Split Personality

On an unknown but typical day in my life, work went well. I looked polished and professional. Lipstick on, hair done, nails manicured. I had the right outfit for the right set of meetings. I was 'dressed for my day,' as the outdated 2012 policy states. In front of leadership, my update was firm, decisive, memorable. 'Nice job,' I was told. I had some killer meetings afterward. I portrayed the right balance of empathy and action. We got some stuff done. I had a Cappuccino, made the rounds on the 6th floor, gave an up and comer career advice, and closed out the day having a laugh with my team. It wasn't a good day at work, it was a great day. 

I changed my shoes and went from 5'8 to 5'5; from slow to fast. I hustled the mile or so to the train station, and boarded in the nick of time. I found one of the last seats, still dished up as single servings per row in this post-Pandemic world. I checked my phone, and with observed and anticipated silence, I opened my book. Even in my walking shoes, I still looked the part. Polished and professional, manicured nails quietly turning pages as I sped straight west. 

There is a shift that takes place when I get off the train and get onto my bike though. I am no longer appropriately dressed for my day. While the skirt looked great at work, it's not good for peddling. With one hand on the handle bar, one hand holding together my bottom half, and my backpack in the baby seat, I dodge through the crowd to get a first mover advantage across the tracks. If I don't, I'll be stuck behind the determined walking mob that has no desire to let a biker through. Stuck, I will then teeter and fall from unreasonable slowness and never get up again due to sheer humiliation. So instead and in everyone's best interests, I sweep around the pedestrians waiting at the crossing, cutting everyone off, then push forward as soon as the beams are on the rise, and phew, glide freely, but not effortlessly the rest of the way home.

The bigger, broader pendulum swing happens when I enter the door. Some are waiting, anxious for my arrival. The hugs and smiling faces at the end of the day are unbeatable. They are so excited to see me, and I cherish that. I smother them with hugs in return. But there is also a sad one. Someone that needs to be held. I pick Jacqueline up. And then a jealous one. Caroline needs to be scooped up too. So I have two really heavy babies in my arms. I can only hold them for 90 seconds, two minutes tops, because they are huge and incredibly heavy now. My arms are already starting to shake when Mary comes up from the basement asking for a glass of ice water. So down go the babies. Screaming. Wailing. I choose to pick one of them up again, the other one screams louder. Up they both go again. Nope, Peter comes downstairs and grabs one of them from me. 

'Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom ... Iced water. Mom.' 

I toss a cup at Mary. 'You know how to get iced water.' 

Then the questions about dinner start. What are we having? Why can't we have? Why do we always have to have? How long to have? What time to have? Can I have a snack before having? 

The answers are as follows: 

- Something that not everyone likes (there are literally three meals that everyone concurrently appreciates in this family.)

- Because we had those three meals the past three nights. 

- Because I have about 20 meals on rotation and you will inevitably eat the same meal at least 18.2 times a year in this house. 

- 15-20 minutes 

- Do the math.

- There are no more snacks. You have once again consumed all the snack food in the first 3-4 days of the week, leaving the bottom of the bag chip splinters as your only option. 

Kid grunting, disapproval, and then recession back into the basement. 

Okay, where was I. I should get changed before I get stuff all over me. Nope, the babies already took care of that. There is a sticky brown thing on my white blouse - it's a ... raisin. A smooshed one. So I'll cook in my work clothes I guess. 

I put the babies in front of the TV. Cocomelon is simultaneously the most annoying and miraculous show in our streaming universe. While I want to rip my hair out listening to it, the babies are mesmerized the moment I turn it on, leaving me a clear 30 minutes to get dinner on the table.   

Dinner gets made, I yell at someone to stop doing something in five minutes intervals, and eventually yell for everyone to come sit down. They do, but it only lasts for five minutes. The children scarf and depart, which makes me grumpy. 'Why do I even try,' I lament. 'They are going to manner school', I state with conviction. 'Manner school ... did you hear that?' 

After our less than relaxing dinner, Peter and I have an after dinner conversation where we are interrupted after every other sentence. This time, Peter yells. We forget where we were. I guess I'll remember and finish over email tomorrow. Onward. Next activity. We divide and conquer. Peter takes the dishes, I take bath time. My dress for the day outfit now has raisin gunk, a grease stain, and water all over it. And ugh, my nail just chipped from the shampooing cycle of my patented kid-scrubbing assembly line. 

