I've been going, going, going for the past four months. And there doesn't seem to be an end in site.
I've been to Fargo when there was still a foot of snow on the ground.
I've been to San Antonio when it was 94 degrees.
I've been to Atlanta, Augusta, Dublin, and Augusta two more times after that. I've been on all the rural roads of Georgia in between Hartfield Jackson and destination boonies, and most of those roads don't come with cell service.
I've been to Little Rock and several tiny towns about 30-40 miles outside.
I've been to Aspen and New York City.
I've been to Seattle. Several times. Renton, Takoma, and Kirkland too.
Oh, and I've been to Pittsburgh.
I'm ready to just be home sweet home for awhile.
Before I left on any of those aforementioned trips, I tried to launder, pack, plan and even cook ahead, putting something in the fridge for Peter to easily heat up and serve when he came home from work. I asked Eva to make sure the kids were all bathed by the end of the day. I wrote notes. I called. I brought home souvenirs. All gestures to help the kids understand that even though I wasn't there, I was with them.
With all that I've been traveling though, I feel guilty about just that - not being there. I rationalize to them why. It's so we can go on vacations ... so they can go to their special school ... so we can buy a bigger house ... so they can move out of the Mini Cooper and into a Minivan. But in their mind, all those things don't really matter in the present. They just want their mom. They want me to be here and not all the places I'm asked to go.
However, as I was thinking about the conflict between here and there that a mother faces, I started thinking about the other side of guilty. The part that I mentioned at the beginning. When not being there gets easier. And I think I know why.
See, after becoming a Mom, you feel this overwhelming pressure to always, and I mean always be there for your kids. You feel like you will miss something. That they'll be corrupted by a babysitter. That Dad's not quite sure of himself yet ... or still ... or never will be. (Trust me moms, they get there on their own, in their own way.) That they won't know your love at bedtime, for a whole day, worse, a whole week ... and that just seems like the worst thing in the world.
I've had all those feelings. When I went back to work for the first time. When I made the decision to stick with it. When we go on date nights. When I go on a girls trip. When my company asks me to travel again, and again, and again.
But I've found a pattern, likely made possible by the other amazing caregivers that help me raise Mary, Bobby and Margaret. Every time I come home, they come running to me and we pick up right where we left off. Work, dates, and long weekends, can't break our bond.
The kind of mom pressure that society places on us comes with sacrifice. Being so there for your kids, could mean you're not there for others. I sometimes wonder how many people I've missed over the years; when they needed an ear, a hand, or a hug. It was only recently that I felt better about finding the time away from my kids to work on the other relationships that matter so much to me.
With my sister.
Well sisters. And Aunt. And Mom too.
With friends near.
And far.
With my co-workers - particularly the chicken team.
With Dan and Kerry.
And with Peter.
And perhaps, sometimes most importantly, with myself.
Because I'm not just a mom, even though it's my favorite title. I am a daughter, sister, aunt, friend, spouse, and individual. And when I see myself only as mom, I can lose site of just how many people might also need to be nurtured, as us moms love to do.
Lo.
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