I'm a mom of two. This is the stuff I deal with.
Deli orders, dull pencils, and 47 other invisible tasks.
We’re approaching the one-year anniversary of the most unhinged post I ever wrote. Technically, it’s the most unhinged fallout from a post I ever wrote, because the post itself disappeared. Somewhere in the alt universe between two people plugging away in a shared drive, an earlier skeleton version became the final version that got saved. In the lead up to Mother’s Day, my battle cry on the invisible load of mothers just went…invisible.
I spend a lot of time speaking and writing about motherhood, money, ambition, and the multihyphenate labor of women in the greater context of household equity. (Today, I’m sharing some oldies-but-goodies on these topics below.) And because we’re approaching Mother’s Day once again, I know there are a thousand angles I should be working for the sake of our book, our message, and the millions of mothers who are about to receive pajamas and be asked where they want to have brunch this Sunday. This is that moment. I want to plaster “CAREGIVERS ARE PROVIDERS” on enough billboards for everyone to absorb it by osmosis. I want to beat that drum. Stand on my soapbox. Lock arms in solidarity with The Elite Internet Moms who only sometimes acknowledge I exist.
But also, I am tired, and I don’t want to do anything.
Mother’s Day is the opening ceremony of Maycember. No matter how few activities your kids participate in, you know what chaos is about to transpire between now and the end of the school year: testing, concerts, recitals, field days, dances, and don’t forget sign-ups for next year.
We’re also entering a new phase in our journey as authors. With Money Together out in the world for six months now, many of the in-person speaking events we booked during our initial press push are happening. It’s all wonderful stuff, but the timing couldn’t be crazier. So, rather than write the thing that would cost me the remnants of my brain capacity, I’ve decided to honor myself this Mother’s Day and do something different.
There are many ways to shed light on the invisible work of mothers like me. But instead of telling you, I’m just going to show you.
Last week, I kept a running tab in my Notes app of the behind-the-scenes stuff I do for our girls. You’ll see that none of this has to do with work, Doug, or me. We live in an age of intrusive technology, tumbleweed villages, inflated costs of living, and unreasonable expectations. It’s a lot; and yet, we do it all for them.1
So without further ado, here’s what no one saw last week:
Following a deep inventory dive into Hazel’s closet, I force her to drive 45 minutes away with me to the one clothing store with kids’ and juniors’ sizes. We’re at the point in the buy-return process where she needs to try every item on, look me in the eye and say, “Yes, Mom, I love this and will wear it,” before I buy her anything else.
I entice her with lunch at her favorite deli in the same strip mall. Maybe we should also pick something up for dinner. I have Doug text me his order.
Ruby is bored. I text a mom for a play date and put her on a text with Doug, since he’s the one home.
Pulling Hazel around this clothing store is like herding sheep. She says no to half of what I pick up, but when an employee suggests it, she loves it. I’m keeping my mouth shut.
While she’s back in the dressing room, I power shop for Ruby. She needs shorts and tank tops for camp, but she’s still at an age where it’s easier to shop without her here.
It’s a rainy night. Good thing I picked up deli for dinner. I am mediating which movie to watch for Family Movie Night, which I’m pretty sure Doug and I didn’t even agree to. They land on some no-name teen surfing movie on Netflix that’s set in Australia.
I notice a package from the place the camp t-shirts come from. I forgot I even ordered them. They’re huge. Hazel says I’ll have to crop them all with scissors.
OMG. Ruby’s shorts don’t fit. I bought her three pairs in the wrong size. They can only be exchanged in person. I’ve got 30 days to waste another half day driving back to that store.
I am attending a special parent day for the 4th graders at Hebrew school. I am told they will receive a prayer book they’ll carry throughout their lives. In the spirit of infusing meaning into spontaneous moments, our rabbi asks the parents to spend 10 minutes inscribing the front of the book with a personal message they’ll cherish forever. NBD. The writer in me spends five of those minutes spiraling over what to write and another five crying as I write it. This is much harder than my usual Sunday morning Pilates.
I can’t ignore our May travel calendar anymore. I email my mom the flow of events, since she’ll be watching the girls.
I call downstairs for Doug to fill out two separate checks for two Playbill ads for Hazel’s show. The form’s been sitting by our back door for three weeks, but the checks are in the basement office.
Doug’s doing the grocery shopping, but he forgets a few things. I promise the girls I’ll stop by Trader Joe’s for whipped cream.
We have another couple’s joint birthday party two weeks from now. I cannot for the life of me book a sitter. It’s Mother’s Day Weekend and people are busy. I even text the one we had to cancel on twice who I’m sure thinks I’m a total flake. I know I need to deepen our bench, but it’s different now that the girls are older.
I cold DM a mother in town whose teen daughter Hazel knows. Let’s see what she says.
Ruby asks me to paint her favorite Squishmallow on her fake Ugg slippers. They are so cute.
I realize I ghosted the orthodontist’s office weeks ago. Hazel wants braces now, but once we found out she needs such light work done (hallelujah), I decide she will wait until after sleep away camp. I’m about to book the appointment when I realize we will be away for work. I ask for new dates. We book it, and then she tells me Hazel will need spacers four days before. A grandparent will still have to take her during our work trip. Good times.
I’m still in denial over our May travel schedule. I text my stepmom to ask if she can spend a night with us next week so we can leave home early in the morning for a speaking engagement. She can, thank god.
