Week 17, I Think

We’re back. The winter holiday vacation has officially ended, taking with it our jolly, mostly carefree moods and replacing them with the old urgency of having to be places on time, in proper clothing, and well-fed.

By 10:30 this morning I am already a crabby mess. We are heading out the door so Mac may resume therapy with his talking doctor. He is excited to see her and she him, or so she tells me on the phone earlier this morning when I call in search of her fax number. Apparently the state has dropped the ball and forgot to send out our white slip letting all medical workers know that our income is now officially so low that we qualify to not have to pay monthly premiums or copays at office visits. I spent literally every morning last week on hold with the central office attempting to obtain this new white slip before today. Today I pick up the phone and dial the number only moments after I have peed my first morning pee. 35 minutes later my boys are eating a healthy breakfast of oatmeal, bananas and homemade pumpkin bread, their clothes are laid out, the dishwasher is loaded, the humidifiers are wiped clean and a live woman finally comes on the line. “Case number?” she demands in a not-unfriendly way. “I don’t know,” I tell her, “I have been on hold for more than half an hour. I have moved on from there.” I retrace my steps to find the letter with my case number on it. The woman says she can fax me our new white slip, “and if you don’t have it by 10:00,” she tells me, “you can call me back.” “No,” I remind her, I can’t call her back because she doesn’t have a direct line and I don’t have another 30 minutes to spare this morning. “Oh,” she says, “well what if I call you back?” Brilliant.

Welcome back to reality. The vacation was fun. 14 days of little responsibility, pajama days, sleeping in, eating things whose 1st ingredient is sugar, playing endless StarWars, reading stories, and staying up late. It’s over now and I am a bit sad. I thought I would feel relief to be returning to our regularly scheduled life, but in fact I am feeling hopelessly lazy and completely lacking in desire to do much more than the activities of the past two weeks.

I use a quiet, indoor voice to ask the boys to get their shoes on. Mac wants the old cell phone Sailor is playing with it. I am unaware as to who was in possession of this particular “toy” first this morning, but I do recall that I saw Sailor with it a couple of minutes earlier. “But I put wires in it and if the laser pops out it’s going to explode and kill Sailor!” Mac cries. “Mac!” I want to tell him to snap out of it. “You can’t get this upset about something that is pretend,” I tell him. He begins the leg wiggle part of a tantrum and the tears come. “It’s pretend, Mac.” He doesn’t stop and I send him to his room to cool off. Later Sailor lets him have the cell phone, as promised. Such drama. I think both boys are tired from so much StarWars play and so many late nights. Perhaps the return to routine won’t be such a bad thing after all. I mean, here I sit, 2:20 in the afternoon, in almost perfect silence except for a distant something outside and the rattling of the plastic wrap that covers the air conditioner in the dining room. Sailor passed out in the car after crying because I told him he could not watch tv when we get home and Mac is at school. And I am momentarily at peace.

I use my quiet indoor voice again to ask the boys to put on their coats. Instead they twirl about in Sailor’s bedroom curtains. I put on my own coat and scarf and begin the decent down our front stairs. Protests of “Wait for me” follow me down. They arrive at the landing without hats, scarves, or mittens. Mac says, “But you didn’t say that.” It’s gotten cold out. Much colder than anytime over the past two weeks. This displeases me a great deal, now that we actually have to venture out into the world on a regular basis again.

When there is no parking at the talking doctor’s office Mac suggests the parking garage but I can’t remember whether or not it’s free. Either way, I don’t want to be late and I do in fact have enuf cash in my wallet to cover the $2 or $3 anticipated. We park on the 4th floor. Opening Sailor’s door I am greeted by a tiny boy, his arms outstretched and ready to be picked up. I smile at his beauty. I carry Sailor to the stairwell. I put him down but he forgets to use his feet and falls. He screams and yells at me. “You have to put your feet down when you feel me putting you down,” I remind him, as if he is slow on the uptake. He is quite padded by winter coat, scarf, etc. so I know he is not hurt. Just angry. He takes one look at the flight down and freaks. “Uppie!” he cries. There is no way I can carry him down four flights. Not with both of us bundled in coats, anyway. Since Mac was a year old I have had much difficulty transporting my children by hand when winter coats become involved. I reach for his hand and he backs away. A nervous laugh escapes my lips. I can’t do this. I am overwhelmed. I grab for his hand and slowly escort him down. He is fine and discusses his passage down this “passionway” with Mac. We emerge and Mac takes my other hand so we can traverse the small street safely. My right hand, clad in a thick, furry black mitten, begins to cramp from the effort of holding onto Sailor’s tiny un-mittened hand.

