Adventures of Supermom
A few days ago, I negotiated a nutritional crisis, navigated a treacherous jungle, captured the bad guys, and saved the planet (or at least our backyard) from the forces of darkness ... and all that before nine a.m.
No, I'm not a superhero, at least not of the tight-and-cape-wearing variety. But I am a mom to a three year old princess/superhero/detective/picky eater. And that definitely qualifies me to put "supermom" on my resume, even above the more traditional entries of "attorney" and "writer."
Three years ago, my friends used to tease me that I had a secret identity as a superhero, and that a series of superhero novels I was writing at the time were based on my real life adventures. I laughed it off. Sure, I might be a new mom, an attorney, and a novelist, but that was just my life; there wasn't anything amazing about it! I played with the baby in the morning, went off to litigate during the day, played with the baby in the evening, then wrote while the kiddo slept. And still managed to write anywhere from three to five books each year, thus maintaining my pre-daughter level of productivity.
I was organized. I was scheduled. I was smug. I was ... completely and totally delusional.
Children, I soon discovered, have a habit of growing up. Of developing needs that run beyond feeding, playing and napping. Trouble was, each of my three careers -- lawyer, writer, mom -- required and deserved more energy and hours in the day than I had to offer. Time to do a little revising and cutting. Only this time in my life, not in my books.
And so, in June of 2004, I said goodbye to the practice of law, and hello to a new life where my workday was interspersed with child care, grocery store runs, and laundry. Did I miss leaving the practice of law for the more traditional role of mom and the less traditional role of writer? How could I, especially when so many of my legal skills still come in handy every day?
You think negotiating a multimillion dollar settlement is hard? Try negotiating bedtime with a three year old. Interviewing a hostile witness? That's nothing compared to ferreting out the truth about how the purple Magic Marker streaks ended up on the bathroom wallpaper. Determining which expert witness to retain? Try deciding which car seat to buy.
In other words, life imitates life. And life really does imitate art, too. Or, at least, it imitates my art.
Here's the deal: A few months before I quit practicing law, I sold a book featuring a suburban mom with a secret -- she used to be a demon hunter. And now, because demons have infiltrated her small town, she's forced to head back into the work force, conquer the demons, and keep her job a secret from her husband, her teenager, and her toddler.
Can't you just see the parallels?
I mean, I may not be conquering demons from the depths of hell, but if you've ever tried to get a service call out of a furniture company that's refusing to honor the warranty, you're familiar with the demons that inhabit suburbia.
The biggest incident of my life imitating art, though, came with the conundrum of day care. I no longer had to leave the house to go to a job. But I still had to go to a job. And after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I, like the demon-hunting Kate, made the decision to put my little girl in day care. Talk about battling your personal demons! I wanted her home with me. Wanted to spend the day playing and learning, collecting bugs (just not spiders) and battling bad guys. But the reality is simple: I have contractual commitments as well as an unwritten commitment to my readers. I need to turn in the best books I can write, and that takes concentration and large chunks of time. And as much as I want the kiddo with me, I want her with me. Not being babysat by Barney or Avatar or Kim Possible.
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