I'm taking a vacation day next Wednesday for Middle's 4th birthday. And the week of the 16th, we'll be in Myrtle Beach.
This morning is Eldest's Kindergarten Celebration. I'm not going. I'm working.
Eldest asked me this morning why I wasn't coming to see him sing. As my heart sunk, I gently explained, again, that Daddy and his brothers would be there, but that I had to ride my train to go to work.
Mind you, I had thought this out beforehand. I consciously made the decision to not ruffle any feathers at work by asking permission to come in late (yet again).
I'm on the verge of tears.
What kind of mother am I? One who chooses work over her children? Scratch that--it's not actually my work--it's more like the politics at my work and the daily struggle of being a working mother.
I hate this. I hate that I can't not care what others think. At work. ("She asked to come in late again." Sigh. Eye roll.) At home. ("Hmmm...Eldest's mom is the only mother not here." Sigh. Eye roll.)
Granted, I realize that in the grand scheme of things, that this is a mere blip on the radar of my family's life. That as long as I'm working full-time, I will always be faced with these issues.
That tomorrow I will feel less Guilt. That I will get to enjoy pictures (errr...we've all see how not-so-adept Hubby is at wielding the camera) and video of Eldest's special day. That between Eldest and Hubby and the little ones' recaps, that I will feel as though I was there with them. Almost.
That I am a GOOD MOTHER.
But today? I feel like a failure.