Sailor engrosses himself in a Curious George rubber stamping project for about 3 minutes after Mac is escorted back into the labyrinth maze of offices that we rarely see. Sailor is hungry. It’s 11:00. An appropriate lunch time. I unpack the pbj and apples I packed while on hold this morning. While I speak with the receptionist Sailor calls out to me that he has spilled his “hamich.” Not sure how one spills a pbj sandwich, I must investigate. It looks like perhaps he dropped the sandwich, somehow getting jelly on his hand in the process. Sailor watches “Barney” on the waiting room television and I hear Barney say that the best way to prevent the spread of germs that lead to illness is good handwashing. I know this rule well. But over the holidays I learned from my friend Anna that some ingredients in soap – in fact in all body cleaning products, including toothpaste and shampoo, conditioner, bath gel, and bubble bath – may be known carcinogenics. Oh, geez! So once again, let’s wash our hands to prevent the transmission of the flu, but beware that down the line that scrub-a-dub is gonna give you cancer!

Mac emerges with a painting of, as his talking doctor and I hear it, “A Christmas Vaccine.” He tells me outside, enunciating and describing, that it is a Christmas Back Scene. As in, something that goes on a stage. But since it’s small it’s not really scenery but a little “back scene.” I see.

I think we are going to be late for school. We have four flights of garage stairs to climb and three levels to drive back down and 6 minutes to get to school. Parking garage turns out to be free with the very inconvenient, in another building up three flights validation. We make it to school with a minute to spare. Mac almost forgets his backpack, which holds one small oatmeal chocolate chip cookie for each child in his class, in the car. I make sure Sailor kisses and hugs Mac before he goes inside and I do the same. As the kids tramp up the stairs and into the big school to begin their second semester of kindergarten I look at the teacher. She doesn’t look particularly refreshed or even especially excited to see our little boys and girls. She looks like she has a bit of a cold, actually. I search for Mac’s back and find it just before he disappears inside the double doors. His coattail is still dirty and I can’t remember whether or not we washed it and it didn’t come clean or we just didn’t wash it. He doesn’t look back. He is happy to be at school. He likes school. Oddly, I feel teary.

A small dog prances by and Sailor comments. The dog belongs to the mother of the child whose birthday party Mac was invited and then uninvited to back in November. The dog looks at Sailor. Sailor is shy. The mom and I have our first conversation since the Uninvitation Incident. Well, it is a new year!

2:50. Sailor is still asleep. 2:53 I frantically email my sister and ask her if she can fly over. 2:58. The phone rings and it’s someone I need to speak with regarding gym classes for my boys. 3:05. Ten minutes til the bell rings. Sailor is still asleep on the sofa. 3:08. I pick him up and thank whomever that he's still wearing his coat and scarf and shoes! I haul him down to the stroller chained to our fence outside. There is a patch of melting ice in each seat. I contemplate. We cross the street and I strap Sailor into his car seat and drive off to school. We are early and I find a nice illegal spot that the crossing guard approves of across the street. Sailor sleeps. I wait.

The bell rings and I run across to get Mac. He sees me and runs to me. It’s beautiful!

