-
Click here to listen to this article - Share via
See more from the L.A. Times in Google Search. Set us as preferred
My 5-year-old twin boys, Mikey and Charlie, started kindergarten a couple of weeks ago, marking the end of their preschool careers. They walked into class wearing backpacks full of back-to-school supplies, like markers and glue. With their summers in the rearview mirror, they stepped into a world not with circle time or naps, but with desks, textbooks and a more mature curriculum of ABCs, rhymes and yes, even simple addition. They’re in the big leagues now.
By the time school was about to start, I was ready. I felt guilty at how ready I was. I was ready to drop them off at school and have other people spend time with them and feed them and keep them occupied. I was ready to have my time back. I was ready to sit in silence and answer emails in a timely manner instead of prefacing every response with a meek “sorry for the delay.”
I had put them in daytime camps throughout the summer, but once those camps ended, with my husband at work, it was just the two of them and me. Surely, I could hang out with my own little tornadoes and get things done, right? In my mind, they would be preoccupied with Lego bricks or Magna-Tiles or Zoobs while I would be tidying things up around the house and getting a few work-related tasks done.
No. That did not happen. None of that happened. Nothing of the sort happened.
My kids wanted me as close to them as humanly possible. They wanted to play but only if I was playing too. If I had the audacity to hop on the computer, they interpreted my stagnant position as an invitation for them to climb me like a jungle gym. My head and shoulders became leverage for them to get as much height as possible. Elbows were liberally used, heads collided and personal boundaries ceased to exist. I wasn’t a human being to my children — I was a play apparatus. I went to bed bruised, beaten, with 10,000 unread emails and gleefully happy.
Of course, the chaos of the day would be more digestible if our sleep at night was guaranteed, but sleep hasn’t been guaranteed since July 1, 2021. Coincidentally, that’s also the day my boys were born.
My son Mikey normally strolls into our bed in the middle of the night. Mikey likes to sleep perpendicular to my husband and me, in the middle of the bed, so my husband will eventually leave to sleep in Mikey’s bed. Sometimes, Charlie will come to our bed in the middle of the night too, meaning I also get pushed out. Some mornings we wake up with the two adults crammed in their toddler beds and the two sleep terrorists comfy as can be in our California king.
And so this summer, I would wake up every morning and think of activities that would center on tiring my kids out. We live in Pasadena, and our favorite summer day trips are to Kidspace, or to the Huntington Library in San Marino, or to watch a movie at Paseo or go to the Shops at Santa Anita. We’d sometimes drive to the beach or have a pool day. I brought them into the office on the one day I had to commute in.
I work on a popular podcast with comedy sweetheart and my real-life tormentor Conan O’Brien. I’m in the process of rebuilding the home we lost in the Eaton fire. I’m finishing my second book before its September release date. I have THINGS TO DO. I have a career and responsibilities and deadlines. But my children don’t care. In their world, Mom is just their best friend and my only job is to hang out with them.
But something unexpected happened when I dropped them off for that first day of school — I missed them. Terribly. I came back to an empty house and I didn’t know what to do with myself. When I was with them, the list of items I had to check off my list was vast. But now, standing in an empty house each day with time and opportunity, I don’t want to do anything.
I want to hang out with my besties. I’ve managed to tidy everything up, but I miss the mess. I miss the chaos. I even miss them fighting and ignoring me while I ask them to do something 45 times. I miss them climbing on me while I try to work. I even miss feigning astonishment when they would do something mundane like spin on one foot after yelling “Mom, look!”
I realize now that I miss the things we did together more than I miss what I used to do before we had them. Who needs day-drinking, or concerts, or movies rated higher than PG when you have Legoland? Mikey and Charlie look at everything in awe, forcing my jaded eyes not to take it all for granted. Their perspective and enthusiasm bring back a dormant wonder in me. They took their 5-year-old astonishment with them when they went back to school.
I know it’s not novel to realize how much you as a parent enjoy being around your kids. Parents should always want to spend as much time with them as possible. Parents should always appreciate the years they have with them before phones, friends and hormones take over. And I try to. But there were moments when I felt overwhelmed and tired and anxious and guilty about ignoring everything else in my life.
