Chasing Superwoman

by Susan DiMickele

  By 9:00 p.m. I’m simply too tired to work. At this point, I wish I would have started my day earlier to pray. Now, I’m too tired to pray. I go from being too busy to too tired. Sometimes I wish God would just hit me over the head or shake me upside down to get my attention.

  The Gentle Whisper

  Sassy Shelly and Conservative Jen—another friend from law school, who is married to Bleeding-Heart Brian—decided to read through the Bible with me last year. Conservative Jen has four children—four seems to be the magic number for my friends—and she retired from the practice of law to stay home with her firstborn almost eight years ago. I’m always jealous that she gets her kids in bed by 7:00 p.m., but I also realize that most days she works harder than I do. She and Bleeding-Heart Brian are two of my favorite people, except I try to stay away from them during most political elections, when they have their share of marital discord. They make Doug and me look completely compatible.

  A lot of folks are surprised that Sassy Shelly is involved in Bible study, but she’s always eager to learn something new, and like Conservative Jen and me she’s ready for some girl time at the end of a long day. So the three of us meet for Bible study on Wednesday nights after our kids go to bed, and we make no apologies for moving at a snail’s pace. Right now, we’re stuck in Kings. We’ve been in Kings for about three months. Now, the Old Testament can be pretty tedious, but Kings comes alive when I read about the prophet Elijah. Elijah is a wild man. He’s always on the run, being fed by ravens and taunting all the evil prophets of Baal. At one point, he is running from the wicked King Ahab, and he hides in a cave. God tells him to go stand on the mountain, because the Lord is about to pass by. So Elijah listens. Next comes a mighty wind, then an earthquake, and then a fire. But no sign of the Lord. Finally, the Lord appears in a gentle whisper. It’s a good thing Elijah was listening or he might have missed it.

  Some things never change. Even though I’m not running from King Ahab, it’s still hard to hear a whisper. I’m always looking for God to appear in the obvious places. Sometimes I even get angry at Him when He doesn’t show up. Never mind that I haven’t been listening. I usually do all the talking, and unlike me, He’s a good listener.

  Nick likes to ask me, “Mom, have you ever heard God speak?”

  “Yes, dear, God speaks to us in all kinds of ways.”

  “But, have you ever heard His voice? Has He ever spoken to you?”

  This is a more difficult question. I give Nick a canned answer and explain that God speaks through the Holy Spirit and uses the Bible, prayer, other people, and circumstances. But this isn’t what he’s asking. He wants to know if I have ever heard God’s audible voice. I can’t say that I have. But I try to explain that sometimes, when I am really quiet, I can actually hear Him speak to my heart. Just like the gentle whisper.

  So far, Sassy Shelly’s favorite part of the Old Testament is the story of Samuel, right before the book of Kings. Her oldest son is named Sam, an unexpected blessing that changed her life forever, and she especially likes the verse that says, “I prayed for this child, and the LORD has granted me what I asked of him.”1 Nick also loves the story of Samuel, so we read it together and he listens with wide eyes as God calls Samuel—a young boy like Nick—not once, but three times before the priest Eli finally realizes that God is calling Samuel by name. The fourth time, Samuel is actually ready. Instead of running to Eli, Samuel responds, “Speak, LORD, for your servant is listening.”2

  Pastor Eric recently explained that even though Samuel grew up in the temple, he didn’t recognize the voice of the Lord without some help. Even Samuel took time to become a good listener.

  Like Samuel, I need some help recognizing God’s voice. Some nights, I need to hear His voice more than I need the sleep. So I stay up late, I listen, and I finally pray. And then I start writing. Chances are, I’ll probably skip my shower in the morning. I’m trying to be a good listener, but it’s still not easy. I live in two worlds, and both of them consume me. There’s no gray in my worlds; it’s black or it’s white. Like a switch, I’m on or I’m off. In a matter of minutes I go from my corner office, navy suit, and high billing rate to sibling rivalry, poopy diapers, and soiled clothing. I want to listen at some point in between, but I’m exhausted, and I’m not sure where to begin. At the end of my long day, Jesus comforts Devoted Mommy, gives grace to Lady Lawyer, and understands when I just collapse in bed.

