Children vs. The Workplace

                           Children vs. The Workplace

            No jurors selected.  No judge presided.  No attorneys nor plaintiffs required.  I, the sole defendant, admitted my guilt without duress, without formal charges.  My crime?  Assuming I could control my children at a place of business in order to catch up with the rat race.

            Being a seasonably single parent (married to an over-avid sportsman), I thought I could subdue the monsters of paper that moving into a new office, acquiring a new computer system, and learning that system had created at the Dallas law office where I am employed.  I seriously doubted my three-year-old son was likely to mishandle our client's trust and my two-year-old daughter speaks a language discernable only to immediate family and wet-nosed puppies.  Besides, it was Saturday and all I wanted to do was at least eliminate a few briefs and time sheets from my sky-scraping to-do stack.

            I justified hauling my children to an adult domain by balancing the career sacrifice I made earlier in the week when they were Snow White's eighth and ninth dwarfs, Sniffly and Feverish.  (Need I also mention Cranky?  The tenth oversized dwarf which described all of us?!?)  Stay-at-home moms deserve a resounding round of applause.  Frankly, whenever I'm home for longer than two-day intervals, my kids practically push me out the door!

            This incident wasn't a premeditated behavioral test for Justin and Kristen.  Circumstances just naturally evolved into an abnormal dilemma -- either take them with me or face the wicked QUEEN (office manager) on Monday.

            The day began much better than average.  We skipped over the routine delays of the "I'm still asleep", "I doan wanna wear clean clothes", and "I doan wanna go ta day school" moans.  They both thought going to work was exciting.  (HA!)  We substituted a trip to the day care center with a treat to the donut shop.  I should have heeded my first warning:  Justin wanted a gumball instead of whichever donut would crumble the most; Kristy pleaded, "Cawy me".

            We arrived in one piece -- literally.  Both were as firmly attached to my side and my leg as if an invisible umbilical cord were still present.  Nonetheless, our adventurism remained intact.  Justin pushed the alarm button on the elevator.  Kristy balked at the elevator door when she could see down the shaft.  The security guard calmly disarmed the alarm and signed us in.  He kindly chatted with the kids and encouragingly sent us on our merry way.

            Fortunately, the office was empty.  We settled in with our survival equipment -- blankets and pillows for nap time, one toy per child, a bag with a change of clothes (just in case), and a coin purse filled with change destined for the vending machine.  Again, I strayed from the narrow path.

            I turned on my calculator, booted up my computer, and programmed my word processor.  Kristy attacked the calculator (it never had a chance), Justin pounced on a keyboard.  What started out as a preschool introduction to business machines ended up as a contest of squatter's rights.  Accusations flew; chants and whines of "I wuz here fust" and "Cissy dudn't share" were rampant.

            My wonderful, errant children were admonished and provided with weapons:  seemingly harmless pencils and paper.  My desk was equipped with a variety of writing instruments; Justin and Kristy fought over the property rights of highlighters, markers, pencils, and pens that soon became prohibited.

            One of the junior partners came in around 9:00 a.m. and immediately went to work on depositions and law books with the aid of a jam box at full tilt.  I, on the other hand, came fully equipped with my own little noisemakers, but I attempted to stifle my children's antics and control the volume of their grumbling.

            The novelty of Mama's stuff eventually wore off.  I worked, they wandered off.  I typed, they scotch-taped each other.  I printed, they pouted.  We broke for lunch and I walked them to a downtown park several blocks away.  We made innumerable trips to the bathroom.

            I panicked when Justin and I misplaced Kristen.  She had gone to the bathroom "awl by hursef".  (Have I mentioned that she's VERY independent?)  Both I and the security guard heard her cries.  I calmed, held, and patted her while Justin quizzed the security guard.  Justin showed the guard his "I'm this many" fingers and the guard reciprocated with an inventory of his gun belt.

            The guard-ian angel suggested a nap may be in order and my by-then-docile offspring promised to follow his advice.  The next two hours were blissfully peaceful.  One of the few universal aspects of parenthood is the freedom and relief that accompany nap time.

            I transformed into an efficient model employee.  I returned two extra chairs to their rightful homes, renovated my then-chaotic cubicle, and worked with a quiet vengeance.  I barely finished one of my last projects when the associate appeared to say adios.  (I still think he planned his escape while the coast was clear.)

            I then attacked a few of the menial tasks that I usually push aside.  My little cherubs bumped themselves into disoriented wakefulness.  By 5:30 p.m., we had restored the office to its former grandeur, repacked our gear, made the obligatory final trip to the bathroom, and signed our way out of the building.  The ordeal was over.

            Although I have confessed my crime, I put myself at the mercy of the court to pass sentencing as time already served.  I've already put myself on probation, to not repeat this offense in the near future.  I have enough gray hairs as it is.