When we get home Mac wants to see if there is still ice to crack in the gutters. I let him. Sailor is heavy. Finally Sailor wakes up. I still haven’t made my planned trip to Trader Joe’s to find soap and other bathroom products that won’t kill us as we try to wash away illness-causing germs. They take turns with the only kid-sized cart. They do well. We choose happy foods and Sailor wants to try almond chocolate drink, which sounds good but I think he will hate it. The ingredients sound appropriate though, so we put it in our cart. My sister calls to tell me something about buying new jeans now that she has new boots and I am trying to understand while Sailor tastes tomato bisque and likes it and Mac accidentally knocks over his little, unstable cart. A gentleman of age comes right over and helps us put our groceries back into the cart. I thank him profusely while trying to converse about I really don’t know what with my sister. After several tours around the store we have a variety of interesting foods including an over-priced little tub of the tomato bisque, hand and bath soap with no laurels or laureths, rice pudding, a bag of potatoes, chocolate croissants, organic root beer (“Just a treat today guys, only today!”). We are hungry. This is evident. Mac loses his privilege to push the little cart when he bumps into the counter one more time after I have just asked him to please not do that again. Sailor loses his – I mean my – purple fleece scarf on the way out. Luckily Mac notices and we are able to get out of the car and go back into the store without much ado.

We head to Whole Foods for shampoo. And, it turns out, a chicken. Man, we are a hungry bunch. That is the only explanation for why I would purchase a rotisserie chicken and exclaim that I will make as real dinner, complete with home made mashed potatoes. The boys and I discuss the merits of a fish dinner, which at first Mac wants. I couldn’t find a breaded fish at Trader Joe’s that didn’t have partially hydrogenated oil in it. And I was not thrilled with the thought of cooking a piece of fresh fish, though I have done it once before. Sailor adamantly does not want fish. “It will kill me,” he explains. “No it won’t; not unless it’s a sick fish,” I counter.

I consult with a Whole Foods employee as to why many of the so-called healthy shampoos still have the said-to-be-carcinogenic laureths and laurels in them. This is after also consulting with the mother of the girl in Mac’s class who made him bite holes in his tongue in November and another unknown mom, as we all stand by the baby care display, fools thinking nothing at Whole Foods would possibly be harmful to our precious offspring. The employee tells me it is a personal choice whether I buy certain items or not. I try to explain that I want facts upon which to base these personal choices, not just permission to choose. Finally the conversation takes this unfortunate turn:

Her: But if these things really did cause cancer then everyone would be getting cancer.
Me: Everyone is getting cancer.

I choose to forego the shampoo for the moment and opt instead to keep my breast tissues free and clear of aluminum, which can clog pores and cause breast cancer. I purchase a natural deodorant (not anti-perspirant, the woman has pointed out, but since I really don’t sweat much I don’t think this makes much difference).

At home we make a real dinner. That is, I set out the rotisserie chicken, in its store packaging, serve green beans directly from the can, and make those really yummy home made mashed potatoes. Let’s hear it for Super Mommy! Man can she cook! And yes, I am actually proud of myself for serving up a “real” meal, which I think must – in my mind – refer to a meal that includes meat of some sort (and not one that has come from a box in my freezer). The boys share a can of their organic root beer and then try the almond chocolate drink, which I decide should be called a shake for better palatability. Sailor asks me later if he can have more when it’s dinner time again.

I try for an early night with last night’s “7th Heaven,” which I taped. But it’s a rerun and the whole night goes out of whack. At 10:00 Mac is still awake, having been kicked out of my room along with Sailor for making too much noise.

Late in the night I receive an email from my environmental friend Anna, which leads me to realize that I am really quite confused. I want to know if we are over-reacting or if it's just time to make our own safe choices instead of letting the media do so for us. I think I should write to Oprah and see what Dr. Oz thinks.

Tuesday. I ask Sailor if he is excited to go to preschool today. He excitedly says yes, he is excited. I am excited! Our cleaning girls are due here at 8:30. We all wake up at 8:00. I slice a banana and cut a chocolate croissant in half. Breakfast is served! I am off to shower. The doorbell rings as I am toweling off. I peek down the stairs and then send Mac down to open the door. “Hello, Misses!” “Good morning,” I call from the bathroom, “We’re running a little behind today,” I explain the existence of my towel-covered self. The girls get started and I get ready for the day. I am trying out my new, toxin-free soaps and deodorant. The bathroom has an unfamiliar smell. As if a man lived here, or some super-healthy freak…. I will get used to this, I am sure, but right now I feel weird.

We drive to preschool because it has gotten very cold out. And we don’t have time to walk. Sailor does well when we arrive. He is shy, yes, but happy to be in preschool. He gives S his bag of homemade cookies and a thank you note from the holidays. We are doing well until I try to leave and then he tries to slip out the door with me.

