May 11, 2004 6:14 a.m.
– My alarm wakes me from a dream I can’t remember and I work to clear the fog to remember what day is it? Where am I supposed to be this morning? Do I need a suit or will jean shorts work for today’s tasks? All this matters because depending on the dress code for the day, decides if I can lay a little longer in my comfortable nest or if I must quickly fleet and fly to the next challenge that awaits.
I suddenly realize it is a proper dress required day and I have a 9 am appointment on the Westside. A realistic schedule it would seem. Then the rest of the story unfolds. Because I am so rested and dreamlike, I remember that my lovely husband and teammate is actually in California. This explains why I feel so rested, simply stated, no snoring.
So, it’s now 6:30am and I do the math, 45 minutes for me to get ready, Cameron needs to be up and on the bus by 8, that means Auburn has to be ready by 8 to get her to daycare and get on the highway to make my 9 am appt. I’m already tired thinking about it.
Jump in the shower and say my morning prayer that Auburn will sleep through until I can get showered and at least get my hair dried. Once appropriately shampooed and conditioned I turn off the shower and stand quietly and listen. Silence, thank you Lord.
I get out of the shower and within seconds hear Cameron in his bathroom. I run towel wrapped around me to be sure he doesn’t turn on the TV. Sometimes he thinks he can will his way to Saturday morning and the zone-like state that only Saturday morning cartoons can bring. I round the corner, check his room, nothing. I run down the stairs, holding my towel and call to him, Cameron, Cameron. Not there. I run back up the stairs and into his room and there he is playing with a transformer. “Where were you?” “Right here.” He must have been crawling around on the floor on the other side of his bed looking for the exact transformer to start the day and I didn’t see him. So where’s the alarming part of this?
How did I greet my son? With the breathless, “where were you?” Not his fault that his crazed mother is running up and down the stairs at 6:47 to control every ounce of the environment to be sure she gets to work on time. Could we start the day with “Good Morning, honey.” Note to self. Stop being a freak.
I go back to the bathroom, grab a robe and put some gel in my hair to start the beauty ritual of a working mom. Tip #47, always get the gel in your hair right out of the shower. If you don’t get back to drying it until an hour or two or four later, you can just spritz it and still be ready to style and go.
By now, Auburn has started her morning chant ritual, “Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy.” Chanted in the same tune and tone each morning. I lift her out and say, “Good Morning, did you sleep well?” She peers at me through the “Peter Frampton” hair that she’s famous for and says, “Yep”. That is to be one of the last kind exchanges that we have for the morning.
I lift her out of her crib and together we go to take the breakfast order from Cameron. He needs some time to think about it. Cameron still thinks that each morning there is a 5 star menu available to him that he needs to ponder like a connoisseur. This is a child that rarely starts his day with anything other than frozen pancakes or waffles, oatmeal or scrambled eggs. I wait patiently for all of 30 seconds before I announce, “If you don’t pick, I’ll pick for you.” I turn down the stairs, Auburn attached to my hip, as always. One would think, carrying an extra 34 lbs around for several hours in a day would result in a swimsuit model figure. It doesn’t.
One step down the stairs and Cameron screams, “NO, I want to pick!” This is a real screaming concern, the kind you hear before someone steps into oncoming traffic. I stop and say, “Ok, what’ll it be?” We’ve come to a United Nations negotiation on scrambled eggs and pancakes. Now normally this would be an either or decision but because I’m feeling guilty about not being the Mom of the year and because he’s had a big appetite, I run the decision through my head in a nanosecond and conclude that Bob Evans serves it that way and he’s having a growth spurt, why not.
I scramble the eggs and get the pancakes from freezer to microwave. Eat your heart out Martha Stewart. I then hold my breath and ask Auburn, “Do you want some pancakes?” I’m praying she wants pancakes. Auburn is the only 2 year old on the planet that hates scrambled eggs. She informs me that she will be having waffles. Fine, freezer to toaster, I can do that. With all three breakfast entrees prepared for my two children I place them on the table in victory.
Cameron begins eating and appears to be happy. I grab two glasses from the cupboard careful to get Auburn the red cup and to get Cameron one similar enough but not better as to not start that meltdown. I pour the milk and carefully slide that in and run from the table before they start whining that they wanted chocolate milk. I’ve got my limits.
Auburn then shoves her plate to the middle of the table and says, “I want pancakes!!!!!!!!!!!!” Please see above paragraph. Yes, you are correct, I asked the curly headed girl if she wanted pancakes and she said no! It’s one of many tests that Auburn puts her mother through each morning.
