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Ed. note: The original version of this musing included a quote from author Alice Munro talking about how she felt she’d missed the opportunity to be present in her children’s lives when they were little. After publishing this post on 9/1, two Magpies wrote in to let me know about some dark details that have come forward about Alice Munro and her complicity in the assault of her daughter. I had not known of this and apologize for any confusion or triggering this may have caused. I have since removed the quote.
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I routinely come across posts on social media reminding me that I have only 18 summers with my children, babies don’t keep, etc. My skin chills in defense when I read these words, even as I sense their earnestness, their truth. Even as I have been consciously rearranging my life to spend more time with my children now so that I can run wide of these regrets later. I wrote a year or two ago about the day I picked my son up from Montessori — this was back when our former nanny handled carpool. I can still remember the way he beamed and shrieked at the top of the steps when he saw me, and then skitter-skattered down the steps, his little legs moving as quickly as they could, leaping right into my arms. He talked about me picking him up to everyone who would listen. It was the most wounding awakening. I told myself all kinds of things. I inwardly insisted that I was contributing to the household income, and that I should treat it with the same seriousness and commitment I would a more traditional job. I reminded myself I was modeling devotion to a creative life, to entrepreneurial ambitions, and that I wanted my children and especially my daughter to see that. I reasoned that if I picked my son up every afternoon, then he’d ask why I didn’t take him in the mornings, or why I wasn’t the one taking him to t-ball (his father’s duty). It feels that there is never enough of me to go around as a mother, no matter how much I give. I felt this acutely during the pandemic, when we were warded off together in our too-snug New York City apartment. Virtually no alone time, no private quarters, and still they clung to me, clamored for me. “Mama mama mama mama” fifteen hundred times an hour. Those were long days. In the aftermath of that quarantine period I still think that high school teens had it worst out of the lot of us. Can you imagine missing your first dances, your chance at a varsity team, your fumbling maiden interactions with crushes? But just after the teens, and probably the alienated elderly, I think it was parents of young children with no “pod” to lean on. I feel we are still processing that period, and the way time pooled around us, threatening to drown. On the positive side, we enjoyed many months of close bonding together, no separations. We made the mundane festive. We learned just how forbearing we could be. I discovered that the sun still rises. But those were tough times.
I digress. Because my point is his sundrop face at the top of the steps, which has reappeared to me over and over again, especially in my worst moments of maternal self-doubt.
This year, we are doing things differently. Since May, we have been without a nanny. The children were in day camps (9-3) for about six weeks of the summer, and we occasionally had two neighborhood teens alternate as “mother’s helpers” during the mornings the children were not in them. Even with this support, the summer was an adjustment. Since May, my working hours have been 9-2:30 (on a good day — often, exercise and errands whittled this down to a slender 10-2), and I have reclaimed my roles as fraulein of bathtime and fetcher of infinite snacks in that scrabbly time between school and dinner. The children are older, though, and have learned (by dint of repetition on the parts of their parents) how to be companionable with boredom, or as we call it “quiet time.” It took a full summer to acclimate them, but the slow unfurling of August, with no camps or plans to speak of, completed the process. And now I retrieve them from their school, and they are vibrating with energy, and they snap at me for not bringing them the right snacks in the car, nuzzle up in my arms, jibber-jabber about their days, slam their doors, curl up on my lap in my office, scream about the injustices of their worlds. How could I possibly not have a brown paper lunch bag for my daughter’s first school assignment?! Etc. They are intemperate with mood. I know, of course, that this is largely because we are transitioning from the slackness and slow mornings of summer, and they are internalizing all the new rules and customs of their school worlds, and they get home and need to let out some steam. Parents are the collateral. But after the emotional melee, after the horde of snacks, they retreat to their rooms for quiet time, and I think to myself: “If nothing else, we taught them how to be alone this summer, and just in time.” Because now I can usually sit down to my desk and sneak in some editing, or make my way through my inbox, or undertake the other admin projects that paw at me, for some portion of the afternoon hours. I am always grateful for those little windfalls of productivity, but I also remind myself: “Even if I don’t get anything done, this is what I want, for myself, for my children. To be more present and available to them while they are young and need me.”
Sometimes I bristle at my own logic. Am I doing this to avoid regret? And is that a sound reason to do something? But if I tilt my head the other way, I see that I am trying to draw my aspirations into alignment with my actions. Time is a tool to express your values, etc. Specifically, I want to be like my mother, who was somehow always there despite having five children. I feel as though she never missed a beat, a performance, an opportunity to volunteer in the classroom, a moment to praise or celebrate her children. Equally, she never missed an occasion for correction — by that I mean that she was dialed in on our whereabouts and behavior, and would not tolerate infractions. I hesitate to call her strict, because she was almost unfathomably patient and calm, but she ran a tight ship. Firm, I guess. She knew how to set a boundary. Now I see all of this as an expression of love. She still makes me feel like the most important part of her life, even though I know I share that coveted spot with four siblings and my father. I want my children to feel that kind of boundless love, that always-thereness.
So here we are. My workday shrunk down to just the core. I am learning to be ruthless with my attention, to prioritize what matters. I noticed this week that I have developed an interesting practice, or skill? In the mornings, I take my own creative temperature. Nothing formal, just — am I on hi or lo today? If the former, I sprint to my desk and put pen to paper as quickly as possible. I’ll forgo errands and exercise in pursuit of Helicon. If it’s lo, I’ll permit myself a bit more fluidity. Maybe I’ll go for a longer run, or tackle some of the aspects of running the blog that are less creatively intense. Then the afternoons and evenings are more family-focused. I will say the biggest challenge is when I find myself galloping away with words, and the shot clock to school pick up is ticking down. It is the most frenetic, strangling feeling, and I hate it. But we are finding our way, and writing our way through it. As always, onward —
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Some shopping poetry for us…
G. LABEL NOAH CARDIGAN // LA LIGNE DUNTON JEANS // GOOP VITAMIN C SERUM // VERONICA BEARD DENIM SKIRT (ON SUPER SALE) // CREWCUTS BARN JACKET // HOTEL LOBBY HAND SOAP
La Ligne restocked their Duntons and they’re already nearly sold out. I am so bummed I missed out on my size again! I like the vision of these with a feminine top. // If you make one knitwear investment this season, can I make a plug for G Label’s belted Noah? Restocked again this year and I’m constantly wearing it. Perfect weight and color. The overlong sleeves add just a touch of interest/edge, and I like that you can belt for a polished finish. // While there, a note that Goop is offering 25% off their beauty favorites. I’ve written detailed reviews of my top Goop beauty picks here, but if I had to narrow it down to two buys, I’d plug this microderm instant glow exfoliator (a two minute facial) and their vitamin C serum (I’ve tried at least ten vitamin C products and this is my favorite). // If you buy only one thing from the J. Crew LWD sale, snag this adorable canvas barn coat for your boy! // Petite Plume is running a huge sale. My children love their jammies, and I got a ton of wear out of this chic caftan at the pool this summer. // Veronica Beard is offering 25% off their sale. Shared my top picks here, some of which have sold out, but this denim skirt was a late discovery. With code, it’s under $70. // Excuse me, but this Mango suede jacket?! I have myself signed up for an alert for a restock! (Scratches the VB Andrea itch for a fraction of the price?) And their bow-front denim jacket is also exceptional. Wow. // Still obsessing over my primary bath upgrade: fancy hand soap. Smells like heaven. // Wearing Julia Amory’s babe pants above.
Also, some notes on styling the aforementioned denim skirt…
COS TEE // SKIRT // BAG // SHOES // JACKET
