I am sitting in the airport in San Francisco waiting for the flight that is delayed 2 hours (it's a 1 hour flight, people, from San Francisco to Los Angeles!) to board so I can go home from a conference that I've been at since Wednesday (it's Sunday).
DG has done an amazing job of taking care of T1 and T2 while I've been gone. He even went and got them Halloween costumes and he did the laundry! He's been such a good Mr. Mom that the twins don't even want to talk to me when I call. And, as I look at the clock and think about how I would have been driving up to my house and seeing their adorable faces in about 30 minutes, and now I have to wait another 2 hours, I just get mad.
When I left on Wednesday, I was really looking forward to the respite time that a conference affords a working mom. Maybe you have not had the luxury of staying in a hotel room by yourself, eating room service, and watching movies. My colleagues asked me to go to dinner. Are you kidding? And give up the quiet time? No way. They have no idea how much that down time is precious. But now, I'm just anxious to get home.
The balance between working and mothering is tipping in the wrong direction right now.
Mothering first -- working second, not the other way around.
I have a goal for when I get home. Instead of worrying about the emails, the laundry, the lunches, and all, I plan on spending the week playing cards, kicking the soccer ball around the back yard, and playing hide and seek. I'm hoping to tip the scale back in the other direction.
