with homework and dinner and put everyone to bed maybe a little bit later than she should just to spend a little extra time with them.  And her kids will wake up the next day cloaked in powerful, unconditional love that will last a lifetime. 

Dear good moms everywhere who are doing whatever with your life, Just remember that loving your kids is the most important thing.  Because when you do everything with love in your heart, you really are doing your best.  And that guilt you feel for whatever reason, that heartache is your love pushing against the boundaries of your heart, because no physical thing can really contain the love of a good mother.