“I don’t know how you do it?” says the woman who just left the school and a stream of sugarcoated obscenities in the carpool line. Her toddler is smeared with banana and boogers grumping in the back seat. The older kids are dripping with exhaustion, homework, library fines, and requests for donations from the PTA. She realizes the last time she saw this mom on the other side of the gas pump was in the carpool line several years ago, equally bedraggled.
“Do what?” asks the homeschool mom pumping gas next to her. She’s covered in dry erase marker dust and worries of inadequacy. Please don’t quiz my kids or ask me about socialization, she pleads silently. Glancing back at her wiggling SUV, she makes a mental note to add denatured alcohol for science, printer paper, and seven boxes of assorted cereals to her shopping list. All the things she could have picked up on a lovely lone trip to the store, if she weren’t home rounding decimal places and arguing commas with a disgruntled 9-year-old for half the day.
“Homeschool. I don’t know how you do it,” the other woman clarifies, while wondering if there will be enough time and pleasant personality left in her kids for a family board game before bedtime and after practices, dinner, showers, and homework. She opens a backseat door to count backpacks, coats, and lunch bags; a checklist of forgotten items they might have to go back for. Please don’t quiz me about what I do all day and my kids’ reading levels, she pleads silently.
“Well, I’m not sure myself sometimes. But you sure look exhausted too,” the homeschool mom notes, watching the frazzled woman offer her kids each a homemade healthy snack bag of fruit and nuts. Wow, I should be more intentional about nutrition. Her own kids just finished lunch at 3:00, and she’s not quite sure what they fixed themselves, but they ate and that’s one less thing. She promised them a pretzel from the wholesale club snack bar if they helped get the week’s groceries without incident.
“I am actually,” the woman sighs glancing back at her own teaming SUV. “I’ve been all over town looking for specific folder colors my son needs for some class project. I got groceries and broke all my eggs in the parking lot because I was in a hurry to go get the toddler from playschool after getting some work done. And now we have to get to a dentist appointment by 4:30 and swim practice across town by 6:00. And then dinner!” She throws her hands in the air. “I won’t have time to cook anything I bought at the store earlier. By the time we get home everyone will be starving. And then I’ve got to help with homework.”
Putting her hands over her eyes, she burps out a small, defeated laugh to hide the sob that almost escapes.
“Wow. I don’t know how you do it?” says the homeschool mom. Suddenly remembering her family will want dinner too. Dang. She never did get that hamburger meat out of the freezer. She started to, but someone needed help with math, then she had to do dishes to make room for science, and later she got caught up scheduling appointments, grading assignments, and reading aloud.
Panicked, she quickly glances down hoping she remembered to put on actual clothes before leaving the house.
“Do what?” says the other woman, guarded. Wondering...Is she being sarcastic, making fun of me, or seriously thinking my life is harder than hers? No way could I teach my kids and keep up with everything else too, but she seems sincere…
“All that you do. The driving, dealing with the school system and multiple teachers, loads of homework, missing your kids, worrying about their safety, what they’re learning and from whom, the early morning rush, working from home, keeping house, and yet you still look so put together,” the homeschool mom says in earnest. Then chastises herself internally. She could look a little better herself when leaving the house. Quickly she makes a pact to put on real pants and leave the faux workout garb at home. Well, at least more often. It dawns on her suddenly that this woman probably thinks she’s a slob. She reaches up to rein in her fly-away hair self-consciously.
“Me?!” the woman almost shouts. “Look at you, so comfortably confident! I just try to look nice when I go up to that school. She sighs heavily before continuing. So, it doesn’t reflect poorly on my kids and their chances to get the better teachers and classes they want to take. It’s so competitive out there. But you…you teach your kids of all ages and do all the other things too. It seems so overwhelming, but you pull it off. I would worry so much that I was letting them down, not doing enough, missing something important…”
And while she speaks the homeschool mom’s words nag at her. Missing your kids…their safety…what they’re learning and from whom… it all repeats in her brain like a flashing neon sign.
Then the homeschool mom says, “Oh gosh! I worry daily if I am doing enough. Did I forget something. Like dinner tonight. That completely slipped my mind until you just reminded me,” she giggled. “I worry I’m being selfish keeping them out of school, or maybe I’m over-protective? A control freak. “
And while she speaks the other woman’s words nag at her. The best classes and teachers…it’s so competitive out there… it all repeats in her brain like a flashing neon sign.
Both moms return the nozzles and cap their gas tanks.
The homeschool mom sighs heavily and continues, “Will I ever get any time for myself ever again? And if I take time for myself, will they fall behind?”
The other woman picks up in turn, “Am I being selfish sending them away each day? Do we have enough time together as a family? We are so worn out each week trying to keep up. But if we don’t, will they fall behind?”
The two women lock teary-eyed smiles for a few long seconds.
“Seems like a take-out night, doesn’t it?” one of the women suggests, lightening the heavy air.
“Absolutely does,” chimes the other.
“It was good seeing you and unloading with you,” says one.
“You too,” says the other. “And hey, you are doing an amazing job loving your family.”
“Thanks. As are you,” says the first.
A roar explodes from each of their cars as they open their driver side doors. Both jump in giving orders to the back seats, and then pull away from the pump. But not before looking back to the other woman with a final nod of understanding and respect.
Each whispering to herself, “I don’t know how you do it?”
*This was inspired by a conversation with myself across time. When I was the other woman.
I’ve been on both sides of that “gas pump,” and I know that I have loved my kids ferociously and equally from each. Neither is perfect and both are exhausting.
But I do know which I prefer to stay on. God willing.
