A Changing Marriage

by Susan Kietzman

  Unbeknownst to Karen, it was this very prospect that stopped Shelley from offering daytime sitting. It had been such a long time since Karen and her brothers were small and demanded that kind of vigil. Shelley had never been comfortable during the toddler years and was grateful when her kids were finally under the auspices of the local elementary school. The few times Karen had asked her to babysit during the day, Shelley had simply said she was busy. Eventually, Karen stopped asking, and the matter took care of itself. Evening babysitting was different, and Shelley was happy to have the kids. They were calmer in the evening, happy with sedentary activities like playing a card game or listening to a story. And, Phil was home. Shelley knew he would be able to adeptly handle any emergency thrown at him. His calm demeanor was a good balance for her excitability, just one set of opposites in what Shelley thought was a very strong marriage.

  As soon as Rebecca was done with her lunch, she asked to leave the table. “Of course, you can,” said Shelley. “Anyone with nice manners like you can come and go as she pleases.”

  “Where are you headed?” asked Karen.

  “To the living room,” said Rebecca, scooping up her dolls.

  “Remember to be quiet,” said Karen. “You know who is sleeping.” Rebecca gave her mother the thumbs-up sign, something her father did all the time.

  “She is adorable,” said Shelley, as soon as her granddaughter left the room.

  Karen smiled. “She can be.”

  “And your Robert is wonderful. He uses new words every time I see him.”

  “Sesame Street,” said Karen, getting up and clearing her mother’s plate from the table. “Would you like some hot tea?”

  “Love some,” said Shelley, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “You’re doing a wonderful job with these kids, Karen.”

  Karen filled the kettle with water and set it down on the heating burner. “It’s hard sometimes, Mom.” She cut the lemon bars and brownies in half and put them on a plate.

  “Oh, don’t I know that. I almost lost my mind raising you and your brothers, mostly them.”

  Karen set the plate down on the table then walked back to the counter. She reached into the cupboard for her teapot and mugs. Still facing the cupboard, she said, “You did have a little help though. Your mother certainly came to the rescue.”

  “She did,” said Shelley, “when she was available.”

  Karen remembered spending most Tuesday and Thursday afternoons at her grandmother’s house. Mama, as she and her brothers called her, made them ginger spice cookies and played Parcheesi with them in the winter and, in the summer, took them to the park and treated them to a frozen treat from the Good Humor truck while Shelley ran errands. Mama died suddenly of a stroke when Karen was in high school, her surprise death saddening Karen for weeks. Kevin and Kyle also mourned for Mama. Prompted by their mother, the twins celebrated Mama’s July birthday every year with a trip to the local ice-cream parlor. Grampy, Mama’s spouse of fifty years, had died a year later. Karen, whose childhood bedroom was across the hall from her parents’ room, had heard her mother crying during the night, as well as her father softly speaking what must have been encouraging words. Shelley didn’t know what she’d do without the support of her parents, she told her husband in the living room one evening when Karen, at the kitchen table doing homework, overheard. “I don’t know if I can do this on my own.” Karen wished her mother would support her daughter, much as Shelley’s mother had supported her. Karen told her mother that she sometimes felt overwhelmed.

  “I know what you mean, honey. Raising young children is exhausting.”

  “It’s hard to do it alone. Bob is so involved in his work.”

  “As was your father,” said Shelley, taking a sip of tea.

  “I sometimes think about getting some help, just a couple of afternoons a week.”

  “Then do that,” said Shelley, breaking the lemon bar Karen had cut in half in half again and then taking a nibble.

  “I just don’t know who to ask.”

  “Someone in the neighborhood, I would think. That way, you don’t have to drive all over creation to get her.”

  “I guess.”

  “But don’t underestimate your own ability. You do an amazing job with these kids; you keep your house spotless, and you’re an excellent cook. I really am proud of the way you’ve embraced motherhood, Karen. You’ve done it in the way you do everything else, with complete competence.”

  They were words she was longing to hear from her husband, but her mother was an adequate substitute for the moment. “Thank you.”

  “And thank you for lunch. We ought to do this more often.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SEPTEMBER 1998

  Karen was physically prepared for her daughter’s first day of school. They had shopped for a lunch box, backpack, school supplies, a pair of sneakers, and clothes. They had attended the bus safety seminar together the week before school started. They had even practiced getting Rebecca up and out the door by eight fifteen to catch the bus that would pick her up at the corner four minutes later.