Mac and I head home for a morning of fun. We plan our activities. First Mac has homework to do: Read the poem and circle all the Oo’s. Then we will work on learning to tie shoes without any fussing (him) or yelling (me). Next Mac will help the cleaning girls by washing the windows, for which he will need the new green aloe gloves. Then we will make snow from the kit we got for Christmas from my friend in St. Louis who seems to think it never snows in Chicago. Then we will make a birthday card for J, the teacher at preschool whose birthday is today. Then we will make her a crown to wear all day. Then we will discuss the guest list and potential location for Mac’s 6th birthday – which is in May. We complete all of these activities and have lunch and make a card for the new French girl in Mac’s class. I write her a note from Mac in both English and French inviting her to be Mac’s friend and to come over and play sometime. Mac writes the card to Jane while I pen the French/English card. I let him sound out his own words and the card says: Happy BR THE day janae love, Mac and Sailor. I think he does so well! While trying to figure out how to spell “day” he refers to his Green Day t-shirt hanging in his closet.

It’s a nice morning. Mac and Sailor play outside preschool while I talk to one of the moms and arrange for the boys all to play tomorrow morning. When we get to kindergarten, just ten minutes to spare, Mac realizes his bottom is wet from sitting in one of the toy cars outside the preschool. He is soaked through. We have a choice, I tell him, we can either go home and change and be late for school, or I can go home and get you dry pants after school starts. We both agree the latter is the better choice. I let Miss H know that I’ll be back to change Mr. Soggybottom in a few minutes.

Sailor wants to watch tv when we get home but I remind him we have to go back to school with dry pants. He likes going into the kindergarten classroom with me. Mac likes that I am there. I do too and I wish we could stay.

Sailor and I go in search of non-toxic lipstick. We find lip balm and a very nice salesgirl at LUSH. She is informative about the products she sells and even lets an antsy Sailor try a weird, jello-like soap made from seaweed. He wants to buy some. He chooses a blue one that smells fruity, kind of like punch, because Mac’s favorite color is blue. This tiny blob of “soap” costs me almost $4. I ask how long it will last. She predicts we’ll be able to keep it around for a week or two. Being non-toxic is going to break the rest of my finances. We talk about the toxins in things and she tells me it’s a global issue we need to be aware of. It all starts with one person. The idea will be to share our knowledge and help others see that it’s really up to each of us to not only make ourselves healthier but to save the environment of our planet. One person at a time. Anna got me. I got Mac and Sailor. I will get my sister. One person at a time. We can make a difference.

We have time left on our meter and we never get to walk around on this particular street so despite the cold we amble about. We check out a 70s nostalgia store. No BeeGees stuff (yes, of course I asked!) but the owner asks Sailor how old he is. “Three,” he tells her, perfectly. “Can he have PEZ?” she offers. “Sure,” I say, always happy to have something for nothing. “StarWars or---?” she doesn’t even finish her sentence before we pounce all over StarWars. She digs through a barrel of Disney Princess PEZ dispensers. She pulls out an ugly guy whom we recognize from a book we read last night. “That’s Darth Sidious!” Sailor is right on. We are happy campers. The owner tells us that there will be lots more StarWars merchandise in a month or so as it is the 30th year anniversary of the release of the original StarWars movie. Cool!

Down the street we find a 50-cent three-horse carousel in front of a new children’s clothing boutique that I can’t even afford to browse. I help Sailor up and drop in two quarters. He rides around for minute or so. I wish I had a camera. The sun is shining. It’s freezing out. It is a perfect afternoon with my little boy. Next stop, an upscale children’s resale store. The shop keepers are snooty and do not say hello. There is nothing worth buying, especially because their used items sell for more than the new ones I buy my children at regular stores. Sailor has found some fun toys, though. He hammers, he chases beads, he sits in a garden, he asks whether the the white guys or the red guys are the good guys in fooseball. He finds a bouncy horse and I help him climb on. He bounces around a bit. We have still not been acknowledged by the staff. “Please we come back and play here again on this horse?” Sailor asks me, then, “It’s wonderful.” I have never heard this word from him before but I like it quite a bit. It’s wonderful.

