balance

There are weeks when I feel like I have this working mom thing under control.  Let me be clear - it never feels good, or right, or happy.  For me, work-life balance so far (I've been working full-time, with kids, for three years now) means that (1) my family isn't doing so great because I'm gone too much and, at the same time (2) my bosses are angry that I'm not at work more.  I don't think "everyone being equally let down" is the kind of balance anyone has in mind, but so far that's all I've been able to achieve.  That terrifically depressing realization aside, the logistics at least generally run smoothly, almost entirely due to the efforts of my amazing husband.  But last week - not so much.

First, I insisted on trying to slavishly copy be inspired by Jessica's beautiful winter wonderland-themed birthday party for my 2-year old, down to the different types of winter-themed marshmallows for our hot chocolate.  Of course, this resulted in me attempting to bake a cake, from scratch, and decorate it with hand-made candies, while simultaneously writing a brief that was due at midnight the night before the party.  A sensible person would have just called the grocery store and been done with it, but I so badly wanted to make my little man a cake, so I did both.  Nothing remotely stressful about dealing with a partner's e-mailed edits to a brief while trying to get frosting to set, nope.  I did not have a nervous breakdown, because who has time for that?  But it was tempting.  And the cake didn't even taste that good (but it looked so pretty!  You'll have to take my word for it, I have NO photos).

Then on Friday Finn had a slight fever, so both boys stayed home from daycare and I stayed home from work.  I had to take a conference call with co-workers in the middle of the afternoon, which would normally have coincided nicely with Finn's naptime but, because he was sick, was actually right when he woke up early and so, so cranky.  I tried to stick both boys in front of a video so I could take the call, which seemed to work well until I realized that I had not been on mute the entire time, as I had thought.  So my co-workers were treated to a lot of hissed "Finn, do NOT touch that screen!  Do you want to sit on the stairs?  Please, please, please, Conor, I just need 10 more minutes.  I know, handsome, I know.  I love you.  Please hush.  Did you just hit the dog with a light saber?  Hasn't he earned more respect than that?!"  etc.  My colleagues were dears and didn't call me on it, but oh, the humiliation when I realized.  I was just so glad the call wasn't with a judge, or a client, or opposing counsel, but still.

From what I can tell, at least in my field, the trick to pulling off working as a mom is for your colleagues to never see the mask slip, to never know that it's hard or you're tired or you're leaving work early because of a pediatrician appointment.  Basically, to never let them know you have kids.  (At my last job we were encouraged (instructed?) not to display any photos of our kids on our desks.  Charming, no?)  I know it's messed up and crazy, but I don't know when it's ever going to change.

On a happier note, here's what's cooking in the Burke kitchen:

Irish soda bread!  Here's the recipe.  A couple of variations - I use bread flour instead of all-purpose, and I only put 2 tbs of sugar in the dough, instead of 4.  I also don't sprinkle any on top - Jon hates sweets, the monster.  Late for the feast of St. Brigid, early for the feast of St. Patrick, but no matter - I make it every week around here because it's Jon's favorite.  And one of mine, too, though it should be strictly off-limits since I'm now 26 weeks pregnant and already at my goal weight for this pregnancy.  But holding steady for 3 more months should be no problem at all.  : )  Speaking of which, check out this ridiculous belly:

I mean, come on.  How on earth can it keep growing for three more months without me tipping over?  The sheer physics of the thing seem impossible to me.  In fact, while I was reaching behind the computer monitor to plug in my phone my belly pressed against the keyboard and typed a string of numbers into this post, all on its own.  Out of control.  (Also, I now know why I have never taken a self-portrait in the bathroom mirror, or any mirror for that matter - the awkwardness!  How so many ladies do it while looking cute and relaxed and not at all like they are worried about the angle of their hips or their weird eyebrows or whether or not to smile is beyond me.)