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Home
and Family
Working Mother
by Sudy Rosengarten
Esty is determined to go out to work. Being home with her
three children all the time is getting on her nerves. She
can't stand shlepping around all morning in a robe on top of
her nightgown for lack of motivation to get dressed. She
needs something more ego-fulfilling than diapering babies
and wiping runny noses. Of course, she loves her children, G-
d bless them, but she doesn't want children to be her `all'
in life. She wants to continue growing, meeting challenges,
doing exciting things. She's seriously discussing the matter
with her sister Rivky, who, being older, if only by fifteen
months, is a working mother herself and should be able to
advise her what to do. Rivky listens to Esty's reasons for
going out to work.
"So you want to keep growing and meet interesting
challenges," she repeats, nodding her head as though she
understands exactly what her sister is talking about. "Well,
all I can tell you is - - forget it!"
"But why?" Esty asks. "I thought you would understand... I
thought that you would see my point and sympathize with my
goals." Rivky looks at her sister as though she's retarded.
"You have a great imagination," she finally says.
"What?"
"You're living in a dream world. What do you think? That
when you have a job, you jump out of bed in the morning with
your heart singing and your soul bursting because the new
day will bring with it the promise of fulfillment? Listen.
I'm not saying anything. You want to get a job?
Gezunterheit, go get a job. But first, let me give
you an idea of what my house looks like in the morning:
"Four-year-old Leah'le has to meet the school bus at seven
twenty, so at a quarter to seven I pull her out of her best
sleep, the little angel, slap her into her clothing and dump
her on the toilet seat. The L-rd watch over her if she dares
to open her mouth to say anything but her prayers. You'll
miss the bus! I screech in panic every few minutes, with
my eyes glued to the clock. I shove breakfast down her
throat, encase her into sweaters, push her out the door and
shlep her down the steps. She's finally outside! Boruch
Hashem! But I'm still not finished. Now I start yelling
from the window: Don't go into the gutter, you shouldn't
cholila get run over. Don't put down your lunch bag,
you shouldn't forget to take it with you. Don't run after
the cat. Don't don't, don't... Just stand like a statue
till the bus comes and swallows you up together with the
sixteen other four-year-olds: sneezing, coughing, fighting,
yawning, scratching, pulling at the tight underwear that
binds them, picking at the mucous in the corners of their
eyes, licking at the jam on the sides of their mouths.
"Finally, the bus arrives. There is a frantic push as each
child tries to get inside first. With everyone safely
inside, it rattles off and this vigil is over. Now for
Zirel. But she's O.K. Her I don't have to pull out of bed
and evict from the house. She can still enjoy the life of
Reilly because the babysitter is ready to sit for both her
and the infant. Whenever she feels like it, Zirel can hop
out from under her quilt, blink at the sunshine, study the
shadows on the wall. She, at her own good time, can jump up
on the toilet and sing a song while I gulp down a leben,
stir the cereal and nurse the baby, all at the same time.
"Oh that baby! What a joy she is! She'll never take her eyes
off my face the whole time that I feed her, will always give
me the kind of smile that reassures me that all my efforts
are not in vain... and makes me feel guilty for abandoning
her, too. Of course, when, after nursing her for fifteen
minutes she goes and throws up on me... What can I tell you?
Motherhood can be very frustrating. While all this is going
on, I keep looking nervously at the clock and rushing over
to the window. Where is that babysitter? Yossi comes
home from shul with a bread under his arm, leben and milk in
his hands. From the minute he gets through the door, he
doesn't stop bombarding me with questions, you know, real
important things like Will you be able to have ten people
sleep over when the Rebbe comes to Bnei Brak for a Shabbos
in three months?
"I sniff at my sweater, look at the clock. There's no time
to change into something else, besides which, whatever does
fit me is either in the hamper, waiting to be washed, or
rolled up in a towel on the bottom of the closet, waiting to
be ironed. I sniff at my sweater again. Maybe a shpritz of
perfume will cover the smell of sour milk. Yossi is angry
that I still haven't answered his question.
"Sure, I tell him for the sake of sholom bayis.
Sure, you can bring as many people to sleep over as you like
when the Rebbe comes for Shabbos in three months. I
again look at my watch. I'm going to be late. Zirel is still
sitting on the toilet, singing happily away. The sound is so
calming to my churning spirit, so peaceful and relaxing,
that I decided to ignore my own call of nature and not hurry
the innocent child.
"Boker tov! sings the babysitter as she makes a grand
entrance. I choke down the last of my leben, hesitate a
minute, still uncertain about getting Zirel off the toilet,
then grab my accordion, yell some instructions to Yossi,
smile sweetly to the babysitter and fly out the door and
down the steps. I am soon hurrying down the street, pulling
my accordion after me, almost enjoying the warmth of the sun
as it penetrates the layers of perfume-shpritzed sweater. I
chuckle to myself, knowing that all the ladies standing at
the windows, looking after me, are thinking, with perhaps
more than a little envy: Oh, such a chevreman,
running off to work so early in the morning. How does she
ever do it with three piztkelach? And here I am still in my
nightgown...
"When I arrive at my first kindergarten, all the children
are waiting outside. Hinei Rivka! Hinei Rivka! they
sing in a happy chorus and run to greet me with shouts of
adoration. As I strap myself into my accordion, they scurry
to sit down on the little chairs set up in a semi-circle,
eagerly awaiting their rhythm lesson. Having by then caught
my breath and forgotten the morning madness, I join their
innocent, happy world with song and dance.
"People always ask me how I manage to work with three little
children. I flutter my eyelashes, look down modestly and
explain: Oh, I could never be happy just sitting at home,
and if I want my husband to continue learning...
"But between you and me, who am I fooling?"
"But of course," Rivka adds, looking her sister straight in
the eye, "if you think that going to work is exciting,
motivating, a challenge and the way to keep growing, don't
let me spoil your dream... I didn't say anything. You do
exactly what you want."
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