It’s now 7:20 and I have 50 minutes to get dressed and dry my hair, get Auburn dressed, help Cameron finish his ritual with teeth brushing and finding shoes and back pack get him on the bus, get Auburn to school and be on the Westside by 9. (Who is my appointment with at 9? I’ll figure that out on the way there)
I decide that breaking Auburn of her terrible twos is not in my best interest at this late hour. I make the pancakes. Cameron says, “Mom, I can’t believe you are doing that.” Accountability, just what I need right now. I try to justify my behavior and say to Cameron, you’re right, this is crazy but do you want to listen to her scream?” He doesn’t. That was a great life lesson that I’m sure will haunt me by this evening. I try to level the score and tell Auburn. “This is the last time I fix you an extra thing. From now on, you get what you ask for.” That even sounds funny coming from my mouth because I know it’s probably an empty threat. Working mom’s do what they need to do to get through the day.
I look over to gauge Cameron’s progress on his breakfast, mapping out what he has left to accomplish in the next 30 minutes and how much more he has to eat. He has eaten all of the pancakes and the scrambled eggs are sitting intact on the side of his plate. I say, “Dude, what about your scrambled eggs?” He replies, “I really wanted them on a different plate.” I anticipate his angst, “Are you afraid the syrup will touch the eggs?” “Yea” I respond with typical mother psychology, “Try it, I love syrup touching my eggs,” He says, “ I did and it’s just not good.” Fine, another battle I don’t choose.
I give Cameron his next three assignments after surveying what he has left in the dressing tasks.
Pants, check.
Shirt, check.
Socks, check.
(Underwear are purely optional at this stage)
I then say, find your shoes, (this can be a big one), brush your teeth and find your back pack, you have 20 minutes.
At this point Auburn is having a huge meltdown about the fork that she has for her pancakes. Auburn only eats from little forks, the right little forks, we aren’t always sure what that means, but she’s insistent and a bit psychotic about it. I’m losing it. I can feel every ounce of my being melting down into a pile of unhealthy Mommy Dearest behavior. I recognize the shift and do nothing to stop it.
I have 20 minutes to dry my hair, dress this psycho girl and get Cameron on the bus fully dressed.
I run into my office and call my boss to give him my idea on a large event coming up. You see through all of this, I have been running the plays for work in my head so I can make decisions on work things after this morning work out. He answers, we talk, Auburn is still screaming in the background.
I quickly dry my hair. With the sound of the blow dryer, Auburn either decides I’m not paying attention or gets hungry enough to eat the pancakes with the wrong fork. I run to the closet and look for something to wear. Damn, forgot to go to the dry cleaners and I have nothing that matches and is appropriate for both the weather, my appointments and my mood. My phone is ringing. Bad move to call the office early, now they think I’m engaged in work. Nope, just multi tasking and not very well. Ignore that call. Still looking for something to wear. At this point I’m not using the language that you want your 2 year old to take to pre-school.
Auburn arrives on the scene. She’s fed and recharged and ready for her next encounter. She senses my frustration and plays me like a fiddle. She now lays screaming on the floor in my closet about “something I can’t recall”. I then need to step over her as I go from closet to bathroom mirror and back to closet. (Note to self: get new bras, the old ones don’t work with summer clingy shirts)
The phone rings again, a colleague, I answer it. Before he has a chance to respond I look at the clock and realize I’ve not checked in on Cameron in 7 minutes and he was to find shoes and brush teeth, panic! I hold the phone away and yell down the stairs, “Cameron, do you have your shoes and teeth brushed and backpack?” No he doesn’t, I lose it and bark orders. Hang up on colleague because I can’t deal. Begs the question why I answered the phone in the first place. What is it about a ringing phone, it’s like heroin sometimes.
Get Cameron back on track and grab clothes for Auburn, that goes fairly well given the rest of the morning. I go into the office to put on some blush and mascara only to find that Auburn has carried my eye lash curler and mascara off to far away lands of make believe. An alarming realization when your entire beauty ritual is based on those two things. I scream and yell and act like a freak. She cries, I feel bad. Thank God for counselors who will pick put the pieces that I leave of my kids.
I remember that I have old mascara in a drawer and attempt a look that isn’t reminiscent of the glamour don’t ads. This is a tough feat considering it’s allergy season and I have sneezed and blown my nose at least 35 times since I awoke.
