I have officially entered the time of year where I become an absentee mom and my husband becomes a single parent. I work in a publically traded company in the finance department, and every quarter we are required to release our quarterly results to “The Street.” So for the next 3 weeks, I will either be holed up in a conference room or in my office, neither of which are in my house.
In the beginning of this “journey” I usually see my kids in the morning just long enough to see them open their eyes and rub the crusties from the corners. My husband isn’t too far ahead of them, as he’s usually staggering his way to the kitchen towards the pot of coffee. Before I run out the door, I always give everyone a kiss goodbye, wish them a great day and I always tell them that I love them (if something every happened and this was the last time we saw each other, I always want them to know…sad, but true).
When I get home at night, it’s usually just after they have finished their dinner, but in time to talk about at least 3 fun things that happened that day at camp, watch some American Ninja Warrior with them (a house fav), help them pick out the stuffed animal that they should sleep with that night, and kiss their sun-kissed cheeks as I tuck them into bed.
And at the end of the first week, I feel like I have a good handle on this, I am making it work, juggling home, family, and a high-stress career. I got this! Over the years I have gotten really good at being able to compartmentalize my feelings…to a certain point. So when I’m home, I’m home both physically and mentally, and when I’m at work, I assume everyone is OK at home (because I haven’t heard otherwise) and I am focused on work. I use my commute back-and-forth to work to transition between the two – like a hallway from one part of my brain to the other. I tend to be a pretty visual person, so when I think about it, I see my feelings from a bird’s-eye view looking down at a 3-dimensional blueprint of a house plan, where each room represents where I am mentally. At this point in this process I am physically and mentally in the same room.
As we get deep into the second week, my hours in the office start to get longer and my hours at home get shorter. When I leave in the morning my husband and the kids are still snuggled in their beds and when I go in to say goodbye, wish them a great day, and tell them that I love them, they are just coherent enough to lift their heads high enough for me to reach as I kiss the side of their warm faces. And when I should be home in time to tuck the kids in, I have to settle for FaceTime. While I am so thankful for this technology, there is nothing like the warmth of my kids when I hug them. Not to mention the motion sickness I suffer, as my son walks around the house while he is talking to me.
The conversation with my son is usually me explaining why he can’t just come down to my office and demand to speak to the CEO and CFO to discuss why his Mommy has to work so late. My daughter puts on a good face on the phone and tells me about her day, but as soon as we hang up she starts sending me texts with crying emojis, sad emojis, hearts, and asking questions like “When will you be home?”, “Why do you have to work so late?”, “When will it be over?”, and “Which stuffed animal should I sleep with tonight?” For as long as I can remember, picking her stuffed animal that she should sleep with that night has been part of our nighttime ritual, and I cherish it (hopefully in the future I’ll have as much input with the men she chooses). Each text, emoji and question pull at my heart, but I stay strong because I am at work, and I have work to do.  With my husband, he knows that the longer that I am on the phone, the longer I will be in the office, so he just gives me a little smile, blows me a kiss and tells me to get home safe.
By the third week, I’m done and long for it to be over, especially in the morning when I am getting ready to leave and I see my husband and kids still drooling on their pillows, sound asleep. I kiss their faces and whisper “I love you” before I go downstairs. I know that I have reached the hardest part. As soon as I wake up I am thinking about work, and can no longer separate it from home. I feel the walls starting to come down, as my house plan is starting to look more like an open concept, and less traditional. I am physically in my house, but mentally in my office. I DON’T WANT THIS!
After the brief tantrum in my head, I tell myself to suck it up, stop feeling sorry for myself and go to work. This is what I signed up for with this job and I know that this is the time at work that is the most satisfying for me personally. It’s the last couple of days and I can see the finish line. It gets intense, stress is high, but it’s the time when I learn the most, when character is built! and when the biggest laughs happen, because I work with a really good group of people and we all get to the point where we just have to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. And knowing that helps keep me engaged at work, to stay within those walls. Because if I allowed myself to think about what I know is happening at home, I wouldn’t be so strong.
I know that my family has now gotten to the point where they have found their new norm, and it doesn’t include me. I sometimes equate this time to what it would be like if I died. My husband has now gone into survival mode as a single parent and knows that for the next couple of days he probably won’t actually see me, and all communication between us will be through text. Usually something like “Hello?”, “Calling soon?” or “Night, love you.” And usually something to make me smile like “Don’t make any noise when you come home, I’ve got to get up early.”  I talk to the kids on the phone briefly, because FaceTime seems to take too long and they are the worst to talk to on the phone.  For some reason they don’t understand that the phone belongs up by their ear, so the conversation is a lot of “What?… Tell me again…I can’t hear you…That’s awesome, honey!” (but I have no idea what they said).  No more tear filled emoji texts from my daughter, no more “who should I sleep with?” just a kiss, heart and an “I love you, night mommy!” And when I finally get home, the only one up waiting for me is Jimmy Fallon. The house is very quiet and I am very lonely. I long to see someone that just wants to see me, and doesn’t need or want anything other than a hug.
When it’s all over, and I finally come home, I wish I could say that everything just goes back to normal, like it didn’t happen, but I can’t. A lot of time has passed and I feel that I have missed a lot. It’s kind of like coming home from war (minus the heroics), and I need to reintegrate back into the family. There is usually miscommunication, differences in expectations, and maybe a little resentment. It all works out, but bottom line, it just takes some time.  Despite what I see on HGTV on Sunday mornings, it takes more than a weekend and a few of my family members to put up my walls and put my house back together.