The Imperfect Parent - Articles || Growing Pains

PUBLISHED January, 2005
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Growing Pains

Ms. Independent meets Mr. Mom

by Elizabeth Thompson

I remember collecting my last paycheck, nearly 11 years ago. I was eight months pregnant with my oldest child and commuting from New Jersey into the financial center in New York City. It wasn’t an easy commute -- traveling pregnant made it downright despicable. I was accustomed to working 60 hour weeks and quickly grew tired of going to and coming home from work in the dark. Once my baby was born, I was more than happy to give up my commuter cards and I looked forward to taking a little time off from work. I became pregnant with my second child within 15 months, a third time 2 years after that and gave birth to a fourth child 3 years later. And it quickly became obvious to me that, although I had been removed from the working class, I was still working pretty damn hard at just living day-to-day.

My husband no longer works in the city and commutes less than 20 minutes to his office, but he doesn’t get home any earlier for it. By the time he does, the children and I have just about had enough of each other. Consequently, there are many nights when he sits in his car in our driveway, petrified at the prospects of what lay beyond our front door. And, I admit, I don’t blame him. But, quite frankly, I sometimes do envy him. Although he appreciates how I feel, he too has expressed a desire for our roles to be reversed.

Then one day, we got our chance.

My husband took the day off to care for our four children, so that I could go and play with the big mommies. A friend of mine wrapped up shooting her independent short film and was kind enough (i.e., felt pity) to hire me for the day to work on the set. I was so excited. I mean, honestly, what were the chances? An over-bred, coupon clipping, minivan driving, romance novel loving stay-at-home-mom was going to do something really cool! I hugged my babies, gave my husband a huge wet sloppy kiss and went to work.

So, there I was. On a movie set. I just stood there. Like a store front dummy. Everyone was hustling around me. I heard them say, “Excuse me... heads up... coming through,” and then finally I managed to move my muscles that had apparently atrophied from sheer terror. I couldn't help but wonder, "What in the world was I thinking!?!"

I quickly stowed the defeatist attitude along with my personal belongings and dived in with both feet –- and legs, and arms, and hands, and back... Well, let me tell you –- they worked my 2 years past postnatal ass off!

I was blown away by the level of commitment, professionalism and patience the production company and crew (mommies, daddies and not) had during the 12 hours I was on the set. The level of which never waned for even a moment. And, trust me on this one, there were many repetitive moments; completing shoot after re-shoot after safety-shoot without one audible, visual or karmic complaint.

The two lead actors sat in the same scene at the same spot for 5 hours. Re-shoot, after safety-shoot, after shooting every possible angle my director friend could think of.

Hell, I get cranky folding clothes for an hour or standing on a grocery line. Not these people. My job, along with another production assistant, included re-setting the props for the next shot and the actors thanked us, each and every time... by name!

Blown away... yeah, that’s what I’d call it. Because none of the independent movie making people cared that I wasn’t in “the business” or any business at all for that matter. They were okay with it and even understood…because they all had their “day jobs” too. Apparently, independent movie making is not a lucrative business. However, it is an industry that allows for good movie making regardless of the maker's sex, creed, color, orientation or domesticity.

Finally, I understood what it meant when someone yells, “And... that’s a wrap, people!”

I was excited for my friend. I was relieved that I did not screw up anything too much –- I think. I felt fortunate to have been given the opportunity to hang around with some exceptionally talented people. But most of all, I was visibly tired and sore –- judging by my friend’s husband who asked, “Are you sorry you said yes?” I gave him a quick smile and said, “Nope. Are you kidding? Beyond giving birth, this is probably the coolest thing I’ve ever done!”

So, I called my husband from the parking lot –- I’d be home in about half an hour. I pulled into my driveway, turned off the ignition and just looked at our house a minute longer. The lights were on inside. I could see the plants in my dining room, the warm brown, rust and sage tones of my living room and the white cafe lights still illuminating the kitchen arch way. Yep, I did have fun. But, like with ever play date, there is that time when we have to go home.

I got out of the car and started up our walk with mixed feelings. I entered a very still and quiet house. I placed my jacket and purse on the nearest chair. I heard the dishwasher running and rubbed at the huge knot of a muscle at the base of my neck, threatening to become a migraine. My husband walked out of the kitchen and said in one long breath, “Hey! Missed you. Did you have a good day? I made you some tea and some scrambled eggs. The two little ones are asleep, but Holly and Heather are waiting for a goodnight kiss. Glen had a good appointment. Cried like a mad man after his shots. Holly does not have strep. Doctor said not to worry about the baby’s cough. Heather’s beginning to get a cough. I was able to get some of the laundry done. But, all things considered, it was a good day.”

We both stood there and just stared at each other –- struck by the sheer irony of the moment. Smiling, my husband gave me my tea and told me that I managed to impress my 5 year old son, who informed our Pediatrician that, “Mommy went to work and Daddy’s being the Mommy today. But, don’t worry –- it’s just for today!”