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We are two working mothers — Lauren Rose, the director of business development for Name Bubbles, and Betsy DeMars, the assistant managing editor at The Saratogian. Try as we may to be really good at both, balancing motherhood and career can get pretty messy. As professionals, work schedules and mommy schedules often collide. So, we plow through, hoping at the end of the day, our kids — Lauren's 5-year-old son and Betsy's 11-year-old son and 9-year-old daughter — know how much we love them.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

You mean you're cool with my being late?

As I've said in earlier posts, it's nearly impossible to escape from the newsroom in the early evening (for some reason, everything comes to a head then). However, spring sports have been forcing me to get out to get the kids to their games in uniform and on time.

So, I get everything I can edited for the next day's newspaper as early as possible, hand off the news "budget" to the night copy editors, and with a "You can get me on my cell!" scramble out the door at the last moment.

Once I'm in the car, without fail, my cell phone rings. It's not the office, though, it's my husband with my daily "where the heck are you?" call. When I admit where I am enroute, I usually get a stern, "Babe, you've gotta be kidding me."

And nope, I never am. It's the truth. I'm running late.

Last night, per usual, I was answering last-minute questions about a story as I grabbed my purse and literally ran to my car. Thirty seconds down the road — you guessed it — I get the "where are you" call. Well, at least that's what I anticipated hearing. I was all ready with my answer/excuses of my whereabouts, but instead, he just jumped right in.

He explained that he was leaving the baseball field with our daughter to get her to the soccer field for her game (what probably should have been my job). There was no panic or concern in his voice — just total calmness.

"I just told Dave (a friend of ours who was at the field with his son) that you would be along shortly. So, I'll talk to you later. Love you, babe!"

I hung up a little stunned. No flak whatsoever? Could it be that he's finally come to terms with the fact I'm probably always going to struggle to get out of the office at that time of day? Maybe. Or maybe he was just in a super forgiving/accepting mood. Either way, I was super relaxed as I drove to Doubleday fields, toted my chair to the location of the game and gave my son a little wave upon my arrival. Time for a little forced relaxation.

It was a great game, too. My son, who had seemed to settle into being walked every time at bat thus far in the season, took to heart our encouragement to get in there and swing. Two solid base hits later, I took home a beaming little boy.

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