We run out of stores and go home so he can play with the Darth Sidious PEZ. “I LOVE Darth Sidious!” Sailor exclaims with joy over his new candy toy, but then, clearly in conflict, unable to articulate what he really means, he says, “He is bad.” The conflict is clear in his voice and his face, but I know exactly what he means.

All day my email is blinging and my cell phone is ringing. Next Monday is Martin Luther King Day and there is no school that day, so we have another Camp Day at the art studio. By noon the morning session is full and I have opened an afternoon session.

We get Mac by car. Sailor is asleep. In the car he asks where we are going. We are driving to the suburbs and I have told him our destination is a surprise. He makes three guesses and is correct on the third. “I’m so excited to see my old friend!” he says.
Later he asks why we call another friend’s son by his first and middle name, Joseph Arthur. Because it’s a somewhat unusual middle name for a child these days and it’s fun to say, I tell him. Shortly he asks me about Joseph Arthur again but doesn’t mean him. “No,” he says, “I mean the man who said that black people and white people could ride wherever they want to on the bus.”
“Martin Luther King,” I say.
“Right. It’s his birthday next week. And we don’t get to go to school. I will stay home and play with my brother.”

No one answers the door when we arrive at our friends’ house in the ‘burbs. We ring twice and I think they must have forgotten us. I don’t know what to do. I remember that they sometimes leave their front door open and we try. Our friends are home, thank goodness. We settle in. my friend is making turkey bacon and pumpkin pancakes, per her daughter’s request. She is Mac’s age, minus two days. Her little brother is four months older than Sailor. The four play wildly and well, running up and down and all around, dressed in an array of pirate costumes. They love each other and it’s too bad we live too far to play regularly. Their mom is more like me in so many ways. I hold her baby while she cooks. The food is good, and indulgent for dinner. The girl tells me we will celebrate my birthday, which is at the end of the month. I get candles in my pancakes. I have to unwrap a stuffed tiger. My boys don’t want to leave but the other kids have to go to school early in the morning. We have had a nice time.

When we get home there is more StarWars talk and Mac is playing with a word. “Anakin,” he says, referring to Anankin Skywalker. “Ana- KIN,” he repeats to himself. “Ana-Family! Kin means family,” he tells me.

At home Sailor wants a snack. “Scramma eggs,” he request. I send them off to get ready for bed while I scramble. Sailor starts to scream and Mac and I check him out. He can’t find the bottoms he is looking for. I am on the phone with a parent who wants to enroll in the upcoming camp. I go back to the kitchen. Mac comes to tell me Sailor can’t get his sweater off. I ask him to please go help. Sailor yells at Mac to go away. The screaming continues. But I know there is no trouble. Finally he emerges. As if he on speed. He is singing a break-neck version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. His own version, with some words added and some words missed altogether. He sings in a loop. He is giddy. He is also wearing a camera-worthy outfit: Darth Vader pajama top with blue plaid pajama bottoms. He looks --- and is acting -- as if he belongs in a place where the walls are padded and the locks are on the outsides of the doors.

Both boys wolf down two scrambled eggs and a half piece of my buttered toast (oh, well, I wasn’t that hungry anyway). Sailor has an apple. Mac has a plain piece of bread and tea. Whew! Not a crumb to spare. I read three chapters of Geronimo Stilton. And the boys go to bed without fuss. Except we discover that the cleaning girls, in re-making Mac’s bed, have put the pillows, and thus the sheet opening, at the wrong end. It is too late to change his sheets but he won’t sleep on the “wrong” end. We compromise and put him in the right end but on top of the sheets. He can ask his dad, the super-sheet-changer, to fix it tomorrow.

I think it would be nice to enjoy the cleanliness of my tub and indulge in a hot, albeit toxic-bubble-bath-free, bath. Aaaahhhh…..

There is soap in my bath and I didn’t put any there. I think I must be soaking in super-toxic cleaning stuff. Except the cleaning girls use Green stuff, but I still feel gross. And the water is cold and draining out from I don’t know where. I am FREEZING when I get out. So much for that. Maybe my bed will be warmer!

