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.
