Quest to the Southwest - Chapt 4 - Yearbook

Ting, ting, ting. The blond woman in the white linen jacket tapped on her water glass with her fork. The twittering voices of the twenty six women in the room slowly diminished, heads turning toward the sound as they gave her their attention.

"This might take a long time, but let's go around the table and find out a little about everyone. You know, what you're doing now, how many kids you have, how many times you've been married." She craned her head out over the table so she could address the women seated on her side, as well as opposite her. "Not your life story or your memoirs, just a summary."

Martha listened as each of the women took a turn describing adventures, careers and marriages. They were from all over the country, having traveled to come tonight. Her right leg began to vibrate a little and her shoulders tightened as tension filled them. What should she talk about? What parts of her life would be interesting to others? What should she say to show herself in a light that she wanted? After the manic lunch time monologue, everyone knew everything about her already.

When she had arrived at the restaurant she had shared her yearbook with Barbara, an alum who was great at remembering names and events. As the women crowded around, laughing at various pictures in the yearbook, Martha had felt a sense of remorse. Not only had she not had friends on campus, she had missed out on all the fun. When asked about "what house" she was in, what clubs she had joined, Martha had replied "Oh, I worked forty hours a week when I went here. I didn't live on campus. I worked midnight until eight in the morning, drove to class, then went home to study or sleep." Looking at the pictures and hearing the memories filled Martha with a great sense of longing. Why had she been so "grown up" at age nineteen? She had started her life of "must" and "should" young.

The alum with the red shining ponytail went on. "Then I went back to school and got another degree in nursing, because I wanted to be a midwife and not a physicist." The stories were amazing. So accomplished. "I spend my extra time chairing a mentoring group for homeless children." "I started an organization that travels to Africa and give vaccinations to people living in isolated villages." "Remember when we all went to that party at Berkeley?"

The salads were served. Martha looked down the table, three more stories until her turn. Should she eat quickly or wait? The salad looked great, so Martha chomped the walnuts and blue cheese quickly. She ran her tongue over her teeth to remove any stray bits. The stories were getting longer and there was one more to go, the sweet woman sitting next to her. But Annie told her story quickly and suddenly it was Martha's turn.

"I was kind of a flake in college. If it wasn't for Dr. Kidd, I wouldn't have even gone to graduate school, but she steered me in that direction." Martha rambled on a bit. As she verbally flitted from fact to fact about her college days a sudden wave of heat swept up through the soles of her feet and took over her body, as if the floor had suddenly become a furnace. Her hands started shaking. Why had she been so serious? Why did she still live her life with thousands of "shoulds?" Always planning so hard for the next minute that she couldn't enjoy the moment she was in. If not planning, then she was caught up reviewing. Why did she say that, do that, not do that? Going over every moment of her day each night as she lay sleepless in bed. Even now, thinking about what time she should leave so that she would arrive home at a specific time, because she needed to get up a certain time. Why was her life this chain of events, so closely linked that if one thing was off a little she felt as if a major disaster had taken place. "Then I quit my job." The words came out in a whisper. Martha felt her voice sticking in her throat, it closed tight as if she had been stung by an insect, air flow constricted. "I was tired of being liberated, tired of being a Mills woman, tired of thinking I had to do it all." Martha struggled to draw in more air. "I am tired of it." A sob broke loose and Martha was appalled to feel tears coursing down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, unable to go on. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." she sobbed into her hands. "I should have had fun then, back when you were all having fun."

Annie reached over and placed a hand on Martha's back. She slid her palm over to Martha's shoulder and turned Martha's body to her, reaching up her other arm and enclosing Martha in a hug.

"It's okay." she murmured in Martha's ear. Martha continued to sob. The rest of the women piped up.

"It's good to realize it now, to make changes."

"It seems you are doing something about it, that's great."

"It's never to late to make up for lost time."

A nudge on her shoulder brought Martha out of her cloud of thoughts.

"You're turn" Annie had finished and Martha was up.

