DATE: Tuesday, May 20, 1997                 TAG: 9705200031

SECTION: DAILY BREAK             PAGE: E1   EDITION: FINAL 

TYPE: Column 

SOURCE: Elizabeth Simpson
                                            LENGTH:   77 lines

CHILD-REARING TIPS LEAVE MOTHERS OF THE '90S FULL OF GUILT

I am a mother. And I am guilty as charged.

Did I forget to play Mozart for my children while they snoozed in their cribs?

Yes, guilty. Their brain synapses may not be as finely tuned as they ought to be. If they are not brain surgeons or rocket scientists, I take full responsibility.

Do I think my mother did a better job mothering than I do? Yep, guilty as charged. She made meatloaf and home-made chocolate pudding; I do microwave macaroni. I did marry a good cook, which could get me a lenient sentence.

Do I admit to enjoying the occasional lunch alone at work without the voices of my two children saying: ``Can I have some of yours, please, oh, please, oh please?''

Yes. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

The studies about parenthood in the '90s have been coming down the pike fast and furious the last few weeks. The intent, I realize, is to improve the lives of children. To track demographic changes. To mold public policy to the needs of families.

So why is it, deep down, I feel the real reason is this: To make mothers feel guilty.

First, last month, there was the study about the first three years of life being the most critical of a child's life, that the number of words you cooed, the songs you sang, is directly related to how smart your child will be.

Sure, I knew that, and I did all that stuff, but still, a little voice inside asks: Did I do enough? Does off-key singing count? Did I get the words to ``All the Pretty Little Horses'' right?

Then there was the study a few weeks ago from the Pew Research Center that said most mothers today feel their own moms did a better job of parenting. Again, that little voice: Well, mine was certainly home more. She did sew all my clothes and greet me every day after school. She did make me those popsicles every summer.

And perhaps the study that has generated the most anxiety - among working parents anyway - is one by Arlie Hochschild. The sociologist says working parents are both the prisoners and architects of their own time bind.

That they work to avoid home.

It's all enough to make a mother cry.

Part of the reason for this glut of studies - and the ensuing angst - is that we baby boomers love to observe and analyze ourselves. We love to whine about how hard we have it. And we love to rhapsodize over the 1950s, turning them into something they weren't.

But it's time to step back and get a handle on reality here. Ozzie and Harriet were fiction, not real. The real Harriet, after all, was a working mom, and there were plenty others like her.

We're not the first folks to work and parent at the same time.

We just whimper about it more.

Nor did our stay-at-home mothers necessarily lavish us with time, play us classical music, and prime our brain synapses with flashcards. I don't know about you, but the favorite mother motto in my neighborhood was this: ``Go out and play.''

Of course, that was back when it was safe to go outside.

A whole host of variables go into why we work today, from job security to downsizing worries to college funds to desire for independence. While there's no excuse for workaholism and bad parenting, almighty few of the people I know work to escape children.

When that little voice starts piping up in my head, I ask myself these questions:

Do you always put your children first? Yes.

Does your work provide them with necessities and a secure future, rather than designer clothes and pricey vacations? Yes.

Do you think worrying about whether you're as good a mother as your own is not only unfair but unproductive? Again, yes.

I think mothers - and fathers - should chill out the next time another study crosses their desk. And instead of sweating over statistics and case studies, go home and toss a ball around with the kids. MEMO: To pass along comments or ideas, please call INFOLINE at 640-5555,

and press 4332.

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