Evite pushes a reminder for a child’s birthday party invite I swear I never received. Why do invitations come through so many channels now? Someone sent one via WhatsApp last month.
One of the girls has a rough day at school. I’ll leave it there, but I always can tell when the vibes are off. I feel like it’s my job to try to reset the tone for the week as best I can.
Hazel had a math unit review at school. She asks me to create new questions based on the packet so she can keep reviewing. She’s literally never asked me this before. I’m handwriting questions with a dull pencil that I’ll need a calculator to answer, but she doesn’t know that. I guess I am happy she asked.
I am not driving carpool to Ruby’s art class, but I am driving both ways to Hazel’s show rehearsal. She asks me whether I’m going to help build sets for the show. I didn’t get nearly enough work done today and find myself muttering something defensive like, “I do what I can, and that has to be enough.” Ugh.
One has a rash. Another has a lump behind her neck. I ChatGPT both.
The girls ask if I ever made it to Trader Joe’s for whipped cream. I say no.
I call my mom to discuss the flow of events for May. I also gently float that I couldn’t find a babysitter for the night before Mother’s Day and ask if she’ll come up. I assure her that Doug will make us brunch plans somewhere halfway to her house so she can get home easily, because she’s coming back two days later for our work trip. Sigh.
Pretzel Day at school is cash only. I never have it and end up mooching off one of their classmate’s parents and feel terrible about it. But today, I am prepared. What a win.
Flag football sign-ups are this Friday. I only know this because I see an Instagram post. It is a pure chance encounter. I add a reminder to our Skylight calendar.
Hazel needs black jazz shoes for her show. Amazon it is.
Doug’s in the city tonight for work. Hazel goes to the neighbor’s backyard to play while I drive Ruby to dance class. She has a Smartwatch, so I think I can check in with her when it’s time to come home, but she accidentally silences it. Time to go for a walk.
When only one parent is home on a Wednesday night, I must drive to the dance studio four times in four hours (to and from for each kid).
I order myself dinner since there’s too much driving going on to cook. I include dessert for the girls in my order, because I still never went to get them their whipped cream. We negotiate who gets which three of the Baked by Melissa mini cupcakes in the variety pack. Talk about diplomacy.
Hazel asks for the Philly Phanatic on her Fuggs. I stay up until midnight painting them.
This is so dumb, but our local toy store posted on Instagram that they got a limited restock of Needohs. Our office is across the street. I persuade Doug to go over there. He feels like an asshole but does it. They run out, anyway.
Meanwhile, Hazel tries to persuade me into taking her to Starbucks. I just read something about the sugar and caffeine in those pink drinks and am horrified. I say no (for today).
The group chat’s popping off about dance registration for next year. I make the executive decision that neither of our girls are doing it anymore. It’s the end of an era.
I pick Ruby up from her friend’s house. She jumped in a giant puddle at school—her new pink sneakers are brown. I throw them in the wash.
At bedtime, Hazel asks me to help her pull the phone numbers of local Five and Below stores so she can harass them about squishy restocks. I say no to this, too.
Time to register Hazel for flag football. I remembered!
I also register the girls for Hebrew school next year. I did not remember this but received a group text about friend requests. It takes a village, people!
Ruby gets another play date tomorrow. I nail down those plans.
I spend time on the phone with a friend who just went back to work after her first maternity leave. Hazel interrupts and asks me to slice a lemon for her club soda. I tell her: figure it out yourself. It’s Friday.
And that, my friends, is one week. Not a bad week, not a crisis week…just a week. If any of this felt familiar, I’d love to hear what your invisible list looks like. Drop it in the comments or email us.
Happy Mother’s Day to all the women showing up for their families. You are providers in every sense of the word.
My thoughts on motherhood <3
I’m no stranger to The Discourse on motherhood. Here’s some of the most popular essays I’ve written on being a mom:
I want to remember the last times, too - on accepting change when it happens
The kids are too busy - on over-scheduling and infrastructure
Ruby, Ruby, what do you see? - on narrating for our children
Children won’t save a marriage, but they might fix your relationship with your mother - on belonging and acceptance
Middle of the pack - on growing in losing
Laps of luxury - on projecting a lifestyle
Everything costs $1,000 - on meeting expectations
They said it gets easier - on managing change
Money Together is here. If you find value in our newsletter and want to support our work, please order a copy today: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop, or Audible (narrated by Heather!).
Love it already? PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE leave us a review on Goodreads and wherever you purchased.
Want more Heather and Doug? Have us come talk about love and money with your organization—virtually or IRL. Reach us here.
Connect with us on social: @averagejoelle + @dougboneparth
The content shared in The Joint Account does not constitute financial, legal, or any other professional advice. Readers should consult with their respective professionals for specific advice tailored to their situation. The information contained in this post is general in nature and for informational purposes only. It should not be considered as investment advice or as a recommendation of any particular strategy or investment product. This post is not a solicitation or an offer to buy or sell any specific security. Bone Fide Wealth cannot guarantee the accuracy of information from third parties.
Oh, and before you say, Heather, it doesn’t even seem like you did that much, well, that’s because my partner carries his fair share of responsibilities for our family, too. It wouldn’t have looked this way five years ago, but we put in the work to be sure no one’s shouldering the burden alone. Our time has equal value. Full stop.