Martha's shoulder was bare and lonely as she felt the imagined conversation, the imagined comfort and support slip away as she recited the standard facts of her life.

Comments: Have you ever thought about how you would like something to go, only to back out at the last minute? What are your personal habits of organization? I would love to have your comments (stimulation for new writing ideas!)

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Three - Business Cards

"Hi, I'm Allison. I don't really remember you?" The voice was accompanied by a hand holding out a business card. The card had black and gold ink, printed on paper so heavy and textured it felt like real marble when Martha took it in her hand.

"I'm Martha Grimes, well Martha Rodriquez in college. What was your major?" Martha looked at the slim blond woman, smooth skin around her eyes, lips with just a touch of pink lipstick. Her sisters and mother would know right away if the woman had "work done", but Martha was somewhat oblivious to those things. She just thought this woman was very beautiful. Could they actually be the same age?

"Biology. What was yours?

"Psychology." Martha reflected back on her college days. The good old '70s, when freedom and rules were still basking in the influence of the sixties. There had been no general requirements when she was a student at Mills. You just took whatever or whichever classes you desired. Luckily someone had pointed out to her that if you planned on applying to graduate school there were actually prerequisites. The result was she took nearly one hundred percent psych classes during the two years she had attended. She hadn't decided on a major until the beginning of her junior year.

"I think we had one class together, Dr. Bower's class. Didn't you used to bring a dog with you to class?"

"Yes, I did. More than one dog, in fact."

"She slept under your chair, all wrapped in a pink baby blanket."

"Oh, that would have been Cona. She was just a tiny thing, four weeks old when I used to bring her. I couldn't leave her alone at home." Martha went on. "Then I had another dog, Cathy, she was a puppy too. She even has her picture in the year book. "

"Uh, nice to see you again." Allison's eyes darted away from Martha's face. "Hi, Sherry. Long time no see." She quickly walked away from Martha's dog stories.

Martha sipped on her wine. It was probably a mistake drinking this. Tomorrow would be a migraine for sure, but these crazy reunions. She came every ten years, completely forgetting in between how melancholy she would be, wandering to the various events, watching women run up and hug, accompanied by screeches of recognition. Wendy. She had scoped out the list of attendees, but Wendy's name wasn't there. Would she recognize her if she saw her? Martha had created a great fantasy life for Wendy. Wendy had been a computer science major. Women who graduated in 1980 and jumped into the early program development had super cush jobs. Wendy had a job she went to every day which consisted of a spa, tennis court, swimming pool and more. This atmosphere was thought to promote the creativity needed by computer program developers, stimulating wonderful ideas for programs. That part of the fantasy was real. Wendy had done that after graduation, but then the two of them had lost touch. In Martha's fantasy Wendy had shares in the bottom floor of some big company, Microsoft or Apple, had retired young and was extremely wealthy. Martha had never gone so far as to imagine that someday, some how Wendy's wealth would be showered on her, the long lost friend from college. In reality Martha didn't recall that they were even super good friends. Hung out together a little, chatted in classes and Martha had got Wendy a job as research assistant at Berkeley, but the job hadn't worked out well. Wendy thought she was getting a fun job like Martha had, working for the psych department studying the effects of testosterone on pregnant beagles. Actually, Martha thought that was the job Wendy was getting too. But the reality of it was that Wendy spent her four hours a week cleaning kennels and dog runs. When they both asked for letters of recommendation at the end of the year, Martha's had been a glowing letter from the professor emeritus, while Wendy's was from the graduate student in charge, basically indicating she had always come to work on time. Maybe one reason Martha built up such a good fantasy life for Wendy was the guilt she felt about that whole fiasco.

Martha glanced at her watch, then pulled the brochure out of her purse. What was next on the agenda? How much longer did she have to stand here and feel like such a sore thumb? Her eyes skimmed across things she had circled in blue pen last week, when planning to attend. Why did I want to come? Don't I remember that each time I feel like an alien, as women talk about dorm escapades which I didn't participate in? She tapped the brochure, glanced at her watch and walked out quickly, the actress pretending she had somewhere important to be, right now, this minute.