Wednesday. Sailor is in the playroom animating his StarWars action guys. With really weird voices. I can’t hear enough to understand, but it’s hilariously funny and I am really impressed by his ability to play solo. I should be playing animals with him as I said I would. I am swamped with work and he is such a good kid. Guilt is getting the best of me. I think I will get a snack and go play before we have to leave to get Mac from school.

After school we walk Mac to FTK. Mac tells us all about his day. He is upset. “Physical education is hard,” he whimpers. I ask what happened. He says it was too hard to play soccer because he couldn’t get the ball up high enough. “Soccer?” I ask. “No, Mommy! Basketball!” Right, Honey. He is upset about snack time, too. “I couldn’t eat snack today because I didn’t know what was in it.” Ah, my label conscious boy! I remind him that he can ask his teacher to read the label for him if he is unsure. “I did. But she said partially hydrogenated oils are good for me.” “Really?” I ask, but I am pretty sure that this is not exactly what happened this afternoon. “Would you like me to write a note to Miss H so she understands how label conscious we are?” Mac thinks this is a good idea.

When we get to FTK, I make a weird turn with the stroller whereby my body and the stroller go in the door but my right foot stays stuck to the ground. A strange and enormous pain shoots up my leg. The lower part of my leg is twisted and in great pain. I hobble inside. OW! I am more than a mile from home and the only way home is by foot. I sit for a few minutes and rotate my foot. Eventually the pain subsides. Mac goes into class and Sailor and I take a walk. He wants to go to the bookstore to buy StarWars books. I walk slowly so he will fall asleep and he does. At the bookstore I indulge in a long conversation with a 23-year-old employee about all the things that are killing us in our environment. He is too young to remember when McDonald’s switched from lard to oil for the cooking of their fries back in 1985 or 1986. Mid-conversation I realize I am having a great deal of trouble breathing. Maybe I need to take off my hat. It is hot in here. Maybe I should unzip my coat. Maybe I need a coffee. I get the coffee and a StarWars book for Sailor and a book about Martin Luther King Jr, for Mac. It’s got to be my lip balm. I wipe it off. By the time I get back to Mac my breathing is less labored. Another lip gloss allergy? Sheesh!

At home I put on a thick layer of gloppy lip gloss. My sis will be here in a couple of minutes. We have a networking event to attend. I am very tired and look it, no matter how much toxic make-up I paint my face with. Sailor cries for me to stay and I would really prefer to.

The event is worthwhile. And there is free wine and pizza. When we arrive home an hour late I explain to my mother that it is my sister’s fault. She rolls her eyes. It really is her fault. I kept trying to leave but she and the others kept networking. “I have to get up at 6:30,” my mom explains. I tell my sister to make sure my mom knows it is not my fault we are late. She agrees to try.

Perhaps a hot bath would be a good idea for my leg. I slip into the heated water. Twenty minutes later I am warm and relaxed and I step out of the water. While I take out my contacts I feel short of breath again. And then nauseated, and then I realize I am going to pass out. I slide down the wall and put my head between my knees. The world spins. Should I call my parents? My sister? In a few minutes I feel normal again. What the heck was that? What a weird day.

I am afraid to go to sleep. I attach my cell phone to my pajama pants. I will feel safer once my little boys crawl into bed with me.

Thursday morning we are running late and we don’t have time to get the garbage cans out. I tell Sailor we will have to just drop him off at school so we can get back and get the cans out. Ok? Ok. And that is what we do. I walk Sailor just into the door and tell him good bye with a quick kiss. He looks back with trepidation. BUT HE DOESN’T CRY! HE DOESN’T CRY! Mac and I get the cans out and I have a lot of things to do before we have chance to play StarWars. I wish I liked playing with StarWars guys. The kids like it when I play becuz I play silly. We have a nice lunch and then we go to get Sailor. There will be a surprise for Sailor at the bookstore because he didn’t cry at school today. “Did you hear me cry?” “No, did you cry?” “No, did you hear me not cry?” He wants to close his eyes and have me put the surprise in his hands. He closes his eyes in the car but I tell him he can wait til we get inside. Once we are at the top of the escalator he closes his eyes and I lead him into the children’s area. He asks if his surprise will be soft. We meet up with his best gal pal and her mom and little sister. A fabulous surprise, I think. But he isn’t so sure. He wanted a book or a toy. Shortly he is happy to see his best girl. We spend the next couple of hours monopolizing the children’s reading area. Books are everywhere and like at home, I can’t keep up with cleaning up. Suddenly Anna realizes her time in the parking lot is almost over. She takes off. 20 minutes later I am the one making the mad dash to the not-so-adjacent parking lot. I literally run. I am winded when I get to my car. I drive out with 2 minutes to spare. I drive back in and have another 90 minutes.

