Is My Life Any Different Than Yours?

My cell phone alarm wakes me up every morning at 5:30 am. Crap. I can already feel the anxiety taking over as I stumble out of bed. My morning routine follows: I first make the coffee, turn on the hair straightener, make my lunch, get dressed, and finally, I go upstairs to wake up my teenage son so that he can get to school on time. He’s fourteen years old, but I still have to wake him up.

I guess this routine should sound typical of a working parent, right? Somehow what should be a “routine” turns into an opportunity to test my patience and sanity. Some days I drop off my son early for morning tutorials, sometimes he has to go in to make up an assignment, and in between those days he has football practice, but even though I ask my son every night where he has to be the next morning, at 7 am the next day, it’s like I imagined the conversation. I spend twenty minutes each morning trying to get a logical answer out of my son, knowing that I’ll continue parenting him later on in the day. Parents are supposed to support their children, no matter what. This is my rationalization.

This morning he asked for lunch money because his account had zeroed out again. Of course, being the mathematician that I am, I knew that at $2.25 per day, the $20 check I gave him a few days ago shouldn't be depleted. I did, however, make a huge mistake. Instead of just giving him the $20 check and then talking to him about it after school for the sake of not being late to work, I instead asked him "how could this be possible?" Well, I got the answer that I dreaded and didn't have the time to listen to—the lunch attendant is deliberately messing up his lunch account. Yep, every time that he gives her his individual lunch code, she must be charging twice for something or not logging off his account. At this point, even after having two cups of black coffee, my brain was completely fried, so I gave in to his ludicrous reasoning and began to engage in a conversation that was so far fetched, that again I rationalized that I would take care of everything when I got to work. It is, after all, my parental obligation to make sure that my money is well spent and that my son is not being taken advantage of.

I decided to check on his lunch account when I got to work. Apparently he’s eating as if he were preparing for hibernation: he buys food before school, during break, and again at lunch. And instead of buying the cheaper lunch combo, he’s been buying everything individually. I put that on hold to check my incoming emails, only to notice an urgent email from the cafeteria school accountant. I have now been informed that my son's account is overdrawn by $5 and must be paid immediately. I just gave him $20 this morning. This is nuts. I immediately call the cafeteria to figure out what happened. Here I am, at work, earning a salary to perform my job duties, but instead, I’ve been lured into double duty of simultaneously parenting my son from work while being on company time. I was informed that my son didn't turn in the $20 check, but that he should because he wouldn't be extended any more credit on his account. This sounded so harsh and I kept thinking: "why didn't he turn in the check that I gave him?"

After I finish my lunch, I receive a phone call from the school clinic nurse. My son has had a nose bleed for almost 45 minutes now and his shirt is drenched in blood. At this point, I'm thinking that maybe he didn't lay down long enough to stop the massive bloodflow, but I quickly dismissed that thought and leave work to go pick him up. Yes, I am his mother, yes I love him unconditionally, but I can’t believe that he can’t manage to turn in a $20 check and that he hasn’t learned how to take care of his chronic nosebleeds. As I walk to my car, I think about my role as a parent. They need us when they need us; there can’t be pre-established conditions on how they need us or when they need us. Even if they need us when it’s inconvenient, we have to be there for them.

I realize that I’m not alone in my parenting experiences and that my life may not be any different than yours. You balance a job, spouse, and children. You try to maintain your own identity and self-preservation. I have a special bond with my son that has always been understood between us, no matter how mad he makes me or what grade he brings home on his report card; this understanding is the bond that glues us together as a union. Yes, I can do my work 8-5, and yes, I can parent at the same time. I’m just trying to find the balance. My question remains: "is my life any different than yours?"