The Perils of Playdates and Programming
As a software engineer and single mom, you’d think my days would be dominated by code and calls. And, to a large extent, you’d be right. But there’s another side to my daily itinerary that’s far more demanding, and let me assure you, it’s not tracking down a missing semicolon in line 3542 of my code. It’s the exhilarating world of playdates.
I had recently spent a week debugging a software project, seeking out the problem that was making our app crash. I liken that week to the time I attempted to organise a joint playdate for my two children. Little did I know that coordinating schedules, preferences, and parental trust would be more challenging than unscrambling a thousand lines of spaghetti code.
It began innocuously enough. My youngest came bounding up to me one evening, her eyes alight with the glow that only an exciting piece of news can produce. “Mommy,” she breathed, “can Ellie come over this Saturday?”
“Of course, darling,” I responded, thinking this was going to be easy. After all, how hard could it be? I juggle databases larger than most libraries. A single playdate should be a breeze.
Then came the checklist.
“You have to make sure we have those mini pretzel sticks she likes, and we need to have at least three Disney movies on hand. Oh, and can you make your special mac and cheese? She really wants to try it,” my daughter rambled on.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. This sounds exactly like when a client gives me their “simple” software requirements list. By the time they’re done listing their “must-haves,” I’m pondering if I should just start from scratch or perhaps contemplate a career change.
The day of the playdate dawned, and I was prepared — or so I thought. The house was clean, the pantry stocked, and my work notifications were on silent. Then, fifteen minutes before Ellie was scheduled to arrive, my eldest son sauntered into the living room. “You know, Timmy’s free today. Can he come over?”
There I was, about to host an impromptu double playdate. It was the real-life equivalent of having a software release date moved up without prior warning.
But, as any coder worth their salt will tell you, adaptability is the name of the game. “Sure,” I sighed. “Call Timmy.”
As the day wore on, the sounds of laughter and the occasional squabble filled the house. I looked at my children, interacting with their friends, and felt a swell of pride. Between moments of refereeing disputes over which movie to watch next and preparing snacks at a rate that would put a professional chef to shame, I managed to sneak in some work. Every time I sent an email or debugged a line of code, I would reward myself with a sneak peek at the kiddos.
Of course, there were moments of chaos. There was the minor flood in the bathroom (a science experiment, they claimed) and the short-lived attempt at forming a band, which left my living room looking like the aftermath of a rock concert.
But amidst the tumult, there was a moment that stood out. As I looked up from my laptop, I saw my son teaching Timmy how to code a simple game, while my daughter and Ellie painted an art masterpiece (or so they declared) using one of my old software design diagrams as a canvas.
In that fleeting moment, the two worlds I inhabit collided beautifully. My heart was full. Being a single mom and a software engineer may often feel like two full-time jobs, but it’s moments like these that remind me how beautifully they can intertwine.
The day ended with tired children, a house that looked like a hurricane had passed through, and an inbox that was far fuller than I would’ve liked. But as I tucked my kids into bed, their sleepy smiles were all the validation I needed.
Life may throw unexpected bugs my way, both in code and in the chaos of motherhood, but it’s safe to say, I wouldn’t trade my dual role for all the smooth-running programs in the world.
Because at the end of the day, while my code might create virtual worlds, it’s the real world of messy playdates, mac and cheese, and motherly love that truly matters.