I pull the babies out first and sing songs to them as they get dressed. 'Gotta put your hands up, shooby dooby dooby, put your hands up, shooby dooby, doo.' That's an original. 'Pants on, pants on, shoobadidoo, pants on, pants on doobadidoo, pants on.' Another original. Another classic. The others get out of the bath too and join in the silliness. We dance and goof around on the second floor. Peter tries to listen to something else in the kitchen to drown out the racket. I fly the babies in the air. Bobby wants to fly too. He is massive now. Like the Boeing 777. He is grounded almost immediately. 

Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom ... it's the call I hear even when they're all asleep. I'm in the bathroom wiping a bum. I'm helping brush teeth, coaching on oral hygiene. I'm getting knots out of hair to the dismay of each of my girls. One wiggles away and downstairs to the freedom of the kitchen and the potential of an ice cream cone. The others follow. Peter dishes up mint chocolate chip and moose tracks. Even the babies want in on the dessert routine now. So much for baths, their faces are covered in chocolate. It's dribbling on their pajamas too. I'm too tired and they're too cute to get frustrated. We should probably change the order of events in the evening. Baths last. We'll try that tomorrow, along with various corrections to other bad habits.    

Finally, the babies are in bed, and I'm lying in Margaret's room reading stories. For the record, I'm not the preferred story reader. Daddy is. The kids fight over who gets him every night, but Margaret accepts my brief, non-lingering story-reading style, so with a 'fine, I'll take Mommy,' I'm with her. After I close the book and sing her songs, she wants me to lay with her for two minutes. I very slowly count somewhere near 45 in my head and call it. As I try to get up from her twin bed, I start to think about the person I was at work today. And the person I am now. Same me. But such different executions. Such different looks. And temperaments. I feel exposed. Undone. What would my coworkers think of the real me? The raw me? The Mom me? 

What people know about my motherhood resides in a pretty family photo and the easy stories: little league games, dance recitals, vacations. It's simple conversation because it's good and sweet and shiny like the image. The unpolished part of parenting is left at home, masked my manicures and mascara. 

In the coming weeks, I will take on a new role at my company, and with it, I've been asked to share my story with my new team and stakeholders. It's a narrative set to a couple slides to illustrate who I am, how I lead, and what to expect from me. I was coached by my mentor to start with the most important thing - who I am, first and foremost - a wife and mom. So this picture is on the first page. 

We took it this week in Martha's Vineyard. Jacqueline was done - no more cheese. Margaret needed to go to the bathroom. There were people closing in on our shot. I threw the camera to Aunt Dee Dee and said just press here! Look here, press here! Go, go, GOOOOO! She did it. We did it. Everyone looked and smiled and the people moseying toward us didn't need to be cropped out. 

I love it. As I love my family and the role I play within it. But man, the day to day is hard. I don't know if I will share all the challenges that go into those smiles with my team, but maybe some. Because I truly believe being a Mom to this basketball team has actually made me a better leader. Endurance, resiliency, adaptability, problem solving, negotiation, talent development, even crisis management seem to happen at home first. Making the application at work seem easy by comparison. 

I have a couple more weeks before my story makes its debut. And while I was thinking about the transition ahead this week, being on vacation was about one thing: having fun with my family. (Which is no small feat when you vacation in Martha's Vineyard.) And we had a great time. Exploring lighthouses, fishing in the Skiff, crabbing on the dock, sand and surf at Long Point, Tashmoo, and Menemsha, tennis at Farm Neck, lobster dinner, a visit from the Carpenters, walks and talks, and just being together, laughing in the waves. The pictures are worth a thousand words - they are memories I will cherish as much as their hugs when I come through a new door every evening, after taking on a new role.    

 

Lo. 

Summer 2022

There is something infinitely satisfying about teaching a kid how to ride a bicycle. Right around Christmas, on a chilly, dreary, but dry day, we got Margaret off her balance bike and onto a big girl one. Her smile radiated across her face after she realized what she had done with a push and a cheer from her Mom. 

The progression to the pure cold and snow of winter, then the driving rain of spring kept her off her bike for a couple months. But when the sun came out again she progressed from wobbly and insecure, with stops and starts and pushes along the way, to fearless, fast, and free. Her newfound ability gave her wings, the chance to see the neighborhood at a new altitude, reach new speeds, and bob and weave as Bobby's ferocious follower. 