One day the balance will come, but until then, I’ll just patiently wait until 3 p.m. when my two besties are done with school. And because I’m human, I’ll go right back to awaiting another school day as soon as they start fighting with each other.
Being a parent is hard, but I’ve learned that two things can be true — you can love being a parent and also acknowledge how difficult it is. You can poke fun at your children while also knowing that they are the most perfect humans to have ever existed.
Sona Movsesian is cohost of the podcast “Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend” and author of the New York Times bestseller “The World’s Worst Assistant” and “The World’s Worst Mom.”
More to Read
Insights
L.A. Times Insights delivers AI-generated analysis on Voices content to offer all points of view. Insights does not appear on any news articles.
Perspectives
The following AI-generated content is powered by Perplexity. The Los Angeles Times editorial staff does not create or edit the content.
Ideas expressed in the piece
- The piece recounts how the author anticipated the start of kindergarten as a welcome break, eager for an empty house, quiet work time and relief from the bruising, chaotic physicality of parenting energetic twin boys.
- Yet, after dropping the children off, the column contends that the reality of a silent home felt hollow, with the author missing the mess, interruptions and constant demands that once made it difficult to focus on career and rebuilding a fire-damaged home.
- The article argues that the twins’ exuberant curiosity — their excitement over simple outings, toys and small achievements — rekindles a sense of wonder in an adult who had grown jaded, making family experiences more valuable than pre-parenthood pleasures like concerts or carefree socializing.
- The piece suggests that parenting produces layered emotions: joy and fulfillment coexisting with exhaustion, anxiety and guilt about ignoring work and other responsibilities, especially during long stretches when the children insist on constant engagement.
- The column underscores that two truths can exist at once — a parent can crave the structure and respite school provides while also counting down the hours until the children return, viewing them as “best friends” even when their fighting and clinginess quickly renew the desire for another school day.
- Ultimately, the article presents parenting as a demanding but defining role, in which the author jokes about the boys’ “sleep terrorist” antics and neediness while insisting that they remain “the most perfect humans,” revealing an identity that is deeply tied to motherhood even amid professional ambitions.
Different views on the topic
- In contrast to the piece’s emphasis on missing the children during school hours, some counseling and therapy resources frame kindergarten as a milestone that naturally triggers pride, sadness, anxiety and even guilt in parents but urge treating these emotions as normal while also focusing on personal well-being and meaningful solo activities when the house is quiet[7][9].
- While the article foregrounds the centrality of parenting in daily life, family life experts note that over-identifying with the parental role can make transitions feel more destabilizing, and some guides encourage parents to cultivate other identities — such as worker, partner, friend or volunteer — so that a child’s increased independence does not leave an overwhelming void[2][4][5].
- Instead of primarily lamenting the loss of constant togetherness, several parenting and mental health commentaries highlight children’s growing independence as a positive developmental step and suggest that parents consciously celebrate these milestones, trusting teachers and new routines while resisting the urge to remain continually involved in every aspect of the child’s day[5][6][8].
- In contrast to the column’s largely humorous portrayal of sleeplessness and longing, clinical and self-help discussions warn that prolonged sadness, loss of motivation or significant anxiety when children spend more time away from home can signal empty nest–type struggles, and these sources advocate seeking therapy, building support networks and re-engaging with hobbies or career goals as proactive responses[1][3][6].
- Some relationship- and faith-oriented parenting materials further argue that life stages in which the home becomes quieter should be embraced as opportunities to strengthen marriages, deepen spiritual practices or revisit postponed interests, suggesting that parents may benefit from intentionally shifting attention from children to other meaningful pursuits as school and activities occupy more of the child’s day[2][5][10].
More From the Los Angeles Times
Podcasts
It started as a ploy to scare Texas out of redrawing its congressional map and ended with California voters approving a new map of their own, one that could hat could help alter the balance of power in Washington.
William Mulholland was the water boss who made L.A. possible. His reputation gave him unchecked authority as a dam builder. In 1928, that led to one of America’s deadliest disasters--and the question of whether it was a crime.
