In today’s world, the family needs a village more than ever
Some people make parenting look so easy. Like the woman across the street who has four well-behaved kids and who always talks about how she could have a million babies. Piece of cake, she says.
What. Ever.
My husband and I were never successful at making it look effortless. Photos of us during our son’s first year show two heavy-lidded halfwits who could only take things day by day. We described it as “triage.”
I stayed home that first year, freelancing and dealing with an infant who would only take two 20-minute naps a day — barely enough time for me to take a bathroom break and shovel down a few mouthfuls of food. I enjoyed so much of that year (well, not the napping sitch). No surprise, I was more than ready for some time away from home when I landed a part-time job around my son’s first birthday.
We needed a nanny, and that’s when Mary Poppins showed up — in the form of my mother. Though I constantly reminded her that she was only getting paid to watch my son and didn’t need to lift a finger around the house, she persistently staked out some chores and started pitching in. As I left for work, she would cheerfully ask there was any laundry in the dryer that needed folding, whether the dishwasher was ready to be unloaded, what I would like her to make for dinner. (The woman loves to save money — no matter whose it is — and she knows I’ll order take-out if I get home late.)
It was a revelation to have an extra set of hands, someone who would see something that needed to be done and just do it. And whatever she needs, I’m there for her. It’s a truly cooperative living situation, in a way — I hate to say it — that even my husband and I have never achieved. (He is the world’s greatest father and the best person I know, but we have very different ideas on household responsibilities.) I thought, “Aha, all those other cultures with multigenerational households really know what they’re doing.” Even my husband said, “Can she just move in with us?”
There is certainly no one better to watch my son. When I hear them laughing in the next room or see both of their faces light up when she comes home, I feel relief that my mother is the one who spends the day with him—and sadness for those who either can’t (or don’t want to) have this situation.
And, as it turns out, there’s also no better caregiver for me. Yes, despite the super-mom conspiracy being played out across the street, I need help. When my mother sees how overwhelmed I am, she can’t resist trying to alleviate some of that stress. She loves me unconditionally, crabby or sweet, grousing or cracking jokes.
Like the seasoned mother across the street, she makes it look easy, which gives me hope that I’ll get there one day. Until then, I’m going to need that proverbial village.
Rina Rapuano is the assistant food and wine editor at Washingtonian magazine and a contributing editor for Museum magazine. She has also written for many local and national magazines and newspapers. E-mail her at [email protected].
