For Renewable Energy, Tap a Mother's Guilt

I was listening to a segment on the Obama administration's plans to create renewable energy sources on The Diane Rehm Show as I was driving downtown this morning when it hit me: if you could bottle up all the mother guilt in the United States, you would never need to drill for oil again. You'd have all the renewable energy you could ever use.

The reason I was stuck in traffic, looking for a parking place near the Verizon Center, instead of (a) walking Mavis with a friend, as scheduled, and (b) getting ready for a doctor's appointment is that Julia's daycare class had a field trip to see "Disney on Ice" and suddenly I was going. 

Back when I was dating, the etiquette was clear about who came first: you did not bail out on a girlfriend to make plans with a guy. Even the doctor/patient relationship leaves no gray. Cancelling an appointment at the last minute as I did means that I will have to pay for it. But child/friend etiquette has never been spelled out to me. Was it okay to leave my walking buddy in the lurch for Julia? 

My guilt about not accompanying Julia on the field trip was fueled by a couple of things. If I had been in town last week, I would have signed up to chaperone and there never would have been any question about where I belonged. But as I watched Julia walk away toward the Metro holding the hand of one of her teachers, I felt horrible, not least because she wanted me to go and if we're lucky enough to win the public school lottery next month, Julia will be in real school next year. How much time I spend with her won't be my decision, it will be strictly regulated by the District of Columbia. 

Also, I find that with my dad sick and every phone call to or from Atlanta one that turns up another unsettling health condition for me to process, I am walking around brimming with tears at all times. I need my mother, but the best I can get right now is the satisfaction of being present for my children. So when the teacher called from the subway platform to say that they found an extra ticket, I hesitated less than half a nano-second. Even that pause seemed too long in response to Miss La Juan's plea, "Julia really wants you to come."

At the show, Julia sat on my lap and we shared a big box of popcorn and there was no question for me about where I should be. But when it ended and I had to go find my car, I again had to leave her. This time, she was bound up in Miss La Juan's arms, crying.

A few days ago when I was about to go to the airport and I was telling my mother goodbye, she hugged me hard and said, "I love you more than you can know." 

"I'm a mother, too," I said, "and so I do have some idea." 

In preparation for Valentine's Day, each child in Julia's class was asked to say how much they love their mothers (maybe the dads get the cards??). Borrowing from one of our favorite picture books, Guess How Much I Love You, Julia answered, "I love my mama to the moon." 

I'm not sure why a mother's love is tinged with guilt, but I know that I've got enough of both to get Julia and me to the moon--and back.