We had a good thing going- two and a half hours a day where I was working from home and could (kind of) crank out what I needed to do before hopping in the car for pick-up. Another day a week, my parents stepped in for a few hours to give me some time to myself (which, I must admit, I usually devoted to work).

My son adamantly refused summer camp again this year and after his previous insistence that his teachers were hitting him with hammers, I opted not to force the issue. We have joined a kiddie gym. I've run to my computer early in the morning when registration opens for coveted library story times and programs. I can still count on some grandparent care. I have bartered ("I'll watch yours if you watch mine.") with my sister-in-law for a morning a week and have retained the services of an upstanding high school junior for a few more hours a week. Other as-needed bartering offers are on the table with other mothers. Boom. Done. Right?

Since college I have liked to have big blocks on my schedule. This runs contrary. We're here, he's there, and maybe it's not the same every week. It throws my control-loving brain into a tizzy.

If I dig deeper, I know it's about more than that. I believe that I must do it all on my own and that I should want to. Curses on you, society, for those pervasive messages. When I listen to those messages, calling in more piecemeal care providers feels like a bit of a cop-out of my motherly duties. I love my son more than I thought possible but over the past few years I have learned that I also believe what I do for a living is a calling and I don't want to abandon that entirely. Working part-time works for me. I'm also working on the idea that calling in for some help so I can simply read a book, go shopping, or take a nap is also okay.

I am in good company. This past week, I've talked to more than one mother (working and stay-at-home) who is agonizing over which summer camp, preschool, or babysitter combination to use over these next few months. God bless those of you who are trying to do the logistics for more than one child. I picture your dining room looking like a war room with a large dry erase board as you run possible care algorithms.

Gone are the days when we had extended family and a village close at hand to help us out and where that was not only acceptable but welcomed. I say good for us for constructing our own piecemeal villages.

It's good for me to become more flexible and realize I am not my son's entire world (gulp). I also think my son is better for it. He carries with him an internalized and enduring sense of his loving mom as he spends time with these other people who love him and get to spend hours playing games like "Batman and Catwoman Rob the Food Pantry", "turn ball", and "do whatever I say". If I have any doubts, they are erased when he is standing at the door waiting for those others to arrive or is about to burst with excitement at going with my friend to her son's flutophone concert (Godspeed, my friend). I know they love spending time with him too, so it's an all-around-win, right?

I want to thank my piecemeal village for helping my son and me thrive. Keep up the good work, moms, and back to your war rooms.