  FIVE

  Superwoman Takes On School

  Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

  Proverbs 3:5–6

  When you’re busy pretending to be Superwoman you don’t have time to read instruction manuals. Like the manual that explains the complicated demands that most schools place on parents. Actually, I’m not sure such a manual exists. Most working mothers feel like we’re already behind the eight ball. Many of us are not able to pick up our kids from school, so we don’t get the take-home folder until the papers have mysteriously disappeared into the far corners of our homes, and we frequently mix up dates, forget assignments, and miss last-minute changes—like the notes that say “please send your child a packed lunch tomorrow for the field trip” or “every child should wear pajamas on Friday for the party.” I’m always worried that my children are going to suffer because of my lack of involvement. I want to “trust in the Lord with all my heart” and put my children’s school experiences in God’s hands, but it’s always a struggle.

  It all started in preschool. Preschool mothers have a way of making simple things complicated. At the end of Anna’s first year of preschool, a letter went out to all of the parents expressing concern over preschool snacks. Just about every preschool snack is taboo these days. A vocal group of parents were concerned that the kids were eating junk every day, so they put a task force together to “study” the issue. All parents were asked to complete a survey with three options: (1) Let the kids continue to eat junk; (2) Pay more tuition to the school and have the school provide a healthy snack; or (3) Have a parent committee organize parent-driven healthy snacks. You guessed it, I voted for option 2. The last thing I need is another school-related responsibility.

  The votes had been cast, and option 3 was the clear winner. So the next fall, a memo went home to all the parents with elaborate instructions on snacks. No nuts, no trans fats, no carbs without protein, only good protein, a fruit or vegetable every day, not too much sugar, and not too much mess. Snacks were to be individually wrapped, fruit was to be washed, and teachers were to always wear gloves in the classroom when serving snacks. Just reading the memo made me exhausted. I opened our refrigerator and quickly realized I would have much work ahead.

  When it’s Anna’s turn for snacks I usually don’t remember until the night before, after the kids have gone to bed. Doug usually sees “preschool snack” on the calendar, and we both panic. I look feverishly for the preschool snack calendar and can never find it. I think I may have thrown away that memo with the instructions. So I immediately send Doug to the grocery store to pick up some boxed raisins and cheese. Who can argue with raisins and cheese? It’s certainly an improvement over goldfish crackers, my standard snack the year before. Actually, the year before I usually forgot snack when it was Anna’s turn. In a fit of guilt, I would buy eight bags of goldfish and take them to preschool the next day as a “backup snack.” When it’s Anna’s turn to bring snacks, she also gets to be line leader. It’s tough to be line leader when you don’t have any food to feed your friends.

  Kindergarten

  When Nick entered kindergarten I embarked on a new journey that only a mother of grade-school children can understand. I was completely unprepared. There’s no instruction manual for parents of kindergarteners, and even if there was, I wouldn’t have time to read it. I hate instruction manuals anyway. I’m the kind of person who skips
the first page of directions and goes straight to the last step. I can usually figure it out myself.

  Besides, I had already been through preschool. You would have thought that two years of preschool would have prepared me. Not so. Kindergarten is much more intense. One difference, at least in our school, is that the teachers are really in charge. In preschool the parents are in charge. Of course, the parents are paying for their children to attend preschool, and money talks. In our public grade school, parents can talk all they want, but at the end of the day we’re all at the mercy of the school. Like everything else, there are things you can do to influence the school, something I would learn later in the process.

