Create A Life, Open A Void

Yesterday, I was speaking to my friend Cathy who has an enviously successful and accomplished career in film production. Her husband is even more successful. As we discussed our kids, careers, husbands, potential job moves, and the challenges of motherhood, she declared the utter unfairness of it all. "Even early on, you can see the paths of men and women going in different directions at work," she said spreading open her fingers to visually demonstrate the divergent paths of the genders.

"That's why when women take a break from their careers after they become moms, they can really never get back in and catch up," Cathy said. "Or if moms quit entirely they are feeding into old, workplace stereotypes about mothers. I think this is really dangerous for all women."

Yes, I agree it is dangerous. But sadly most mothers really don't feel as if they have many options. Last night, at a dinner with my girlfriends, a similar conversation was taking place. Everyone was in agreement that one parent's career had to slow down after they had children -- after all, someone has to be around for the kids. Of course, this someone is usually the mother.

Many women thrive in this arrangement. (At least for awhile.) They embrace the career of motherhood and are challenged in their role of Woman of the House. Others, by default, get used to this situation -- and make the best of it -- sometimes enjoying it, other times resenting it. And many women who financially need to and want to work after they have kids switch their careers altogether to something more "family friendly" and flexible.

I know women who left Wall Street to become realtors and women who left television production to become teachers and I know women who started small businesses of their own. Sometimes these moves prove to be fantastic and satisfying. But many other times it seems women feel as if they are compromising themselves. They feel forced by motherhood into a job that falls flat. They miss their old lives. They miss the rush, the chase, and the excitement of their former careers. They've become practical but sometimes bitter. They are desperate to find something to satisfy their personal cravings for creativity and stimulation. The irony is that by creating a life, many have also created a void. Why is it that in becoming mothers, we often lose ourselves?

Death & Disney

“Mommy, where is Chicken Little’s mother?” my four-year-old son, Jonah, asked me as we watched the “Chicken Little” movie last week. Jonah noticed the mother’s absence in an early scene as the camera panned to a family photo hanging in Chicken Little’s house. The portrait showed a smiling Mama chicken, Papa chicken, and young Chicken Little. At the heart of this famous “sky is falling” tale lies the strained relationship between Chicken Little and his father. Mom is not mentioned or seen (aside from the photo). So I think it’s safe to assume that she’s in chicken heaven.

“Chicken Little’s mother is at work,” I cheerfully answered, giving Jonah a little squeeze. “I wonder where his mommy works,” he said earnestly before taking a slurp from his apple juice box.

When I read to my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter her favorite "princess" bedtime stories, I deliberately skip over the multiple mentions of death. Have the romantic tales of Cinderella, Snow White and the Princess and the Pea always been so grim? Mommies and daddies die. Evil witches plot death. As a mother now, Disney suddenly feels danergerously dark, so I revise the stories as I read, keeping things relatively upbeat.

Disney aside, children are affected by real-life death. Recently, my husband attended a funeral for a friend’s father. Jonah and his best friend, Lilly, have now incorporated this event into their imaginative play.

“We’re going to a funeral,” the kids happily announce to us when they meet for play dates. They say this as if they’re skipping off to the playground.

Lately, Jonah and his friends seem almost obsessed with death. It started around Halloween this year with their attempt to understand skeletons. Jonah wants to know if he will be hungry when he's a skeleton. He is also afraid that he will be cold since he never sees a skeleton wearing a coat -- and after all it is winter. My friend Allison's son announced the other day that he will think about and love his grandmother even after he's dead. "Let's hope that doesn't happen anytime soon," Allison sweetly told her son.

When and how should we talk to our kids about dying? If movies made for young children discuss the subject, should we? How much do we need to explain to them and when? Do we let our kids play out a funeral in their imaginations or do we gently tell them what a funeral is and insist that they not use it in their play?

These are all questions that my friends and I talk about. I'm looking for the answers, and when I have them I will report back. Until then, Cinderella's mommy is on vacation and will soon be home to kick her ugly stepmother's butt.