Her little pink bike graduated from a favorite toy to her most respected form of transportation this summer.  Every time we go to the pool, I watch her still soft little legs peddle up and down, up and down. Her four-year-old-ness so round, loveable, and squeezable. It's one of my favorite images of this summer - one I haven't been able capture on camera, because she keeps going faster and faster, just like life.  

For many reasons this summer isn't like any other. There is a fleeing, fleeting nature to it. And I'm clued in, locked in on trying to slow irretrievable velocity. 

Within this idyllic midwestern summer landscape, my kids have plumped my heart with pride over the past several months. While the kids biking, tic tac toe, three in a row, Bobby leading the way, to the pool each day, is the blissful image I will always associate with this summer, there are so many more. Ones that I actually caught on camera.  

At the beginning, it was Bobby and Margaret finishing up their soccer season, then Bobby playing coach pitch baseball, dressed in his white sox uniform, swinging away and aiming for the street. 

   

Margaret was sharp and on beat in her dance recital, stealing the show with her unmasked smile.  

   

There were visitors too. Aunt Barb and Uncle Jim, Aunt Meghan, Aunt Erin and Uncle Joe, and my parents. We celebrated cancelled and diverted flights, Father's day, birthdays, togetherness, and last hurrahs on Sunset.

The twins, gained comfort in the baby pool, then received yellow floaties on a late July Amazon shipment. They have been loving life in full float in the big pool. 

And there was all the rest of the swimming. God I was proud of the kids doing the swim team this year. Their matching team suits. Their early morning dedication to all four strokes and countless laps. Their competitive spirit and their desire to root for each other. I learned how to be a timer. I hugged their wet little bodies when they came out of the pool after their races. I released my anxiety about how much time we were spending at swim meets and instead soaked it up.  

They didn't make conference though. That was a big deal. As awesome as they were in my mind, they were not as good as the junior Olympic contenders and kids that were allegedly still 10, but looked closer to 18, in their division. Bobby took it well - he didn't really care. But I had to coach Mary through the rejection. I told her to stick with it. That she had only been swimming for a year. In comparison, these other kids had been swimming since they were 5 or 6. That she was the youngest in her division. That she was smaller than the kid that was 5'10. I told her they would surely burn out by 13 or 14. So stick with it. You got it. You'll beat 'em then! It's about the long game - endurance. For a big thinker like Mary, this made sense, despite my lackluster parenting skills.  

   

Swimming wasn't enough to fill their days, so they played a lot of tennis too. Their hair and neon shirts drenched with sweat as the midday sun beat down on them. There was a time they couldn't find their tennis shoes. Left in a car, or under their bed, or buried in a Lego bin. Eva gave them their sandals and socks to wear instead. They were called out as suspect, but still played - likely a little slower and sandier than previous attempts, but they got my moneys worth. They made progress and Peter and I paired up with them for the parent / child tournament. There were legit rallies and points and pride as I saw I didn't have to cover the whole court for my partner. My vision of actually being able to play with them one day coming a little more into focus.  

Fourth of July at the Club was one of those perfectly joyous evenings where you can imagine how much fun you could be having if you didn't have twins running in opposite directions, getting too hungry, then too tired to stay up and play, party, and partake in the fireworks. I left that party more exhausted than exhilarated, but the rest of the people there looked like they were loving every second. 

         

Let me just stay on those babies. Well not babies anymore, toddlers and almost two year-olds. Such a cute age. They have been in speech therapy since the spring because their twindom has prompted a delay in their words. While I was skeptical about the whole thing, I've come to the conclusion that it's working. They've made gains; going from saying nothing or not much at all to meaningful core words and more, even piecing together two and three words here and there. Right now their favorite word, in keeping with the majority share of activities this summer, is pool. Go pool. Go pool. Go outside pool. Ms. Trish the speech therapist is so pleased.  

There are mere weeks left though. All this summer sweetness is going to come crashing to a close. All those people telling me it goes by too fast will be right. Spot on. As the zip away, I want the three older ones to peddle backward so I can see them bike those blocks to the pool one more time.

I'm not going to share the next step and talk about the move right now. It's too much, and I need to save the emotion for another blog entry on another day too close to now. For now, I'm still focused on the beauty of here and now, and on Margaret's legs peddling up and down, up and down, bobbing her head to the soundtrack of our summer. 

Lo.