  It all began on a cold February morning, waiting in line to request Nick’s kindergarten teacher. Kindergarten sign-ups are first come, first served—parents who arrive first get preference on teacher selection. Fortunately, this madness occurs only for kindergarten. The doors open at 8:30 a.m., and I arrived at 8:00 a.m., thinking I was ahead of the game. I was late. One class roster had already been filled. Parents were asked to sign a list noting their arrival time. You could tell I was a first-timer.

  Nick still made it into kindergarten, even with my preference of teacher. After kindergarten screening, kindergarten orientation, the annual school-supply sale, and the kindergarten welcome ice cream social, he was more than ready to take the plunge. He counted the days down until the first day of school. I cried my eyes out. It was worse than his first haircut.

  At our grade school, the teachers have to discourage parents from volunteering. Nick’s kindergarten teacher wisely told the too-eager parents that she wanted the first few months of school to get to know the kids, without mom or dad. In other words, “Stay out of my way, and junior will be fine.” I could live with this. I don’t have time to volunteer anyway. She already had two aides and a student helper, so Nick would get plenty of attention.

  By mid-October, the parents were chomping at the bit to get into the classroom, so she finally put a volunteer schedule together. I emailed her and told her I would like to come into the classroom once a month, but that my schedule changes every month and is completely unpredictable. I suggested that we email some workable dates back and forth and gave her a couple of upcoming possibilities.

  “I’m out of town the week of November 10, but the following week I have a window the morning of November 18 (although I just offered that date to someone for a deposition), and I can volunteer on November 20 but I would just need to leave a few minutes early so that I could get to our partner lunch on time.”

  I never heard back. When the November schedule arrived in Nick’s Friday folder, I wasn’t on the schedule. I certainly didn’t blame his teacher. My secretary and I have a hard enough time keeping track of my schedule; I can’t expect Nick’s kindergarten teacher to figure it out.

  Fortunately, Nick is a good student and he gets along fine in the classroom without me. When I was growing up, parents rarely appeared in the classroom. My parents came to every ballet recital and cheerleading meet, but I was on my own in the classroom. I completed my own homework, walked to the bus stop alone, and never brought treats on my birthday. Things have changed, especially when it comes to birthdays. In addition to bringing a snack, most kids bring goodie bags for everyone in the class. These goodie bags have homemade snacks, small toys, and craft projects. The days of a sucker and pencil are over. The average parents will go broke before buying their own child a birthday gift.

  Parent-teacher conferences have also become a production. The night before Nick’s first conference, I could barely sleep. Nick has always been good at home, but what if he had been acting out at school? Since I never volunteer, what if I got caught by surprise? Or worse, what if Nick’s teacher didn’t think he was special? Quiet, compliant children like Nick never get any attention. I felt sick just thinking about it.

  The morning of the conference, I arrived a few minutes early. I had purposely scheduled an early slot at 8:30 so that I could get into my office as soon as possible. At 8:40 I was still waiting—the 8:00 conference was apparently running late. The reason? Nick’s teacher was being interrogated by another parent. Another lawyer parent. I decided to eavesdrop since the door was open.

  “We’ve tried to work with Marilyn at home, but she just doesn’t seem interested.”

  “I understand, but after a day of school, some kindergarteners just aren’t ready to engage again.”

  “We’re concerned that she’s not being challenged enough at school.”

  “Well, I can start giving her additional homework if you would like.”

  More homework? Nothing like robbing a five-year-old of her childhood. If Marilyn starts doing more homework, Nick will be left behind. Isn’t homework supposed to start in something like seventh grade?

  It was 8:50 a.m. by the time they wrapped up the homework discussion. It looked as though I was going to miss my 9:00 conference call. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time. I quickly sent my client an email. “Tied up in important meeting but will call as soon as possible.” I wasn’t lying. This was my most important meeting of the day.

  I was completely relieved to hear that Nick was doing well in school, had no issues, played well with others, and generally thrived in the classroom. What more could I ask for? I certainly wasn’t asking for more homework.