2:45. We leave the bookstore. Or try to anyway. Bill, the checkout guy, is a senior citizen and I think he also may be new at his job. I want to return the StarWars book we bought yesterday because it turns out we already have that one. Bill goes through each step, out loud. I try to be patient. It’s 5 minutes before 3:00. “Can you please hurry? I have to pick up my little boy from school and we have to be there in 15 minutes.” Either he doesn’t hear me or he ignores me. I can’t take it. “Ok you know what, I will return this another time. Just please ring these up.” I have to explain this to Bill. I have two transactions because each of my kids has a gift card with which to pay for their books. This is taking tooooo long. We are never going to get a parking spot at school! I have to grab the next cashier to ring up my second transaction, I shove everything into one bag and throw my garage ticket to the checkout girl. We run to the parking garage.

On the way to school we spot my mom and she jumps into the car. This makes it easier for me to get Mac.

I have two friends, one with a little girl, coming over later for dinner tonight. I am cleaning up and then playing with the boys. Then my mother comes up and my sister calls and then the spaghetti needs stirring but the kids want to eat RIGHT NOW. So I pull out the chicken and mashed potatoes from the other night. My mother is talking to me as I try to stir the spaghetti and proofread something for her and my sister, on the phone is asking me things…. This is way too much multitasking! I have to hang up the phone at the very least.

6:30 and no sign of the boys’ father. At 7:00 Mac calls him on the cell and asks if he forgot to come. Apparently I have confused the date of his visit. He had emailed me that he would be here next Thursday but I thought he meant this Thursday. Oops. My friends and the little girl arrive. We all eat spaghetti and once my boys bring out their costumes the little girl warms up and they have a great time. The mommies talk. One of the women is a psychic. I have already told her about my weird health day yesterday. “Am I dying?
Is it my heart?” I ask her. “I am not reading you,” she says.
“That means I am dying!”
“No, you’re not.”
She goes on to tell me that she sees that I am holding a lot of anxiety inside me and that my body is unbalanced in terms of the things I am doing to it and feeding it. So it’s stress. “Not my heart?”“Your heart is fine.” I love having a psychic friend. I just hope she is right about this.
What I hope she is not right about is that she thinks my soonto-be-ex’s partner is pressuring him to get the kids.

The house is trashed when everyone leaves late. I stack the dishes on the kitchen table and leave the rest. I will be able to see a clean dining table when I get up in the morning.

Friday morning Mac wakes me up. I have a PTA meeting in an hour. I turn on Curious George and give them each a cup of milk and half a croissant and jump into the shower. As we get ready to go downstairs Sailor reminds me that he wants to be Aqua Man today. “Please I can color my face aqua today?” He asked me about this yesterday and I said he could. There is a teal marker in our marker box and I hand it to him. “Tell GrandDad I said you could do this.”

During the PTA meeting I come to realize that there is a difference between economic poverty and social poverty. I have to use myself as an example when clarifying my point. It is embarrassing but the other moms laugh when I say that the only difference between us is that I don’t take my kids skiing in Aspen on spring break. We also discuss the peeling lead paint in the 4th grade classrooms. I am hot on that one! At the end of the meeting I chat with the mom whose son is Mac’s 4th grade reading buddy. She tells me how much her son likes Mac. Perhaps we will get our boys together outside of school.

When I arrive home Sailor is painted with teal marker. “Come see me in the mirror,” he invites. He tells me GrandDad did the face coloring. Mac already has tomato soup spilled down the front of his clean sweater. Mac has homework and we have to choose which books I am going to read to his class at 3:00. Ad we have to leave in a couple of minutes.