Mothers Who Work

Growing up, I thought it was immensely cool that I had a working mom. How many other kids had mothers that traveled on business trips, managed an office full of employees and was A Boss???

When I was in the second grade, my parents decided to move me to a new school. I wasn't entirely sure why or whether I even wanted to go, but I didn't have much say in the matter. So eventually I found myself at my new school, much bigger and fancier than my last one, with plenty of vast grounds and facilities and a whole pack of new kids I had to make friends with. I found out quickly that I didn't have a lot in common with my new classmates. They came to school with name-brand backpacks, exquisitely packed lunch boxes full of fancy snacks, and almost all of them appeared to have a stay-at-home mom.

Having two working parents at my old school wasn't completely unheard of. But amongst the other second graders in my class, having a stay-at-home mother suddenly seemed far more common. 

I, however, did not have a stay-at-home mother. I had a mother who worked full-time through most of my childhood. Unlike my classmates, I did not go home to my mother after school. Instead, most days, I went home to my grandparents' house, where I ate lunch, did my homework, and watched TV until my parents picked me up after work. My Amma did not believe in elaborate snack boxes with finger sandwiches and samosas. She packed us hearty, practical sandwiches and popped in a couple of chocolate biscuits as a treat. 

Over the years, Amma had often expressed regret at how much she worked when my brother and I were little. Throughout our childhood, and even after she eventually quit her job to stay home with us, she often told us that she wished she could have spent more time with us. That she could have done more, been around more, and that she regretted the time she had lost with us. And while I can empathize with her sense of remorse, the thing is, my memories of my childhood are very different.

Growing up, I thought it was immensely cool that I had a working mom. How many other kids had mothers that traveled on business trips? Or had an office full of people reporting to her? How many other kids had a mother who was A Boss??? And sure, of course, I always missed her when she was away. But I was always proud of my working mother. 

And while my mother may remember more nights that she missed when I think back to my childhood, I remember being tucked into bed every single night that she was home. It didn't matter how late she got home from work or how tired she was; every single night for my entire childhood, Amma would sit down with us at bedtime and ask about our day. We would spend some time catching up, and when we were younger (and often when we were older), she would read to us before bed. What I remember is being tucked in and kissed goodnight every single night of my childhood. 

Many, many years later, as a young adult, I clomped into my bedroom one night after work, exhausted, overworked and frustrated. I was at a toxic job that I couldn't leave because I needed the money. I was overworked, underpaid, and at my wit's end. As I kicked my shoes off, I was already mentally calculating the fastest, most nourishing meal I could make myself with the least possible effort. I had no appetite and no desire to cook, but I knew I needed to eat so I could function at work the next day. Adulthood was terrible, my laundry pile was rapidly growing, and all I wanted to do was sink into my bed. 

Suddenly it struck me that I was the same age my mother was when I was a toddler. It dawned on me that she, too, had come home every day exhausted after a long day's work. But unlike me, she came home to a husband, in-laws, and a whole entire toddler (me!) Most days after work, engaging in any kind of human interaction or contact felt like living a nightmare to me. I couldn't even imagine dealing with other people at the end of a long day, let alone being responsible for one. 

I had always appreciated our bedtime bonding ritual, but I never realized as a child the extent of stress she was under at work or how hard it must have been to turn off work mode and into mom mode when she got back home to us every day. 

When I think back on my childhood, I remember having a mother who always let me check out as many books as I wanted at the library. I remember doing science experiments on the weekends and working on papier-mâché and crafts on rainy days. We would make our own play-doh with atta, sculpting tiny plates of food that we turned into magnets. My mother didn't believe in helping us with school projects, even when we protested that all the other kids' parents did their projects for them. Instead, she would help us visualize the best project we could do each time and then guide us toward achieving it. 

Our birthday parties were always outlandish and wildly creative affairs. One year she made me a Humpty Dumpty cake, complete with Chocos cereal bricks for the wall. There were always triangle sandwiches stacked in the shape of a house with a mint chutney garden and mountains of homemade chocolate fudge balls. When my brother wanted a pirate-themed party one year, she made eyepatches and hand-painted cardboard swords for all the kids. The cake was a chocolate-frosted treasure chest, heaped with candy jewels and chocolate coins pouring out. 

My mother taught me how to have goals - she never made me think there was anything I couldn't do if I worked hard and really wanted to. Even at a young age, she always encouraged me to dream big. Every lofty dream and outlandish desire I set out to achieve is thanks to her relentless encouragement. As I grew older and started contemplating my future, it was my mother that did the research and discovered that you could study something called Graphic Design. She has always been able to visualize my future far better than I ever can. 

My mother defines the word Momager, helping me take charge of my future long before I took my own career seriously. Since I've been away from home, she manages my online store (far better than I ever could.) She single-handedly sources vendors, manages production, arranges wholesale deliveries, and packs and ships every local order. She is the true visionary behind my creative business, the one who always insists on negotiating a higher rate when I'm more than willing to settle for a smaller amount. 

Even when she stopped working, she never really stopped being a working mom. My mother embodied Girl Boss before I was ever familiar with the concept. And I will always be proud to have a working mother. 

Happy Mother’s Day to all the strong, amazing, beautiful Mama’s out there! We love you!