Work/Play

I am always a social worker, and always a Mommy.  I try really hard not to "social work" (I know not a real verb) my family.  Despite my best efforts to keep my roles separate the two overlap many times.  Last week's bombing in Boston and the explosion in Texas prompted me to go in to full social worker mode.  Turning off the news programs, answering my precocious 9 (almost 10) year old's questions in a reassuring way and generally feeling pretty good about myself.  Then yesterday my four year old gave me this picture.

  And this is what he said about it "This is a picture of bombs going off everywhere.  People put bombs in trash cans and then it exploded."

My heart and stomach sank.  I tried so hard to shield him from the violent distrubing images thrust upon us and yet somehow this.  It is a stark reminder of what I tell families almost everyday, that children soak up so much more than we ever realize.  That even while we tell ourselves "they are too young to understand" children pick up many cues about what is happening around them and they assimilate those clues in ways that make sense to them.

But it is also a reminder that children's work is the work of play.  My son wasn't frightened or upset by his drawing, or what it represented.  In fact, he may  not even realize that it is a drawing of something  in the "real world."  By drawing the things he doesn't understand or that may confuse and frighten him he gains mastery and control.   He makes his world safer through the work of play.  My work with children (including my own) is to help facilitate that control and mastery.  Work and play are not that different for children, and sometimes for Social Work Mommies.

Some days I think the Mommy part of my job description is the hardest, other days the Social Worker seems daunting.  Then there are days when the two collide and leave me broken wide open.  This past weekend was one of those times.

    Friday I was in full on Mommy mode.  Hunter was home and we were preparing to go out of town for Christmas with my Dad's family.  I was busy packing and running errands.  Somewhere in the day I looked at my Twitter feed and commented almost casually to Hunter "there has been another school shooting."  Then we finished our errands and went to pick up our oldest son from school and hit the road.  For the first time all day I was able to see the details of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School.
 My heart broke with each detail I read.  As a Mom I thought back to Robert's casual announcement a few weeks ago they'd had an "intruder drill" where they hid behind things. At the time I was a little shocked they practiced such things, but now I couldn't stop thinking about it.  Wondering if those poor children had practiced the same thing with their brave teachers.
       As a social worker I thought of all the hurting people young and old who manage to inflict their pain on others.  And how hard we work to prevent that from happening, and how often we fail.  I want to say we need more regulation on gun ownership I want to preach about the benefits of early and meaningful mental health treatment.  But the sad truth is sick people do sick things all the time.
     I carefully shared the major points of the situation with Robert, he was going to hear it and I wanted to control the information.  He asked me "Did they go into lockdown?'  When did that become something my nine year old knows about and understands?
     Bedtime in the hotel came quickly and exhausted we all slept preparing for our Christmas party the next day.  When I woke I had several messages from the crisis group I contract for.  Another shooting, this one in Birmingham, at St Vincent's. Birmingham- my hometown.  My Dad worked for years at St. Vincent's- I've been there more times than I can count.  Three people shot, the gunman dead. Could I go?  Could I not go? Social worker/mommy.  Our party was quieter than usual.  My cousin left for Afghanistan the day before, my aunt passed away this year and her absence was felt. But still we corralled children and ate dressing and sang Christmas carols.
    On the way home Hunter dropped me off at St. Vincent's to make rounds with chaplains, to do what I could.  As we pulled up to the ER entrance there were police cars and news reporters.  Robert seemed anxious and questioned again what I was doing and why..the mommy and the social worker were both working overtime.  Hunter wrangled all three tired cranky boys through the zoolight safari while I roamed the mostly empty hallways of the hospital, looking at bullet holes and listening to stories of near misses and doing a whole lot of waiting around to wait some more.  I spent most of that time thinking about how quickly life goes from being an ordinary day to a day that marks your life as before and after.  I've born witness to many of those pivotal days as a social worker.  I hope I don't as a mommy.
    It is so hard to reconcile the world I hope for my children, and the one we are given.  Hunter reminds me that there is so much beauty and good around us if we only look for it.  I know he is right, but this weekend the Mommy in me just wants to cry and hold my babies close.  The Social Worker just wants to hold everyone's babies close and sit with those who cry.  That's what being a social worker/mommy is about sometimes.

Career Day

Robert is having career day at school later this week. I received a form to fill out and send back in. Let's fill it out together, shall we?
What is your occupation? Not to be too obvious or anything, but Social Worker/Mommy
Do you have a uniform? Not unless you count the extra shirt I carry around for the inevitable grimy hand prints of peanut butter or unknown substances that wind up on my first one.
Did you have any special training or education for your job? Social Work, yes. Mommy, unfortunately no I'm like everyone else figuring it out as I go and hoping I don't screw up too badly.
What do you do in your job? I could write a book on this one. I feel compelled to start with what I don't do. I don't work for the state (never have) don't take kids out of homes, don't help anyone get on or off public assistance of any kind (unless you count the little old lady who misreads the ad in the phone book once a month and calls about her social security). I also don't do dishes or Hunter's laundry...a girl has to have boundaries. As for what I do... aside from managing a household, trying to be a thoughtful and effective parent... I would say in my paid job I help people figure out how to make their lives better. Sometimes its their marriage, sometimes its dealing with grief,sometimes its parenting. I hope and pray I do offer some small comfort to someone each day -whether its my son who got in a fight with his best friend, my husband who is stressed at work or a client who just lost their father. Some days my biggest and best accomplishment is to get green vegetables on the table, others its helping a wounded soul figure out to heal.
What do you like most about your job?
Its never ever boring, I get a ton of hugs, and I know I am doing what I was put here to do.

A few words about the Social Worker in the title..that's me. I love my job, I meet all kinds of people in all sorts of situations. I help them figure out how to make their lives, and the lives of their families better. I make my own hours and take my kids to work with me whenever I need or want to. My office is part of historic Pratt village, two blocks from each of the boys' schools and next door to their pediatrician.

About six years ago I told a friend of mine that I dreamed of having an office in an historic building in downtown Prattville, that I'd be able to walk Robert to school from there and work only when he was in school. All of that came true and more, what's the verse about "without a vision the people perish" This little office costs a fortune to heat, leans sideways (literally) and took about a thousand gallons of paint (and many hours from my sweet hubby and Dad) on the interior walls...but to me it represents that God wants to give us all that we ask for and more. We are meant to live abundantly, not always easily or even happily, but abundantly nonetheless.