Today I Feel Guilty

Today I feel guilty; I’m craving my kids. It’s the limbo days between camp and school where I get a little cranky because I’m not hanging out with my kids. Instead, my nanny Peggy is. As I slogged off to work this morning in a depressing, summer downpour, Lexi, 7, and Jonah, 9, sat at the kitchen table happily playing a card game of UNO with Peggy. They had no real plans today – maybe a museum or a movie. I envied them and I envied Peggy.

It’s been awhile since I felt this way. My children are now “big kids” and their days are often overstuffed with activities. As I scoot them off to school in the morning or enthusiastically wave goodbye to the camp bus, I sometimes feel wistful but not wracked with guilt. When my kids are busy, I actually feel satisfied. My morning mommy moments, which usually involve racing around wildly searching for something critical like a missing flip-flop, barking at my kids to brush their teeth, and hoping that someone will take my dog out to pee, can sustain me until dinner time. I can trot off to work knowing that my children are out there in the world learning their fractions or the breaststroke, and all is well with the universe.

But it is during these precious weeks of my kids’ downtime – summer, winter and spring breaks – that invariably bring me back to that angst-ridden era when not being with my children gnawed ferociously at me. Back then, Jonah and Lexi had infinite hours to be filled with tummy time, trips to the playground and “Mommy and Me” classes. I could feel consumed by guilt if I was not with them. The obsessive compulsive in me kept a mental running tally about hours spent with my children versus hours away at work. I killed myself on the weekends to make the time up to them – and up to myself.

As they’ve gotten older, I’ve cut myself some slack. I sleep later on the weekends because fortunately they don’t need me at 6:30 a.m. They can turn on the TV and watch cartoons and everyone knows that mommy is MUCH happier when she’s well rested. And even though I still don’t do the school pick-ups or play date retrievals, our evening rituals have grown longer and later as they get older. So while my kids’ bedtime can cut into my “Mad Men” I love having more time together.

But today it seemed that on nearly every street corner in Manhattan, moms and their kids huddled under umbrellas making the most of one of their last summer days together. Not that I wanted to be standing in the rain with my kids whining about being wet, but I felt that familiar pang – the residual pull that I should be with my children too.

Next week we go on our summer family vacation – or family relocation as I call it – more trip than vacation. It’s that intense 24/7 family time that I both cherish and frankly fear. But when I send them to school after Labor Day, I will tear up because it’s a brand new school year, but I won’t feel so guilty to go back to work.