Growing up, my mom had a tense, high pressure job and she worked hard. She was generally in the office before 8:00 AM and home a little after 6:00. After dinner, bath time and bedtime rituals, she would open up a file and start working again.
While she was always my mom first, her professionalism had an always on status. And we grew up being part of her team. We were taught hard work, contribution, collaboration ... get As in school, do your chores, love one another, and if not, ship out.
There were times though, when I feel like the working mom status wore her down, when she felt like she had to her guard down and wear a personality that was both surprising and cherished. It was goofy, childlike, and absolutely joyous. You would experience it as my shopping partner on Walnut Street, as a fan on the sidelines of one of our sporting events, as a rider on the Thunderbolt or a floater on Sandcastle's Lazy River, and most notably, as a vacationer on any one of our family trips, particularly those untied to work conferences.
There is one vacation visual that perfectly summarizes her in these moments: my Mom mini-golfing. lt was always her suggestion that we play. And she didn't just love it, she was really good at it - typically the winner of our five-some. I can still see her marking up the score card with her distinct penmanship, a sly smirk on her face, leading us to believe that one of us had a chance when all along she topped the standings. Growing up, she wasn't one to play board games with us. That duty was delegated to my Dad, while my Mom highlighted briefs and shouted answers from the sidelines. 'Mooooommm, stop!' we would all yell. But Mini-Golf - that was her thing - and it was so fun playing with her. So refreshing to see her unwind.
***
Clearly, I learned a thing or two from my Mother. Hard work as one of them. And 2020 has been the pinnacle of it. For nearly five months, I've been working 12-14 hour days, with no end in site to the demand or pace.
While I love my job, the hours have been exhausting and I feel like my family has only seen or experienced me in one state. As an (over) working mom.
I've had conversations with other moms about why I do what I do - why I made the choice to pursue a career - why I'm willing to put in the hours - and if I could imagine life the other way. If I was to summarize a meandering conversation over a glass of wine, my response would be, yes I could imagine an alternate life, but I don't think I would like it. I have a natural drive and competitive spirit that is best taken out on corporate America, not the PTA. I much prefer up time over down time. And finally, life is really expensive, especially if you want to add a vacation to your budget.
And I love vacation. Similar to how my Mom approached them, vacations are dedicated, well-planned, highly anticipated blocks on my calendar to completely unwind. And as a tenured employee, I now have five weeks of them.
However, going into Fourth of July weekend this year, I had only taken one day. Oh, and I used that day to work on airplanes and airports en route to Sun Valley.
It's not that my company hasn't encouraged its employee base to take vacation. If anything, they are pushing us to do it. They know everyone needs a well-deserved break. The problem is, there's no where to go. There's no escape. And without the feeling of distance, I might as well be working, right?
Or is that the wrong attitude? My somewhat recent revelation; yes, absolutely.
Despite approaching a maternity leave, I needed a break this summer. In our original 2020 itinerary, where I had invested heavily in vacation, we were going to Martha's Vineyard for a week around the Fourth. There would be puzzles, beaches, boat rides, and a Mom, just being a Mom for a week.
Covid and the late stage of my identical twin pregnancy changed our plans. Instead, we drove to South Bend, Indiana, where my parents have a town home, more typically used as a launch pad for tailgates in the fall. But this summer, it doubled as our five day vacation destination.
En route, we stopped at the Indiana Dunes, National Park Passbook in hand, immediate beach gratification just an admission fee away. Or rather ... a massive line of traffic to get to the gate away. The kids were so restless sitting in the crawling queue, that I made Bobby and Margaret get out and walk the rest of the way in the blaring 95-degree heat with me.
The parking lot was near capacity, but I didn't let it phase me. It was at a beach. And it was a Wednesday. There would be plenty of room.
Without a private place to change, I finagled my way into my too tight swim suit in the back of a hot car, squished in between the car seats and the front seats. It was the heftiest work out I had undertaken in months. I emerged sweaty, body parts likely out of place, ready to jump straight in the Lake.
But the beach. Was. An. Absolute. Zoo. I could sense Coronavirus wafting from the heat waves. All types: young, old, fat, thin, those with bums hanging out of their Brazilian bikinis, those with full body swimsuits, every nationality under the sun, had descended for a Wednesday afternoon at the Dunes, as lifeguards yelled on the loud speaker to maintain a social distance.
Right. We spent perhaps 30 minutes there and left.
That evening, we walked around campus and had Rocco's pizza for dinner. The rest of our vacation was spent doing things in and around South Bend. We found a more private beach in New Buffalo, which was wonderful. We packed picnics, sand toys, and let the kids play their hearts out. We went on a bike ride through a state park. We walked around campus, lit candles at the Grotto, put 1,000 pieces of puzzle together, read, watched movies, took the kids Go Cart driving and yes, played Mini Golf.
It was a destination that was close and familiar, but my state of mind finally felt far away from what I'd been experiencing. I put my computer away and played with my kids in the dedicated way they crave. I was goofy, childlike and filled with absolute joy.
Lo.
