Blog

by Jenny Morris, M.S.Ed. | October 16, 2017

The other day Facebook graced me with an “On This Day” post from 2015, featuring my darling children: Zoey and Jacob, then eight and seven. See if this sounds familiar.

I've been up since 4am, got kids ready and off to school, worked an all-day career fair, raced to get kids from aftercare, fed them a nutritious Happy Meal, and headed to Zoey's soccer practice to spend the hour toggling between Jacob's homework and grading reflection papers.

Jacob kindly informed me 33 times that he was positively dying of thirst, and each time I reminded him (with increasing patience and understanding) that I had nothing to offer him. Finally, I suggested he ask Zoey for a drink of hers during a water break.

I watched him race across the soccer field, excitedly focused on his desperate thirst - about to be quenched.

Conversation as I imagined it:

Jacob: "Zoey, may I please have a small drink of your water?"

Zoey: "Of course. Take as much as you'd like."

Jacob: "I love you, Zoey."

Zoey: "I love you more, Jacob."

Me: (Beaming for all the other soccer parents to see.) "Yes. They're mine."

Reality from across the field:

Jacob whispers something to Zoey.

Zoey dramatically shakes her head no.

Jacob reaches for the bottle.

Zoey pulls away and cradles the bottle under her doubled over body.

Jacob latches onto the bottle.

Zoey smacks his broken arm, turns her head, and tries to quickly guzzle the bottle's contents.

The coach calls Zoey for the third time to join her team on the field.

Zoey reluctantly leaves the bottle behind—within reach of her enemy.

Her nemesis smiles victoriously.

He then proceeds to drain every last drop while his sister looks on. Fuming.

Me: "Nope. I've never seen those kids in my life."

Cherubs, those two.

I remember this time well. I was working full-time, going to school part-time, managing most of the household, sleeping an average of four hours a night, and feeling guilty that my husband and kids always got ‘what’s left’ of me—which wasn’t much.

I wanted to be all things to all people, and God knows I tried. And I bet I’m not alone. I wager that many of the people reading this post—even if not parents—can relate to the frustration of having more to do than there are hours in the day. While I haven’t found a way to pause time (an ability about which I often daydream), I did learn a few lessons along the way.

1) Empower your partner.

Before graduate school, I tended to carry the vast majority of the family and household responsibilities myself. I think it was a combination of pride, independence, and perfectionism that accounted for this behavior, but whatever it was, it wasn’t healthy. During grad school, however, I was finally forced to step back. And guess what I learned? My husband is actually a pretty darn good cook! He stepped up in virtually every area around the house and with our kids, and we have become much stronger partners because of it.

Side note: If you are a single parent (first of all, I applaud you—you superhero, you), exchange “partner” with “support system.” Basically, know that you can’t do it all yourself, and you shouldn’t expect yourself to do so.

2) Sometimes, ‘good enough’ is good enough.

Still a perfectionist at heart, this one is hard for me. I want to turn in exceptional work to my professors. I want my colleagues to consider me a valuable member of the team. I want my house to look like a model home. I want my kids and husband to know that they are the most important people in my life.

You should want to do well in these areas, but you also need to cut yourself a little slack. When I was feeling overwhelmed, I’d ask myself, “In a year, will [insert whatever I was worried about] really matter?” Your professors, employers, and family all have expectations of you—as they should. But don’t lose sight of what matters most in your life.

3) You’ve got an audience.