This campus sure was stunning. The ancient eucalyptus trees still lined the creek, the new buildings blending in well with the old. Martha's good knee ached after the walk around campus. What was with that? How was she going to hike on her trip if just a little stroll on a paved path was all she could handle?

The second day of the reunion Martha wandered onto campus late, having slept in. Hmmm...an awards lunch. Was she supposed to buy a ticket in advance? Having just finished breakfast, Martha didn't feel the need to eat lunch right now, but she would like to attend the awards ceremony. She cut through the buildings on a cement path, to the meadow where the lunch was to be held. Tables set up on the green grass were inviting. "Who do I give my ticket to?" A gray haired alum wearing a bright purple T-shirt, topped with a purple scarf and carrying a purple purse waved a ticket about. "Oh, I can just take that for you," a tall women in blue randomly collected tickets. Martha felt this system was lax, so she walked to the tables and found the yellow sign announcing "Class of 1980". Two other women were seated at the table, so with a smile, Martha joined them. Maybe she needed a different approach today, one that would not make her feel like odd man out. "Hi, I don't remember you, what was your major?" The women answered, and Martha felt a manic mood coming on, the racing heartbeat, the jitters in her legs. Fifteen minutes later she realized that she was surrounded by a table of women, with polite smiles plastered on their faces as her voice raced on, jumping for on subject to the next, talking about me, me, me. These women may have been strangers fifteen minutes ago, but now they knew her life story. Martha picked up her water and took a sip. Time to stop talking, settle down. A silence fell over the table. Had she so overwhelmed the others that they were afraid to talk? Worried she would jump in and turn the topic back on to herself? Her accomplishments, her failures, her family? "And what about your mother?" The tall woman in the western shirt made an attempt to start up the conversation again. Although Martha was determined not to drift back into the manic - I am the center of the universe mode - she responded to the question. One sentence led to a thought which led to a monologue, and Martha mentally kicked herself again. Stop, just stop, shut up. Then a speaker stepped up to the microphone and the program started, so Martha was silent.

"What are you going to do next?" "Have you toured the new business building?" "Our class is not giving much money, only 22%." The conversations had resumed with the ending of the program, and Martha was able to join in with normal responses. Pausing for breath, smiling, actually listening to others. This felt so much better. Settled. As the women continued talking about a variety of things, the tall cowgirl pulled out her business cards. Women reached into their purses and quickly passed cards around the table. Martha reached in her bag and pulled out a stack of the cards she had prepared. No job now, but a much better card to pass around.

Martha Grimes, Explorer.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter Two - Checkbook

"So, you'll be back by the end of October, right? There shouldn't be any papers to sign before then." Glen was worried about accessing the internet while she was gone.

"No, I won't be back until November 16. That's why I'm working so hard to make sure everything's covered before I go."

"November 16? When is it you're leaving?"

"October 5."

"So, you're going to be gone six weeks? I thought you were only going for three weeks."

No wonder Glen wasn't as stressed or worried as she had hoped. He hadn't even paid attention when she had spelled out her plans. She had discussed the whole thing in detail before sending off the check for the house in New Mexico, asking for his input on renting it for two weeks or three weeks. Obviously he hadn't connected the visits to the National Parks, the writing conference in Arizona and visiting their son at college to the three weeks at the cottage. Martha sighed. She should remember that unless things were visual, posted in writing and taped to the refrigerator, Glen didn't really pay much attention to what she was saying. At least his reaction was good. He had covered his eyes with his hands, saying "Oh, I'll be alone for six weeks", laughing and petting the dog. "At least I'll have Ozzie to keep me company."

