Everybody’s Workin’ For the Weekend
I’d forgotten about weekends during the last two and a half years. I’d forgotten that bone tired feeling at the end of a busy work week; it’s a different bone tired than the exhaustion that comes with the constant care of a tiny human being or a full playdate schedule. Tonight, though, it’s all coming back to me, the meaning of TGIF.
Lately, weekends just meant that I’ll have 2 kids home all day, not picking up their toys and demanding snacks. And that the Shaolin Toddler will probably forgo her nap, choosing instead to chase her sister around and get in her business until they are both whining uncontrollably. Weekends in the land of this accidental SAHM were certainly a break in routine, but when you’ve got a high strung Diva and a Toddler Formerly Known As Zen in a small apartment, changes in routine aren’t always…restful. Tonight, however, I’m sitting here, utterly exhausted and grateful that it’s Friday. Two whole glorious days to sleep in, laze around, and do absolutely nothing……Or, you know, spend quality time with The Ladies, do the laundry (normally I wouldn’t bother, but the underwear situation is nearing critical levels), and get the errands done I didn’t have time for during the week.
Still, I’m thrilled that it’s the weekend. Even more than that, I’m thrilled that I’m thrilled that it’s the weekend.
I’ve been a mom for going on 8 years now, and for the first five, I was a working mom. For the first year and a half of Diva Girl’s life I was in school, getting my teaching credentials. And by the first year and a half, I mean all of it. For a completely….unexpected baby, Sabrina had the good grace to be born over Christmas Break. I attended my last class of the year, went home, had a baby, and showed back up at school three weeks later without missing a single class. After I got my teaching certificate I went to work pretty much fulltime, first as a supply teacher, and then, the year she was in Jr. Kindergarten, as a teacher at Diva Girl’s school.
Then I had the Zen Baby. I took the full year maternity leave and really enjoyed it. Well, I did teach summer school when the baby was four months old, but other than that, I was home fulltime. It was a unique experience for me, this life of a stay-at-home-mom. I hung out on the playground and made friends with other mommies. I attended school assemblies, went on fieldtrips and to playgroup, and napped when the baby napped. But I’ll confess, when I was offered my dream job just a few days after Regan’s first birthday, I was ready to go back to work. Especially since it was only one 70 minute high school English class, meaning I would still be able to drop Brina off at school in the mornings and pick her up in the afternoons, and would only be leaving Regan with my mom for about 2 hours a day. It was perfect, and I was thrilled.
Three days after I started work, Regan’s tumour was discovered. My immediate instinct was to quit. In fact, I walked into the Vice-Principal’s office later that day and tendered my resignation. He didn’t accept it, telling me that a decision shouldn’t be made in such an emotional moment. Part of me was very relieved, because terrified though I was for my baby, I really, really wanted that job. And I kept it. The day after her surgeon removed a tumour the size of a grapefruit from the Zen Baby’s belly, I returned to my class, commuting from the hospital until she was released a week later. After that contract ended, I again worked summer school , basking in the fact that my baby was healthy.
But, the entire drama had taken more than a physical toll on my family. By August, Regan had stopped talking. At. All. No words–not even Mama, or NO. No baby babble. Really, no sounds at all. And she was painfully shy. People terrified her. Not just random strangers, pretty much everyone who wasn’t me. I never had to look around for her, I simply needed to look down to see my little shadow standing silently, no more than an arm’s length (hers, not mine) from my leg. This was not a child who was going to be able to cope with daycare, not even the fantastic home daycare where I’d secured her a spot.
So, I took the year off and instead of lesson plans, report cards, and parent teacher interviews I immersed myself in a busy schedule of playdates and circle time as I tried to socialize my traumatized little girl. It worked beautifully. With the help of some great friends, including the aforementioned daycare provider, Regan is a different child from a year ago. She’s happy. She’s social. Last week, she walked up to me holding another little girl’s hand and said, “This is Emma. She’s my friend.” It was time to go back to work.
So, this week I walked back into a classroom for the first time in 14 months. And started to remember what it’s like to look forward to the weekend.