When our stories merge and I remember that blogging is not futile.

Jan 22, 2011

#Life#The Flinger Family#Working Mom

“WHY is Mommy wearing her scarf and coat and shoes? WHY?!” The question comes from my small man wrestling on the couch with his dad. It’s one of his favorite games to play. “Wrestle with me, Daddy!” He’s as joyful as he gets, rumbling around dictating points and I wins and no, that’s a tie. As happy as he gets so long as we’re all there, together, in the room. “Mommy is going to go finish up some work, Buddy.” The answer send him screaming to the kitchen. “NO! I WANNA GO WIFF YOU! NO! I WANNA GO, TOO!”

It’s been weeks now that I’ve kept this schedule, working while the children sleep, on weekends, after my other job. I’ve explained to the children that sometimes you have to work a lot. It’s OK. It’s not forever. Right now, we NEED Mommy to work. And I LIKE my work. I don’t mind diving in to code on a Saturday morning sipping coffee and watching cars whiz by the window as people do their own weekends. I’m OK with this.

My son, he is not.

I sneak in moments while he is home sick with me I take ten minutes to play race car. I use a break to sit and eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with him. I rub his back while he goes down for a nap and I’m there as he opens his eyes three hours later oblivious to the tasks I’ve completed in that interval.

I emailed Amanda this question. “Just logging in [to work] as Buddy is having such a hard time with me not being around him. Do you think that’s normal?” We are so similar in our work. Hell, we work TOGETHER and I’m sending gratitude for these coding jobs and she’s sending gratitude for my working on them. It’s a wonderful system. I appreciate getting the work and she appreciates the work getting done. In between we share our struggles as working moms with little people, goals we know we’d have if we didn’t work and reassurances that we’re not alone. No, no, I just had a melt down yesterday. And oh, yes, good, go work out. Balance. Support. Yes.

I pondered the futility of blogging just this morning. Ironically, I contemplate not blogging nearly always around upcoming blog conferences. I begin to wonder what the point is, everyone is so determined to make money on their own words and voice and I do not. I start thinking there is not room for ONE MORE THING as I pull myself away from my clinging preschooler.  And then I read Amanda.

Her entry, “Not this minute” unglued me. THIS. Yes. This. While formulating my reply, clarity as shiny as crystal formed. I do not favor my son. I have patience with his clinging that I did not have with my daughter. I do not mind being the only person who can kiss his booboo and the only one who he wants to lay him down in bed. I don’t mind that I am the center of his world, no. While my daughter was never a snuggler, so independent and pushing pushing to just go, walk, run, dance. She’s as lovely as flowers and generous with her affection but she is independent, now wanting her own space and offering to help her brother get his teeth brushed or grab a class of milk. I see how the change happened, in only a year or two from needing to being. It is because of this knowledge that I cling to my son’s dependance as much as he clings to me.

This will fade, change, mature. He will push me away one day and the thought wets my cheeks with salty tears almost immediately. My daughter will have kisses from boys and dance with other people and I barely know that reality. Nor do I want to.

These thoughts, swirling in a confusing pensive of work, bills, todo lists, unable to form actual words finally make sense as I read this. It’s not just the words but the yes, ohmygod yes, I understand, I know, I am. Suddenly blogging is not futile at all. It is what my life finds security in: Friendships, understanding, sometimes clarity and knowledge.

One day my children will not beg for my attention, for my immediate participation. On that day I will look at this entry, I will re-read Amanda, I will call her and we will laugh and cry simultaneously because yes, remember that? Yes.


  1. I remind myself, when moments get tortured and tough and infinite, that this is but a chapter in our lives.  We need all of these chapters to make a rich story of our lives.

    By Megan {Velveteen Mind} on 2011 01 22

  2. yes!

    It passes all too quickly. I think this is the biggest reason why I want more.  To be able to savor, to cling, to not rush them into growing up too quickly.  Because sometimes I look back and I know that while I was pushing them to be more independent I was robbing myself of time that I will never get back.


    By Heather @ Domestic Extraordinaire on 2011 01 22

  3. Another someone who knows and writes well where I find comfort and familiarity. Megan, I can’t wait to kiss the shit out of you tuesday. grin

    By Mrs. Flinger on 2011 01 22

  4. Yes, THIS.  We need this, as much as our foremothers needed leaning over the fence to borrow a cup of sugar when they full well had some in the pantry, or their foremothers needed cooking over a common fire.

    We need this.  We need to remember that we are human, and it is okay.

    And sometimes, it is very, very beautiful.

    By Susan @WhyMommy on 2011 01 22

  5. Oh, Heather, THIS: “While I was pushing them to be more independent I was robbing myself of time that I will never get back.”

    YES. God. That.

    By Mrs Flinger on 2011 01 22

  6. I’m not seeing y’alls comments until after I write one and then oh forever a million times agreeing. “We need this.  We need to remember that we are human, and it is okay.
    And sometimes, it is very, very beautiful.” Agreed Agreed, Susan.

    By Mrs. Flinger on 2011 01 22

  7. Oh, yes. Shudder.

    By Amanda on 2011 01 22

  8. Amanda is spot on with that post. My babies are now 12, 14 and almost 17. They are beautiful and perfect in every way.
    But the time is gone that I could nap curled around them, that it was OK for me to spend hours on the couch, just holding them while they slept. My world revolved around them, and theirs around me… the way, I think, it should be.
    It’s passed now, and i can’t get it back. I ache with both emptiness and pride as I watch each of them move toward independence.
    Take it while it’s there. The housework will wait, the book will wait, even you “life” will wait.
    Because really, this IS IT. Take it, live it and love it. (hearts)

    By christina mccarthy on 2011 01 22

  9. Pop over to http://allthingsmom-christina.blogspot.com/2011/01/rolling-stone.html if you have a second. I’d appreciate it, and you can see my babies <3

    By christina mccarthy on 2011 01 22

  10. This is actually why I *started* blogging, not to make money or meet people or improve my writing but to keep the moments intact.  My son (likely my only child) is only 3 and I already tear up thinking of how he is slipping away.

    The friends and support and knowledge I’ve gained through blogging was just a huge, unexpected benefit.

    By Keely on 2011 01 23

  11. Lovely.

    By Rima on 2011 01 24

  12. Great post. Thanks for sharing.

    I try to get one more hug every day before my child grows up, too, and will have their own life.


    By joann on 2011 01 25