Enlightenment By Rommyn Skipper

Here is another one of Rommyn's Columns. This is from January 1997, working at the Sun Post in San Clemente, CA.

Enlightenment

       Enlightenment is a good thing, just ask my wife. I took a six-day vacation at the start of this month, and I came away a new man. Or at least a more understanding man. I think.

       I've always been proud of the fact that my wife stays home with our kids -- 22 month-old Kaisey and 2 1/2 month-old McKay. Although it requires some real belt-tightening at times, we both agree that no amount of money can compensate for the love, attention and morals only she can give our children.

       And I've always had an appreciation for the work she does at home. When someone realizes our situation and naively asks, "Your wife doesn't work?" I quickly answer "Not outside the home." Because believe me, she works.

       But I didn't realize to what extent until my six days of enlightenment. 

       Now I fully believe in sharing the housework, but I have been known to come home and say to Laurie, "I worked a 12 hours today," and then flop on the couch. 

       To which she responds, "That's nice, fold the clothes." After such a long day, that seems a bit harsh. Until the enlightenment.

        I knew that the real intent of my vacation was to give Laurie a vacation, but I had no idea how much work would be involved. I got a taste of juggling (sometimes literally) two kids for long stretches of time. I learned that McKay really likes to be held - a lot - and that it's not that easy to cook or vacuum or even eat a sandwich while holding a 14-pound baby in one arm. And I learned quickly that gravity soon makes that 14 pounds seem like 114 pounds.

        I realized why Laurie likes to shop after I get home from work - alone. During the enlightenment, I was given the duty of watching Kaisey in the grocery store. Even with Laurie taking care of the actual shopping and McKay, I found the whole ordeal more than a challenge. I never realized there were so many individual items on so many shelves. Or that each one is so intriguing to a toddler.

        Now Kaisey's a good girl, and she really does mind, but in her mind, just because I said "Don't touch that" whatever, it didn't mean she couldn't touch an identical item perched right beside the forbidden item. Shopping became an endless nightmare.

        Public excursions became aerobic workouts as I placed Kaisey in her stroller, then pulled her out so she could walk, then hoisted her on my shoulders, then grabbed her before she could slide down my back and hit the floor.

        And when we got home and I thought I could rest, it was time to change a diaper (or two), or fix a lunch, or just hold my kids and let them know they're loved.

        I have to be a city editor for nine to 12 hours a day. Laurie is a mother, wife, doctor, playmate, disciplinarian, teacher, maid, chauffeur, repair woman (the list is endless) 24 hours a day.

        One column doesn't do justice to the amount of knowledge I gleaned from my six days of enlightenment. It hit me forcefully that my job, even with its deadline stress, is a cakewalk compared to the minute-by-minute demands of caring for children.

        Laurie faces constant deadlines: When McKay has to eat, that's a top priority regardless of what's on TV or in the oven. When Kaisey wants to read a book, she needs attention, and "wait a minute" doesn't work.

         So now when I come home from a long day at the office and Laurie says, "Fold the clothes," I try to follow up with "I'll also sweep the floor and take out the trash."