  The day started out smoothly enough. Rebecca woke before her alarm, dressed, and ate her breakfast. Karen made waffles as a special weekday treat, and everyone chatted about Rebecca’s first day with enthusiasm. Bob told her she would have a new friend by the end of the day. Robert announced that he’d like to go, too. And Karen said she would make Rebecca chocolate cake, her favorite, for dessert that night. At quarter past eight, Rebecca slipped her shiny Barbie backpack, holding the multicolored signed and clipped together forms that gave Rebecca permission to start her new life, onto her shoulders. They all marched out the door and were on the designated curb two minutes later. When the bus rounded the corner, Bob kissed his daughter and then his wife and son good-bye, and jogged across the front lawn to his car in the driveway. Rebecca boarded the bus and then waved to Karen and Robert before facing forward in her seat, as she had been instructed in the safety seminar. Robert waved to his sister’s turned head as the bus rolled out of sight. When Karen and Robert were back inside the house, Karen set him down on the couch, turned on the TV, and then walked into the kitchen to call Sarah. She started to cry as soon as she heard her friend’s voice. “What’s wrong with me?” She wept openly into the phone. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for years.”

  Sarah laughed. “So, you are a normal mother after all.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that even though our children drive us crazy, we love them like crazy,” said Sarah. “You remember my telling you that I went through the same thing last year with Britney. I couldn’t wait until she started at the elementary school, and then I missed her desperately when she did.”

  Karen grabbed a tissue from the family-size box on the counter. “It’s only an hour longer than preschool.”

  “It’s a poignant time, Karen. We want our children to grow up and become independent, but when they do, we realize we have to let go. Time is passing, and they will never be the helpless infants we once held in our arms. They will grow and continue to do so, until they leave us.”

  “That’s not helping,” said Karen, using the tissue she had just dried her eyes with to blow her nose.

  “I’m not trying to be morbid. This is a big step, for you as well as Rebecca, and it will take some getting used to.”

  “You’ve told me this.”

  “And now you believe me.”

  “I didn’t before.” Karen filled a glass of water at the sink and then sat at the kitchen table. “I thought I would be different, that I would be grinning instead of crying when Rebecca got on the bus. This is the first step to my freedom. I have no idea why I’m resisting it.”

  “It’s the first day, Karen. You won’t feel this way forever.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Now, are you still coming for lunch?”

  “Yes, as soon as she gets off the bus, we’ll get in the car.”

  “I�
�ll have the crib set up so Robert can nap here if he wants.”

  “Either that or we can just put them in front of the TV like last time,” said Karen. “Robert slept for a good hour on the floor. And I got him into bed early that night.”

  “That’s always a plus.”

  Karen, who was looking out the window as she chatted, started when she felt Robert’s hand on her knee. “Where’s Becca?”

  “I’ve got to go, Sarah. We’ll see you by twelve thirty.” Karen scooped Robert up off the floor and hung up the phone. “Your sister’s at school, honey. She’ll be home at lunchtime.”

  Karen walked into the living room with her son and again set him down on the couch. She walked back into the kitchen and started doing the breakfast dishes. She had just finished putting the juice glasses into the dishwasher when Robert touched the back of her leg. Karen picked him up again and walked him back to the living room. “Mommy has some things to do,” she said. “You stay here for a while, and then we’ll do something together.” Karen hadn’t quite finished the waffle iron when Robert showed up again. Karen looked at her watch. “Okay. I’ll watch one show with you, just one. But tomorrow you can do it all by yourself, just like when Rebecca went to her other school.”

  They walked back into the living room and sat on the couch together, side by side. Barney was on, one of Robert’s favorite shows. Without taking his eyes off the TV, Robert slowly crawled onto Karen’s lap. She wrapped her arms around him. Robert responded by leaning back against her chest. In January, Robert would be going to preschool three mornings a week. Karen’s kissed the back of his head, breathing in the smell of the baby shampoo she had washed his hair with the night before.

  Rebecca was full of news when she got off the bus. Her first day had been, using one of her new favorite words, spectacular. She met two new friends, Martha and Grace, and got to wear a gold star because she knew all her letters and every word on the blue list. Mrs. Taft told her she seemed like a very bright star indeed. “That means I’m smart.”

  “And that you are.” Karen smiled at her daughter, enjoying her enthusiasm, her response to a challenge. “Very smart.”

  The stories continued on the drive to Sarah’s house. They went on a nature walk around the playground, and Rebecca was able to identify two trees, a maple and an oak. They had chocolate graham crackers and apple juice for a snack, which is just what Rebecca wanted to bring when it was her turn. And they did math problems with plastic bears. Three bears plus five bears equals eight bears. As soon as Karen pulled into Sarah’s driveway and put the car in park, Rebecca unbuckled herself, opened the car door, and ran up the front walk to find her friend. Britney, who as a first grader didn’t start until the following day, greeted Rebecca on the front steps with their usual hug.

  “I love school!” Rebecca threw her arms around her friend. “It was just like you told me.”

  “I go tomorrow,” said Britney, taking Rebecca’s hand and leading her into the house.

  “I’ll bet you can’t wait.”

  “My mom says I have to.”

  Holding Robert’s hand, Karen followed the girls into the house. She walked into the kitchen, where she found Sarah putting butterfly-shaped peanut butter and jelly sandwiches onto plastic plates. “How am I going to serve my kids regular-shaped sandwiches ever again?” Karen said, kidding her friend.

  “Wait until you see dessert,” Sarah said, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a chocolate pudding, brownie, and whipped cream trifle.

