A morning in the life of this SAHM
By em-i-lis on January 13, 2014
I open one and hit reply. “Hi, So and So…I know, J, I’m sorry the Caps lost too.” WHAT? That makes no sense. A reminder to Jack to please just give me a few minutes of quiet because otherwise I type what he says. However, his mental engine is rolling, all pistons a’fire, and it’s hard for him to stop. I understand that, but I wish, I wish.
I finish two emails and then excuse myself to the bathroom. Sweet boy questions me through the door about crafting a wizard potion called Oasis Punch or something. “It would be a great refreshment at my birthday party, wouldn’t it Mom?” His birthday is in July.
Halfway to the dentist, the aggregate of his and Ol’s talking, questioning, their needs for reminders, assistance and information, reaches a breaking point. I feel like a spent target, the subject of a kindly yet over-eager assault rifle loaded with an enormous clip. “Please, please, can we have a moment of silence, for 2-3 street lights?” I employ familiar language; moments of silence are, mercifully, integral parts of his school days. I beg this a means of protection because at this point, I am wildly overstimulated. My mind trembles, the input feels too weighty to hold up much longer. I grip the steering wheel because sometimes when I get too fried, when the intensity is unremitting for too long, I get a little dizzy. It’s such a discomfiting feeling, not least because my darling boy is relying on me to keep him safe.
It’s not panic. No, I know that too. This is just the truest experience of overwhelm. When we check in at the dentist, the hygienist says that usually parents wait in the waiting room: “Is that OK?”
Are you kidding I want to cheer?? What a reprieve! Magazines always urge harried moms to take and restore in the moments when they arise: “breathe deeply at red lights; take a nice bath when you can; enjoy the pleasure of taking the garbage out by yourself.” Usually I want to barf on these suggestions which reek of a complete lack of understanding of what a lot of moms really need. But thirty minutes in a waiting room? I have hit the jackpot. Until my winnings go into sealants and now-scheduled treatments for the extra cavities the doc found. But hey, for the most part if you’ve got young kids at home, you’ve got to pay for free time anyway, so at least there’s some preventive care rolled into today’s outflow. They ask me to jump back in and manage every one of J’s brush/floss/fluoride session. “Of course!” I reply with sincerity but also dismay. Another to-do.
I feel lucky that I can schedule the next appointment for next week when J’s school is on holiday. Whew! I hate for the boys to miss school! J looks chastened and blue; I try to help him see that while he certainly(!) needs to be doing a much better job cleaning his teeth, at least all of these cavities are in his baby teeth, so really, this is an opportunity to improve a lifelong behavior now, before the permanent ivories are damaged. “We’ll work on it together, OK honey?” “Ok, Mom. I’m hungry.”
We head to school and I feel badly that I can’t alleviate his hunger, but the wildly expensive sealants will be at risk if he eats or drinks anything before the appointed time. So, no dice on the snack. He asks me to walk him down to his classroom, but I put my foot down -hell, I still need to brush my teeth- because now it’s almost noon. And pick-up isn’t too far off. That to-do list doesn’t shrink if I ignore it, I’ve not worked on my writing in weeks, veggies are losing their luster in my fridge, and gosh, I just want to read a bit of the paper.
“Honey, I love you. Go on in, I’m going to watch you walk through both sets of doors.” He blows me a kiss and goes through the first door; he turns back to me, still walking, and I just know he’s going to run into that bench. I will him to veer to the left a bit. My darling J has walked into so many things in his life: gates, poles, benches, other people, signs… Finally his red Caps hat, a treat from Daddy last night at the game, recedes from my view. I am filled with love and adoration of my smart, handsome, sweet second grader. I am also overcome with relief that for a few hours, I think, I should be able to recenter and rest.
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