Martha went back to her desk, picking up one of the many stacks of bills, notes and papers, tapping it into a neat pile. The timing of her departure was good, just after all the quarterly deposits and payments had to be made. Thanks goodness for all these automatic payments. As long as she could log in once in a while Glen wouldn't have to worry about paying bills. She was leaving very specific instructions for bank deposits and other important deadlines, however Glen always operated on his own schedule. If the garbage got collected once in a while that would be good, but there was no doubt in her mind that most Thursday mornings would find the big green toter down by the garage, not up on the road where the truck would pick it up. There wouldn't be much garbage with only one person here, so it didn't really matter. Maybe it would rain a few times so the plants would get a little water while she was gone. The animals would be fine. They knew how to remind Glen that they needed food and water, following him around mewing or clucking. Glen loved their animals, so he wasn't likely to forget about taking care of them.

Martha logged in and checked out the bank balances. She had saved up some cash for this trip, but every thing that seemed really exciting - horseback trips into canyons, hot air balloon rides, hotels in National Parks - these things were very expensive. She had made fifteen tote bags to try to sell along the way, and had two more ready to finish up. Maybe folks would be willing to trade? She had found several retro motels, newly remodeled and owned by actual people rather than big corporations. Three bags for a room for the night? Her heart pounded a little at the thought of asking if they would trade. She mentally rehearsed what she would say. She was a terrible sales person, not wanting to risk disappointed looks on faces after she made her spiel. She imagined them laughing at what she had made. It had happened before, one of the ladies she worked with tossing the bag down when Martha said "Thirty-five dollars or two for sixty." "I thought they were only ten dollars", the woman had remarked before turning away. There was almost fifteen dollars worth of materials in each bag. At thirty-five dollars Martha and her mother were barely making minimum wage as it was. Martha took a deep breath. When she let her thoughts go into the small amount of money that came from art work or hand made items she got so depressed. Salary was such a strange thing. So out of proportion, that a person could work the same amount of time and make such a discrepant amount of money.

Yesterday was a good example. Glen had finally followed her advice, getting a bid to have someone else do some of the work around the house that they never seemed to have time to do. The estimates the out-of-work contractor had given floored them both. It wasn't hard to decide that they would find the time to do these tasks. Yesterday they had re-stained the redwood deck. It took about three hours. The bid had been over a thousand dollars. "Good salary for us today," Glen had joked. "We're each making about three hundred dollars an hour." That was certainly more than she had made at any other job!

It was such a see saw of emotions that she was on when it came to saving money by doing things herself. She had read that little book last year, Two Old Women, an Alaskan folk tale about taking care of oneself and not forgetting how to do things one was capable of doing. That is what had inspired her to work on the drip system and to paint the house. Trouble was, the drip system still wasn't working and there were spots of red unpainted wood over all the high windows and on the eaves. She would finish the house, she just needed a break from it. But the electrical part of the drip system was beyond her knowledge base. Good thing it was almost rainy season and she could wait until next year to tackle that problem.

"I'm thinking about buying you a satellite phone." Glen was still worried about her being out of contact for so long.

"No, I don't want a satellite phone." Her voice came out sharp, more angry than she felt. "I'm going to drive into town every few days, I'll call you then."

"You're going to be alone out there?"

"Yes, that's the point."

"I just can't understand how you would be able to do that. Not have contact with your kids or anybody."

Anybody. Meaning everybody. Alone.

That really was the point.

Quest to the Southwest - Chapter One: Sticky Notes

Tucking the last box beside the red plastic ice chest, Martha wiped the dust from her hands on her thighs. Damn! She looked down at the dusty handprints on her new black jeans. Having spent the summer in sweat pants that were spattered with paint and old T-shirts, she had developed the habit of wiping her hands on her clothing. She slapped at the dusty handprints, causing her thighs to burn. She scowled down at her heavy thighs. Fat sure hurt more than muscle. Stop, she commanded herself. No more negative thoughts. Replace that thought. An image of an adventure from long ago filled her head. Yes, this was a good thought to use to chase away the negative thoughts. She had just graduated, eager to get a job, needing to move away from the life she was living. She had packed her camping gear and her dog into her VW bug and headed up the California coast, determined to find a new place to live. During the week long journey the gas shortage of 1979 had driven up the prices from thirty nine cents to nearly seventy five cents a gallon, leaving her stranded five hundred miles away from home without enough money to buy gas for the return trip. Using her low limit credit card , charging gas and trying not to think about what she would do when the bill came, she limped on home.

