Brimming and whirring

Ever since my twins were born in 2000, there have been agonizing moments when I wondered if being a working mother was the right path for me to take.

Nevermind the fact that I really couldn't afford not to work.

When they clung to my legs at daycare and begged me not to leave, day after day - for months. When I guardedly, optimistically sent them to school with the sniffles, only to be called as soon as I got to work to take them home. When someone other than me saw them crawl for the first time, when I forgot to pack their snack, or their library book, when my boss told me that I'd missed so much work to care for sick children that he didn't feel he could count on me anymore.

On bad days, it seemed like I'd made a huge, insurmountable mistake.

But ever since I was a little girl, I had two notions in my head. That I was going to be a great mother one day, and that somehow, I was going to do something big with my life. Something important. Something beyond my immediate family that would make an impact on my life and the lives of others.

And the funny thing was that as a child of the 70s, and myself the fourth child of a working mother, I never thought that these twin dreams would ever, should ever, come into conflict.

So when they did, I did what any ambitious human - man or woman - would do. I I made a conscious, doggedly determined effort to change my work situation to fit my life. My mantra - If I was going to be away from my daughters for 11 hours each day, then I damn well was going to do something during that time that enriched my life.

And so I pulled myself out of my dead-end job and in two years had launched myself into a new career.

Which leads me to today.

I attended my first Executive Moms luncheon, and found myself in a kind of working mother wonderland - smack dab in the middle of hundreds of women who , or the most part, are a lot like me.

Not that we were a homogenous group. The panel discussion, led by Deborah Roberts of 20/20, revealed that even very successful women are still facing hostility in the workplace when they try to balance their work/family life. One top executive at a Fortune 500 company was clearly not benefitting from a work/life balance, and noted that her boss frankly admitted to her (a mother of three little tykes) that he didn't like children.

While one panelist wryly pointed out that if instead he had isaid that he didn't like women, the board of directors would have booted him immediately, - another questioned why the woman stayed in such a hostile evironment when she clearly had the skills to go somewhere else.

Roberts even admitted that it was 5 years before she felt she had "proved herself" enough at ABC to warrant bringing her children to work.

All the women I met today were at different stages in their emotional life as a working mother. But I think the one truth we all shared was that when God was handing out DNA, our particular strands were genetically programmed to make us procreate and have careers.

Forget for a moment the obstacles that crop up again and again. The glass ceiling, the fear of being "mommy tracked," the recalcitrant boss. As one panelist pointed out, women make up 51 percent of the world and by and large, we're the ones holding ourselves back.

"When will we be ready for a woman president?" she asked rhetorically. "When the women of this country are ready for one." And not a second before.

I'm too young to have participated in any bra-burnings, or to have ever had much interest in Ms. Magazine or Betty Friedan (although I did thoroughly enjoy "Our Bodies, Ourselves).

But I'm old enough to realize that my future as a woman, as a participant in this world, and as a mother, is in my own capable hands.

And just as a new mother I feared that I would fail my child, but instead rose to the occasion, so I put my faith in myself in every new challenge others hand me, or I choose for myself. ra

I haven't yet made that mark I'm planning to leave on this earth. But I'm only 44, and my life still brims and whirs with possibilities.. And it's nice to know that there are scores of other women out there brimming and whirring right along with me.

The teacher's note

Is there anything that can shake a mother’s confidence in her ability to mother more seismically than a teacher’s note neatly tucked into her child’s homework folder?

In flawless handwriting (I’m convinced that most teachers were sit-upright-in-their-chairs, A+ in penmanship goody-goodies), the notes first convey what a joy it is to get to know my child, and then let the guillotine fall.

Lily is daydreaming half the day away and misses instruction. Jessica is turned around in her seat while the teacher is trying to teach, her penmanship is careless and sloppy and she can’t seem to remember where to put her homework each day.

Each time I get one of these notes, a cold, clammy fear takes hold of my body and I jump to the most negative conclusions possible. Lily has been having silent seizures for two years because we (I) never got her the sleep-deprived EEG the specialist gave us a prescription for (but said probably wasn’t necessary). Jessica is going to grow up to be an out-of-control, non-vegetable eating horrid pre-teen by the time she turns 7 because I’ve been too permissive and encouraged her budding gift for sarcasm, because it seemed so cute coming from a 5-year-old.

Then comes the adrenaline rush of anger and indignation against these all-knowing adults who dare to pass judgment of any kind on my children. Why, they are just free, imaginative spirits who cannot – and should not – fit into the conventional mold that public schools so desperately try to force them into.

After that – the twinge of working mother guilt rises to the surface. If only I worked closer to home, or worked 3 days per week, I could spend more time helping them navigate the public school system that, like it or not, they’re going to have to live with for the next decade. And I could be one of those perfectly organized, perky class parents, closely attuned to the teacher and the politics of the school and classroom.

In the end, I do what I do best. I call them to discuss the issues, or write them long, thoughtful notes back, trying to give them a better insight into what goes on in my little girls’ hearts and minds, and offer suggestions for how we can work together to make sure they develop a deep love for learning and school.

And I scheduled that EEG for Lily, and clued Jessica in to the fact that sarcasm and hastily scrawled ABCs are not the best way to win friends and influence people.

These notes may temporarily throw me off balance, but I’ve realized that what it comes down to is this:

My daughters are the most interesting creatures in the world to me. As a result, I listen, truly listen to them. And with a scientist’s trained eye, I watch them interact with each other and with the world.

So I can safely say that nobody knows them better than I do, and nobody can advocate for them as effectively as I can.

I’m sure I haven’t gotten my last note home from a teacher. But next time, I’ll know to take it for what it’s worth – one person’s observations about a child they don’t know very well.

And remember that when it comes to these two exasperating, imaginative, devilish, wonderful little 6-year-old girls, I am the resident expert.