When my eldest daughter was a few years younger, she coined the phrase “parenting from work”—as the kid of a single working mom, she had finally gotten fed up and declared, “I hate it when you parent from work!” Well, I had to admit that I wasn’t too keen on having to parent from work—all those phone calls asking me where the “insert any item here” was and whether I could please bring milk, real butter and cereal home with me. The meeting interruptions, e-mails, late arrivals and apologies I was constantly vomiting on my co-workers because I am generally not entirely “present” when I’m at work.
Parenting from work isn’t just a “single parents” condition. I think any parent who also works outside the home is doing double duty—managing social calendars, grocery lists, mediating arguments, talking to teachers and day care providers and who knows what else while also trying to keep the boss at bay by being reasonably productive on the job.
The worst “parenting from work” era was when my kids were all middle-schoolers—they were really too old for traditional day care, but not old enough to be functioning and independent. I dreaded those few summers like I dread my annual physical. Okay, worse than I dread my annual physical. Keeping track of everyone’s whereabouts and arguments and activities just about drove me insane (or “to drinking” as my mother used to say.) I’m sure some of you will know exactly what I’m talking about when I share my cringing embarrassment over being told for the umpteenth time that “one of your children is on line two” by the receptionist. By July, I was praying for the never-coming inheritance or fantasizing that my state would develop public boarding schools year-round.
I think it’s just the nature of being a parent who also works outside the home. I wish I could offer sage words of wisdom or advice, but all I can really promise is that things do slow down and they do eventually get old enough to self-regulate. I still get calls at work from my kids—but it is usually to let me know where they are going or remind me of an event. And, I do still get the reminder calls to pick up milk or toilet paper. Now that I think of it, I kind of miss all those daily interruptions reminding me that I was a parent first and foremost…