Keeping the schedules of me, my husband, and our two sons straight is like having to complete a 1,000 piece jig saw puzzle. While canoeing. In the open ocean. During a hurricane. Just kidding it’s way harder than that.
Every Sunday night (don’t judge, I do wait until the last minute) I pull up my calendar and try to start putting the puzzle together. Which days do I have a late client appointment or event, which nights will my husband have late night projects, when are football practices for the boys? And just when I think I have this all under control, it changes: the coach moves football practice, a prospect wants to meet tomorrow, one of the buildings my husband manages has a car plow into it causing major damage (true story). So between me, my husband, my mother, my father, after school care and occasionally my friend Jay (true story: he watches kids with strep) we somehow manage to get everyone where they have to be. Not always on time but we get there.
For ten years since my sons were born this challenging system worked. It worked because for ten years my children barely ever got sick. I was lulled into believing that my children were too tough to be downed by the common cold or flu. Then came winter 2015/2016 and my life went to hell in a hand basket. Basically I’ve had a sick child or husband continuously since the first weekend in November—we are talking three months of puking, sore throats and fevers. Dear eight-pound fourteen-ounce baby Jesus deliver me!
Sick children equals morning fire drills. It means waking up my “not a morning person” husband and expecting him to help me problem solve at 6 am. It often times involves cleaning puke off the carpet before I’ve had coffee. It requires early morning calls with my parents where I feel like a sixteen-year-old negotiating for a later curfew. And sometimes when there are no other options it involves me canceling my entire day and staying home which I both love and hate. I hate flaking on my clients and my work. But I’m not gonna lie, I love spending time with my children when they want to cuddle with me (I’m the mom, I can cuddle because I’m not allowed to get sick even when living in a house infested with every winter germ imaginable).
So gross sickness aside I do cherish these moments. Because the mom in me trumps the working girl. Every time.