Damn. This was supposed to be a positive thought.

Everything fit in the Honda. Camp stove, boxes of books and binders, ice chest, chair, umbrella, coffee pot, fry pan, and electronics - tons of electronics. Couldn't function without camera, video, Kindle, IPOD, laptop, printer, and of course, her CPAP machine. She had constructed a bed by removing the passenger headrest and tipping the seat all the way back. She liked the way it flattened, matching up with the back seat. It was great that she was only five foot four, because if she had been even one inch taller it was doubtful she would be comfortable in this little bed. A tiny concern flittered in the back of her mind, concern about dealing with her sleep apnea when camping. The CPAP required electricity, which wasn't available in several of the stops on her journey. She would be alone so her loud snores wouldn't disturb anyone. Maybe the snorting and groaning she did while she slept would scare away any night time monsters.

Martha rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her arms. She was sleepy already. Last night had been another of those jaw clenching, wild dream, restless nights. Probably the anticipation of the trip. It had been two months of planning, going over every detail in her mind day and night. Hours on the internet researching places to go, things to see, the best campgrounds, hotels near those spots with scary or isolated campgrounds. Then looking for sources of wireless access on the road. How had she lived before the internet? Automatic bill pay, email, research, and, of course, Facebook. Some of her relatives would be disgusted that her route was dependent on internet access, but her friends knew exactly how she felt. Most of them had newer phones, and they could access internet from everywhere, sending posts while waiting in emergency rooms, sitting in boring meetings, stuck in traffic jams, probably seated on toilets. Even as connected as her friends were, her children were ten times more connected, walking and texting every moment. At least she only logged in once or twice a day. The southwest sure wasn't like California, it didn't seem there were as many places you could get free wireless. When she Googled Starbucks, there were a few scattered here and there throughout the states, but only in about every third or fourth town. So different from her hometown, which even though quite small, boasted three Starbucks. She had searched for smaller coffee houses, libraries or other spots she might be able to log on. The town she would be living in for three weeks had a library. Further investigation proved frustrating. The library did not have a web site, just a phone number. This fact alone gave her serious doubt that they might have free internet access.

Martha turned and picked up the pad of yellow stickies and pen she had set on the shelf of the garage. Just a few more things had to fit in the tightly packed car. There was still some room on the floor behind the driver's seat, and the additional items that had come to mind while she carefully placed everything into the car should be able to fit there. When she finished writing she set the pad back down, and turning back to the car, opened the rear hatch, lifting the first box out and setting it to one side. As she unpacked the car, stacking the empty boxes neatly against the wall of the garage, returning the ice chest to the spot beside the stacked paint cans, she ticked off items in the mental list she always carried in her brain. She pictured this list as a sticky note behind and slightly above her eyes, pressed against the back of her frontal lobe. There was still a lot to do in the two weeks before she left, but not enough to keep her mind busy. She definitely needed a distraction. She had slipped into her maximum over planning mode. Researching every detail twice, practicing packing the car, pacing around the house unable to focus on any thing at all.

"I think I'll leave on October fifth, you know, instead of the sixth. I want to add a stop in Bryce Canyon, and I think if I do that I won't be rushed."

"Hmm." Glen was non-committal when she delivered this news last night over dinner.

Outwardly he appeared completely supportive of the six week trip, but Martha had her doubts. Maybe she had doubts because she wanted him to miss her, wanted him to be somewhat crushed and devastated that she would leave for so long. She flopped back and forth, like a wind chime in an erratic wind storm. One minute she made statements which were meant to reassure him that this journey was not to escape him or their life, the next moment she was angry and hostile, letting him know she was reconsidering everything in her life that made her unhappy. She was not satisfied that he didn't try to talk her out of going or that he didn't seem excited about her adventure. Just what did he feel anyway? For that matter, just what did she want?