  “You definitely win the Best Mom prize for today.”

  “Only because this is a huge day that calls for a serious celebration.”

  Jeremy walked into the kitchen. He grabbed Robert’s free hand, and the boys ran onto the porch together. They sat down next to each other and picked cars out of the red plastic bucket Sarah always had handy. “What can I do?” asked Karen.

  “Nothing,” said Sarah, taking the plates out to the porch. “I’m going to call the kids to eat, and then you and I can eat our lunch in the kitchen.”

  As soon as all the children were settled, Sarah pulled two china plates out of the fridge and removed the plastic wrap covering them. Each held a mound of chicken salad, a hard-boiled egg cut in half, two slices of tomato, and six green olives. Sarah then poured two glasses of sparkling water, something Karen consistently forgot to add to her grocery list, and told Karen to sit down. “How do you do all this?” Karen sat as instructed and put the cloth napkin in her lap. Sarah never used the cheap paper alternative, even with her children.

  “You forget I’m a morning person.”

  “I’m a morning person, too, but I’m not making chicken salad.”

  Sarah shrugged. “You know I like to cook.”

  “Yes, but do you really? I used to like to cook, before the children were born. But now it seems like such an effort on top of everything else.”

  “I like it because it gives me control over something,” said Sarah, cutting her egg half in half. “I look at a recipe, I combine all the ingredients, I heat it or chill it, and it usually tastes pretty good. Housekeeping is what drives me nuts. I pick up the house, and by the time I get out of the shower, it’s trashed again.”

  “And then your husband comes home and wonders what you’ve been doing all day.”

  “He doesn’t say it very often, but I know it’s on his mind.”

  “Bob’s too,” said Karen, chewing a forkful of chicken salad.

  Vincent and Bob both worked long hours and were motivated by company competition and the lure of the next step—more territory and a bigger sales team in Bob’s case, and clinical trials for Vincent, a PhD in a hepatitis lab. Money, too, was a motivator, but Bob, working for Forester, had the potential to make much more, unless Vincent actually developed a hepatitis C vaccine. Self-confidence was not an issue for either man; smart and dedicated, they had both tasted early success and looked forward to fully satisfying work lives. In annual reviews, their bosses had called them “perceptive,” a source of pride for both of them. Yet, their “keen insight” seemed to dissipate on the car ride home. Both Vincent and Bob could be and often were guilty of assuming everything was fine in their family lives because, number one, their wives were competent, and, number two, they looked no deeper than the surface. This refusal to examine their home lives on a level that equaled their investigations at work resulted in a kind of honest deception about the requirements of child rearing and household management.

  “They have no idea,” said Sarah, spearing an olive, “what it’s like to run a household. When I tell Vincent it’s not unlike running a laboratory, he can’t make the connection.”

  “I should try that with Bob. Running the house and raising children is a lot like running a company, with a million things going on at once one minute and complete quiet the next. Maybe it’s that constant and yet patternless fluctuation that is so hard for me. If it were quiet all the time, I would figure out what to do with the quiet. And if I were flat out all the time, I’d adjust to that, too.”

  “They must have randomness in their work, too—days that get chewed up by unanticipated events or bad ideas,” said Sarah. “But it’s still called work. And they are paid, and they are appreciated. When I talk to Vincent about appreciation, he scoffs at what he calls my neediness. But you know what? I am needy right now. I give everything I have to my family, and there is not a lot left over for me. Vincent doesn’t have to understand that, like I don’t understand a lot about what he does in the lab every day, but he can sure enough acknowledge it exists and tell me once in a while—not just on Mother’s Day—that I’m doing a good job.”

  “I need a tape recorder,” said Karen, wiping her mouth. “If Bob could hear the same complaints coming out of someone else’s mouth, he might begin to wonder if any of it could be true.”

  Both of their husbands, Karen and Sarah agreed, thought their wives’ satisfaction should come from the job. What could be more rewarding than raising children in
to productive, contributing, successful adults? And both Karen and Sarah agreed that motherhood was, as touted in the women’s magazines targeting stay-at-home mothers, a worthwhile and even admirable profession, at least for those mothers who did it well. But the constant lifting, loading, cleaning, picking up, packing up, listening, explaining, admonishing, penalizing, praising, and hurrying were physically and mentally exhausting. “It’s like treading water,” said Karen. “On some days, I just want to get to the end of the pool.”

  The mental challenge was often even more difficult than the physical. Certainly a college-educated woman could think faster and better than her small children, but could she do it on too little sleep? Could she do it after her two-year-old’s third temper tantrum of the morning? Could she do it when her five-year-old announced how bored she was at fifteen-minute intervals? Bored? Karen wanted to tell Rebecca she didn’t know the first thing about being bored. “I feel like I use about an eighth of my brain,” said Sarah. “The rest of it is dormant, waiting for some kind of stimulation, but receiving none. Vincent tells me this is ridiculous. I can read a good biography. I can learn a foreign language. I can do whatever I want.”