It's Monday morning and I feel as if my mom just let go of my bike, the training wheels freshly removed, and I am on my own. My breathing is shallow and rapid, my throat feels tight, and my head aches, hinting that a headache could be coming on. After four years of being a mom, I still panic on Monday mornings when Dave leaves for work. Never mind the question of how will I make it through to Friday, I can't even figure out how we'll make it to lunchtime today. I use everything I can to keep Dave from leaving for work, including, but not limited to, the children.
Allowing the girls to take over the bathroom does two things for me: it delays Dave's ability to get ready for his day, and it reminds him that we, sooner or later, will need a bigger house with more bathrooms.
Once he does get himself into the bathroom, I bombard him with memories of the weekend and ask for his thoughts, feelings, and opinions about everything we experienced. Being that he is a man, I know that he does a poor job of multi-tasking.
"Dave, weren't the girls funny at soccer this weekend?"
"Yea, they could earn the sportsmanship medal." (On opposing teams, they still stuck together, to the dismay of their coach and teammates. And Sophia allowed Ella's team to make all 10 goals.)
I ask him how fantasy football went...then listen as he describes the features he hopes his next i-pod will have to replace the one stolen. Balancing being bored out of my mind with satisfaction that I have been able to distract him from getting ready, I move back to a topic that will hold my attention -- speculating about tragedy.
"Did you see that guy at the water park? You know, the one that was emaciated...you could see every bone?"
"Yea," Dave wonders where I am going with this. "He didn't look happy."
"He had two trans dermal pain patches on. One on his belly, one on his back. It made me so sad to see him. Do you think he had cancer? And then I saw he had identical twin boys and my heartbroke."
Dave isn't paying attention. Time to lose the ruminations and talk about the girls...
"They had fun, didn't they?" And I review all the activities they engaged in...
Dave has finished getting ready...he is headed out the door. My panic mounts, "think fast," I tell myself...
"Wait!" I suddenly remember that I haven't told him about the white squirrel I saw in our apple tree. After staring at it, trying to capture it on film, it had begun to remind me of a huge rat inducing both disgust and a little fear.
"I forgot to tell you about the giant rat in the apple tree!"