Martha walked up the long driveway to the mailbox. Heading back to the house, she flipped through the envelopes and magazines, straining to read, she had left her glasses in the garage. Here, what was this? A glossy brochure from Mills College. For Women, Again and Again, the label read. As she got back to the garage, she stopped and opened it. Her thirtieth class reunion, just three days before her target departure date. Grabbing her glasses off the shelf in the garage, she went back into the house to read the announcement. Lots of activities planned for the weekend, including some very exciting things, drumming, a writer's group, a concert of alternative music.

This could be just the distraction she was looking for.

Question for readers: What adventures have you had in your life? What went in to making the decision to make a change or venture out to a place you had never been before?

I welcome all comments.

Big Changes and Small Changes

Reviewing my blog and reading other blogs which I follow I am going for a big change. Rather than the commentary, diary mode, I am going to switch to story mode. Hope you enjoy and PLEASE send me comments. The whole lesson here is to improve my writing and make it interesting.

xx Robin

The Mother of All Guilt

I launched the last chick a week ago. It was hard to leave him, but I am coping because I am so excited for him. Just as when my first child went off to college, I was once again in awe over all the wonderful clubs and supports that colleges offer. Maybe these things were offered when I went to college, but my head was in such another space - survival mode - that I didn't notice. I had broken with my family and was on my own, working two jobs and going to class, catching sleep time from 4:00 to midnight, when I got up to go work the late shift.

While growing up there were times when I was angry at my parents for having so little, for being poor. In my mind I was neglected because I grew uphaving to walk to the library and check out books, while my friends all ran home and watched "Dark Shadows" on their new television sets. I wanted more than two pairs of shoes, school shoes and Sunday shoes. I wanted sandals, saddle shoes, shiny patent leather, not sneakers. I wanted a store bought dress, not the one my mother made me. So what if I had a matching doll dress to go with it? I hated those big hems, so that the dress could be let down as I grew, lasting two years instead of one.

What a wonderful thing to be able to give my own children the freedom to enjoy college without working.

Or is it such a wonderful thing?

Over my lifetime I have met women who have not had to work for what they have. They moved from parents supporting them, into good jobs or husbands with good jobs. I am brutal in my opinion that they don't appreciate what they have, don't value things enough. But wait a minute - Do I only think that being poor and struggling is character building because I had to do it? Is this a legend we create to placate our struggling spirits? Have I ruined my children by giving them too much?

Just look at all the Christmas presents.

As young mothers in the 80's we spent hours playing with our babies and their educational toys. Our kids needed these toys to fully develop their brains, their creativity, to grow up well adjusted. I can see my dad shaking his head in disgust. At the time I thought he just didn't understand. His crazy stories about playing with a stick and a rock. I was so sure that my kids would be so much better off, so much more advanced, emotionally stable. They would never suffer, never struggle, not if I could help it.

What about thrift? What about re-using things? Now we recycle, having abandoned the glass milk and cola bottles that could be reused. Too expensive, a health risk. What kind of excuse is that? I don't even really know what happens to the things I recycle. Is it really better for the environment or does the process of re-fabrication pollute also? In the height of my poverty (age 19), I was so careful with my things, making them last. I remember that I would spoon the leftovers into the glass dish slowly, so as not to get food on the edge of the bowl, because I wanted the plastic wrap with which I covered it to stay clean so I could reuse it, saving water too by not having to rinse it much. One small roll of plastic wrap, one small roll of aluminum foil, one box of zip bags....these lasted me for two years. Now I buy six packs of large zip bags and giant industrial rolls of plastic wrap. (Mental picture of me skipping through the aisles of Costco tossing things in the oversized basket).