  Even though Nick gets along fine without me, he kept asking me when I was going to volunteer in his classroom. Finally, I told him I would come on his birthday. The days leading up to his birthday I was completely paranoid that I would have to cancel unexpectedly. A client would have an emergency, a federal judge would order me to appear in his courtroom, or I’d have one of those busy days where I would completely forget until school was over. I emailed Nick’s teacher in advance to let her know I’d be coming. She told me she would stick to the regular volunteer schedule, but that I was welcome to show up in the classroom anytime. In other words, she too had doubts about my schedule.

  The day of his birthday I was thrilled to be free and clear of client emergencies or court appearances. I decided to wear jeans and take the entire day off. When I put jeans on in the morning, my kids know something is different. Nick was so excited he could barely contain himself.

  We made chocolate cupcakes the night before and filled the goodie bags. I planned to arrive in his classroom at 9:00 a.m. sharp, when the regular parent volunteer arrives. When I arrived at 9:00 a.m., not one but two parent volunteers had already settled in. Neither had met me before.

  “Oh, you’re Nick’s mom. Doesn’t your nanny usually pick him up?” I smiled and bit my lip. I was there for Nick, not to impress the suburban mafia.

  By the time I helped oversee a craft, it was 10:00 and time for the kids to go to art. Nick’s teacher told me we would sing “Happy Birthday” to Nick at 11:00, when the kids returned to the classroom. This was my opportunity to get coffee. I hadn’t had my double-tall, nonfat latte and the coffee shop was only a block away. This was also a prime opportunity to bribe Nick’s teacher. I asked both his teacher and her student helper if they wanted coffee since I was going on a coffee run. You would have thought I’d offered them both a trip to Hawaii. When you volunteer only once a year, bribing the teacher is essential. Those other mothers may show up every week, but how many of them buy her coffee? I knew she was likely to be Anna’s kindergarten teacher in a couple of years, and then Abby’s. I would be buying coffee for many years to come.

  Since that coffee run, Nick’s kindergarten teacher and I had a new bond.

  Toward the end of the school year, I asked Nick’s teacher how I could go about requesting that he be placed in the appropriate first-grade class. She gave me a cold stare. The coffee had apparently worn off. She told me that, while I was welcome to visit the first-grade classes, parents are strongly discouraged from requesting a first-grade teacher. She promptly ended the discussion. If I had
questions, I could talk to the principal.

  Unfortunately, I don’t have time to sit and observe first grade. Most mothers get their information the old-fashioned way. The mafia. I thought long and hard about approaching them. I also thought about what they would require in return. A potluck casserole? A committee designation for Family Fun Night? An afternoon campaigning for the upcoming levy? I got scared just thinking about it. So I decided to use a few connections of my own.

  Enter Lady Lawyer

  Lady Lawyer had just given a modest but noticeable gift to the law school, so I called one of the law professors to ask her opinion of the first-grade teachers since she has two sons just senior to Nick. Most parents are very opinionated about their children’s teachers, and she was no exception. She had the first-grade teachers ranked by enthusiasm, teaching style, creativity, and overall classroom management. The good news? I didn’t have to consult the mafia. I had all the information I needed.

  Lady Lawyer decided to write a letter to the principal. Spiritual Mommy thought about letting it go, praying about it, and resisting the desire to manipulate the system. After all, God is in control of first grade, isn’t He? I’ve never been very good at giving up control when it comes to my children. Lady Lawyer was overpowering. So I tossed up a few prayers and wrote the letter. I sent the principal a pleasant email, introducing myself, complimenting Nick’s kindergarten teacher and the wonderful experience he had had at the school. I then proceeded to explain the type of first-grade teacher I wanted for my son and ranked the first-grade teachers in order of preference. I ended the email by including “Esquire” after my name, with my law firm signature line. I can’t stand it when other lawyers do this. It’s downright tacky to use my professional status to wield power at the grade school. But when it comes to my kids, I’ll break my own rules. So I rationalize. If I can’t be there volunteering, I can at least use what influence I have to get Nick the best teacher.