The Real Working Mom

I starting thinking today about working moms whom I admire like Tina Fey, or Giada de Laurentiis or Katie Couric. But then it dawned on me, all of these women probably have live-in nannies, cooks, maids, personal shoppers- an entourage of people, practically a childcare army taking care of their children and household. Of course, I'd be fabulous if I had that much help. Not that I'm knocking them. I still think they are amazing, and I totally believe their work schedules are crazy. Their 'busy' is a completely different any 'busy' than I will ever know.

But at the same time, I still ask, who are the real working moms I can look up to, women who can really do it all? I remember telling my students and writer friends that a writer shouldn't look any further than their own backyard for a subject to write about. (Kinda like Dorothy looking no further than her backyard for her heart's desire). And there in my own backyard are two very admirable working mothers, my grandmothers.

My grandmothers raised children in a time where mothers in the workforce was a rarity, and they raised them completely alone, another rarity. My father's mother was widowed at six months pregnant (with my father) and with a two-year-old (my uncle) . All she had at the time was a high school diploma (the first in her family) and some experience as a beautician. Yet my grandmother discovered the elusive junction we all search for, the intersecting spot where motherhood crosses career. When my father started school, she began working in the cafeteria of the K-12 school both my father and uncle attended. She worked there for over thirty years. I've heard my dad say, “I don't know how she did it, but we always had one suit for church; we always had a meat on the table; we always got new school supplies and books every year.” The most touching story I remember being told was of a particular picture day at the school. Dad said my grandmother made him and my uncle wear a suit for picture day. My grandmother overheard one of my father's friends commenting on his suit, how he thought it was nice and wished he had a suit for his yearbook picture, so she arranged for my dad to take his picture first, then had him go change and allow his friend to wear the suit for his picture. That's what makes an admirable working mom, one that not only thinks for their own children, but won't let other children do without either.

My mother's mother was a divorcee in her town. Where people looked on my dad and his mother with pity, my mother and her family where outcasts and shunned. To top it all off, my grandmother was the preacher's daughter. My grandmother had no high school diploma, no child support, and four kids to support alone. Mom has told me stories of being on food stamps, going to grocery stores to get the dented cans with no labels on them. The big excitement at dinner was what dinner was going to be- peaches or Lima beans. She's told me about being alone a lot, one of her brothers watching her, because her mom was always working. I know my mom and her brothers probably suffered some, because my grandmother was not always waiting for them to get off the bus in heels and a string of pearls. But if anything, I know my mother became a better mother for it. She saw how hard her mom worked her fingers to the bone, the sacrifices she made. I think it made her appreciate what time she did have with me and my brother. I think it made her think, “If mom could do that, so can I.” I know it has made me think that of both my grandmother and mother.

Maggie Gyllenhaal, one of my favorite actresses said, "I was surrounded by plenty of working moms, including my grandmother, a pediatrician, and my mother, a writer and producer...I just thought, Well that's what moms do. They work and raise their kids." I can say the same, and most importantly, I'm proud to.