Whoa Nellie! Look at the state our country is in, California even worse. We have spent the last thirty years spending and collecting and consuming as if there is no tomorrow. Now I think maybe there will be no tomorrow. What monster did we create? What did I do by giving my kids everything? "No honey, throw that away, it fell on the floor, here have a new one." None of us willing to do without. Must have it, need it now. What ever happened to "I wish for it, I would like to have that, I'll save up for it." Every day I hear the message that I must consume if I want the economy to recover. But just what does that mean? Recover? With a closer look it seems to me that recovery just means putting money back into the pockets of a few at the cost of many. Maybe the true recovery is to learn to do with less. To go back to the state of poverty, because that is what we are all now in, as a nation, as a planet. Make each thing last as long as possible. Make do with what we have, what we need, not what we wish we had.

So now I feel guilty about giving my children too much.

The Next Level

Matching outfits for camping

My stay at home mom

I dropped off my son at his dorm room this morning. This is my "baby", the last child to be sent off into the world. Nine years ago, as I dropped my daughter off at college, I expected that she was to be home summers and I still had one at home. While I knew it would be different, it didn't seem like a drastic change. My son's college encourages internships each summer, so today seems to truly be the end of the Children at Home era.

Reflecting back on the "liberation" I experienced in the '70's, I try hard to remember what we learned about motherhood. I remember that there was a push for stay at home fathers, as well as fathers who participated in raising the children in a big(ger) way. There was focus on picking the right day care, hours of research went into how stimulating, nurturing or enlightening the facility was. It went without saying that you would continue to pursue your career while having babies. But my field of study was child development, and it seemed important to be there with your children. In addition to this, no matter what the world was telling me, I didn't want to leave my daughter with anyone other than my mother. Although newly graduated, licensed and ready to go, I chose to stay at home with my baby. I felt "stupid" for doing this. I was losing ground on the competition for advancement, I would forget everything I had learned, my vocabulary would decrease. Looking back this is one of the best choices I made. I was there to see her first steps, her discovery of the soft fur of the cat, her problem solving how to get down the stairs without falling, her smile at finger painting, her excitement at catching tadpoles in the lake. All those things I would have missed if she was in that state of the art day care facility. I caught up in my career once she started kindergarten. (Nine years later I took a break in my career when I had my son! This didn't hurt either, in fact it helped to point me in a whole new direction, and I added the MFT license to my wall).

Role model. I remember that as liberated women we had the chance to become role models for our daughters in the new way. Equal pay, equal opportunities for advancement in our careers, the chance to be a professional. We should encourage our daughters to feel good about math, to become scientists, to break into the "male" fields. It all seemed so wonderful, such an opportunity. I do believe that my daughter developed her talents and is an accomplished woman. And now as my son is launched I have confidence in his independence and motivation to make the world a better place.

What was the reality? It is very, very hard to be a working mother. One is constantly juggling priorities. At the same time that I had a career and a family, the intensity of what one needed to provide for children increased tenfold. Gymnastics, pony riding class, soccer, baseball, Girl Scouts, Odyssey of the Mind, Art classes, Space Camp, music lessons...the list went on and on. As a result, those hours when I should have been home (cleaning? cooking? resting?) were spent sitting in a lawn chair watching swim practice. Along side me were my friends. They were correcting papers, mending clothes or catching up on paying bills as we "watched" the kids practice. What I wouldn't have given for a lap top then...but that was a few years away. My children didn't always understand. "None of my friends have to do their own laundry, Jenna's mother makes her lunch every day, Spencer's father does things for him" there were complaints. Yes, some of those moms had the luxury of staying home, for by this time that is what I had started to feel. Having a career was not liberating, it was crazy hard work. I was split, I was so jealous of those women staying at home with their kids. I was angry when the PTA representative called and asked me to bake something for the teacher appreciation lunch. Yes, I did appreciate those teachers, but just when was I supposed to bake the #^(&* cupcakes? My kids ate fast food, processed food, leftovers, popcorn and oranges for dinner. Oh, to have been a stay at home mom. I would have time to focus, to give my best to one thing, instead of splitting and not doing a very good job at anything.

It seems that now I will have my opportunity. While I can jokingly say that I gave up my career AND my motherhood this summer, the real truth is that I am just catching up on all those years of things I never had time to finish.