I glance at the clock and realize Cameron has 3 minutes to get to the bus stop. I run down the stairs to give him the proper Mommy hug and kiss send off. A complete switch from the raving maniac upstairs. He’s upbeat and great and says, “Bye Mom, I love you!” as he trots off to the bus stop.
I run back upstairs to finish the jobs at hand only to find Auburn standing in the bathroom coveting a pair of black winter shoes one size too small that she insists she is wearing today with her lavender Capri pants. I respond, “You are not wearing those shoes!” She cries, I want to cry too but I don’t have time.
I finish dressing and start the negotiations. I lay out pink sandals with a big pink flower and her pink Easter shoes that she has totally worn the toes off and tell her to pick one of those. Sadly, the practical white tennis shoes weren’t even an option. I knew that in order to get her into at least the right size shoe, I had to pull out the big guns… pink.
She cries for at least 4 more minutes while I walk around her gathering things to leave for the day. Finally she says, I wear these and points to the pink worn Easter shoes. Great! Score: Mom 1 Auburn 4, still behind but catching up.
We head downstairs pink and black shoes in hand. She’s agreed to wear the pink ones but will not let the black ones out of her grasp. I sit her on the table and try to sneak a pair of socks on her before the pink Easter shoes. I slowly pull the socks around and say a little prayer, please God let her be ok with socks today. Half of a sock on, will it go, will she wear them?
NO, she screams and I throw the sock on the floor. “Just shoes and feet, mama, just shoes and feet.” Ok, then, just shoes and feet. After all, I’m dropping her off for the day and someone else can worry about the stinkiest feet at Polly Panda daycare. We put the shoes on the feet san socks and then start to find out what Auburn requires for her trip to school. I gather a couple of brochures for the meetings I think I have because I’m still not sure where I’m to be at 9 or with whom, I just remember its’ the West side and I’m late, again.
I grab my phone, my laptop, and planner. I ask Auburn what she’s taking to school, she runs the list; ducky blanket and little baby. We get to the car and there Auburn finds her pink suitcase left over from the trip to Grandma’s house. This is pay dirt for her and she’s taking that to school for sure. I run back into the house to grab diapers because she’s been out at school for a week and comes home each night with a different diaper that her teacher steels from one of her classmates. Yes they’ve written on her paper each day, Needs Diapers.
My phone rings again, I answer but say I can’t talk. Can they call me back in 5, give me 10. It’s 8:14 and I finally leave the house, drive Auburn to school. On the way to school I ask Auburn to please not cry when mommy takes her to school. I tell her that she’ll have a fun time with her friends and then mommy will pick her up tonight. I hope it’s true. She gives me “the look” through those crystal blue eyes and curly blond locks and says, “ok mommy”. I’m hopeful but not convinced.
We get to school. Auburn informs me she’s taking her suitcase in. I dump everything out of it and load her little baby and ducky blanket and diapers in the suitcase as to justify the reason I can’t say no to my daughter and live through her meltdown because I have a 9 am appointment. It’s easier to make the suitcase useful. She joyfully pushes it into school
We get to the door and I ring the bell because I lost my passcard months ago. For a slight second I think about how insane our world is that I need a security card to enter into the place that I pay an insane amount of money for my daughter to be entertained while I go and save the world for a decent paycheck.
No one is manning the door because we’re running late. We stand there for a few moments and finally another mom, two in tow lets us in with their card. Is that really a security system?
We sign in and walk to her room, I have about 18 minutes to get to the Westside, I hope it’s 71st and 465, I think that’s where I’m going.
We enter Auburn’s room and her teacher acts intrigued about Auburn’s suitcase telling her how pretty it is. I know she’s thinking, “what did she bring today that all of these kids will fight over.” I laugh and make a joke about it and try to keep my spirits up.
Auburn keeps her promise and for one of only 3 times in 15 months, doesn’t scream when I leave. Thank you God.
I run to the car, literally, and get on the highway. I’m hungry. I hope this is a breakfast meeting. I remember confidently that it’s at Starbucks at 71st street and I think the person’s name is Debbie. I spend about 10 minutes just taking deep breaths. The phone rings, the boss wants info about an upcoming program. I’m back in work mode.
On the highway my Pocket PC dings, I pick it up and remember that it’s Bob Evans at 71st St and not Starbucks. I thank God for the alarm on my Handheld and then wish it was Starbucks, not Bob Evans. At least I’ll get some breakfast.
The traffic is ok, I speed to my destination. I arrive in the parking lot, just 5 minutes late. Not bad. Not bad. Now the day can begin.
