Yesterday, dropping my first born off at college, I carried eight bags of clothes, three boxes, backpacks, shopping bags, and miscellaneous other stuff up and down five flights of stairs many times. I put together a set of shelves, a fan, a printer, and gave my daughter at least 25 hugs. I can measure what I did for her yesterday, in miles driven, hours spent and tasks completed, measuring accomplishments as I might do at work.
Seventeen years ago I chose to make my children my job, becoming the primary caregiver, stay-at-home parent, whatever you want to call it. I’ve worked a “real” job some of the time, coached teams, volunteered in the community, been on committees and boards but really, my work has been raising my daughters.
After leaving my girl on her campus, I wonder how can I measure what I’ve been doing all this time. In breakfasts cooked (about 5,500)? In doctors visits (around 140, including three emergency room trips, four broken bones, more than 20 X-rays, and numerous scans with different abbreviations)? In games watched (close to 100 soccer, softball, volleyball, gymnastics, basketball games, meets, or scrimmages, though I never did cross country)? In loads of laundry, lunches packed, field trips gone on?
Every family I know divides up the parenting in some way. Not just the diapers and dishes, but also the teacher conferences, performances, staying home with a sick child, all the many, many, many demands related to our progeny. Even the homes with nannies or sitters can’t outsource all the requirements of parenthood, still divvying up who misses work for a school play or spends the weekend driving kids to a hockey tournament in Albany.
By being home most of the time, I’ve taken on more of the parenting stuff for my family. Some of it is specific, concrete tasks and measurable time, but much of it is wispy and vague, tough to put your finger on. Morning coffee with other parents, for example, is often maligned as the luxury of the stay-at-home parent, yet provides the invaluable exchange of information about teachers, babysitters, coaches, resources, and the networking that ensures me and my children’s connection to friends and neighbors.
Working parents I know do the same thing, just in different ways. Going to evening meetings and standing around afterwards for sidewalk conversations or weekend play dates and sleepovers, they find a way to make the connections with other parents and meet their children’s friends.
Trying to measure what being at home has meant to my children and family is a fool’s game since I can never know what the consequences of a different choice would have been. We’re all using the same math to weigh our value as parents and in the end, there is no scale or calculator for the task.
I can’t compute what I’ve given to my daughter, but after one last hug, as I watched her strolling down the hall with her roommates for the start of college, I felt like I could see what all these years have added up to.
What a great feeling.
