Is it night yet, Momma?
Do you see one yet, Momma?
How come it's not dark yet, Daddy?
It's hard to be patient, Daddy.
Finally, one by one, their lights came on. First gathering under the bigger trees that line the street and then spreading their sparks across the green canopy connecting our house to the others on the block.
It was the third night in a row that we were catching lighting bugs. And Mary was finally getting the hang of the soft cradled catch that it takes to scoop up a firefly without smashing it. She was so proud each time she grabbed one out of the warm summer air, feeling its little legs tickling the inside of her palm.
Momma, look! I got one! I got one!
She demonstrated even more joy though, when she loosened her clenched fist and watched the little bugs crawl up her finger and then take off, granting them freedom once again. Watching her, soaking up her blissful innocence, I didn't want the moment to end. But it was bedtime and I knew morning would come too soon.
It was another (very) early one too. At 4:00 AM the alarm went off, by 5:30 I was standing in O'Hare's security line being sniffed by the new K9 unit. I was on yet another leg of my ongoing fast food tour of the nation. The destination this week was Raleigh-Durham to make and showcase fried chicken. Last week, I was in Nashville tasting it (over and over and over again.)
Travel, whether it's one day out of the office or five, is the most taxing part of my job. Not just for me, but for my family. As much as I try to prepare them and myself for the Mommy gaps in their week, I know my road trips can take a toll. And whether in mid (turbulent) air or going to sleep in my (too) quiet hotel room, I tend to feel a little remorse at my company for sending me on the road so much.
But there are times, like last week, where I give in to the experience. Where I think, Daddy's got it; everyone's fine; I might as well enjoy this.
Last Thursday, I had woken up early, still full and a little bubbly from my dining experience at Hattie B's, Edley's Barbecue and Husk the day before. I was running along the Cumberland River in Nashville, Tennessee, when I stopped to reply to my Mom's morning request for news. I relayed the last 24 hours of Southern food sampling, and she responded, 'I think I would like that job.'
I paused to think about my reply, half torn between the guilt of being away from my family and the sheer ecstasy of my French 75 paired with Shrimp and Grits the night before. I started typing.
'I have an awesome job,' and I meant every character of it.
She replied, 'you are blessed to have the skills to do it.'
As I made my way back to the hotel, I thought about those words, reflected on their truth, but identified a significant gap in them. I am not only blessed to have the education and experience set that enables my employment, I am blessed to have a husband and my kids are blessed to have a father that makes the ups and downs and delays of my weeks feasible and even fun.
I sometimes dread the email or conversation, letting Peter know that I'll be gone yet another two days next week. But he never flinches. Okay. You will be missed, he says. I wonder deep down if he gets stressed, but he showcases more pride and excitement in his solo parenting than worry.
The debate on whether women can have it all is still unsettled. I'm currently in the camp, that 'all' includes near exhaustion seven days a week. But I know one thing for sure; 'all' in my world - a rewarding job and a happy family - would not be possible without my husband. And one day, even one whole weekend, is not enough to showcase my thanks for him as a partner in business, care giving, and semi-stress free living.
