Thank You for Asking

Stay At Home Mom

My alarm rings at 7:00, and I know I have to get up immediately or everyone will be late and the day will start in a panic.  Around 7:35, when I do get up, I immediately start yelling and wonder why no one has the same sense of urgency as I do.  Finally, at 8:30, with the children off at school, I settle down for a well-deserved 3^rd cup of coffee and some nice long chats on the phone.  Since Youngest started school full time this year it has left me with time to accomplish all those things I never had time for before.  I have decided to focus the bulk of my time and energy into my career...writing my Romance Novel.  However, my chosen craft can be terribly solitary, and being a social creature I find it vital to remain connected to the outside world.  In actual fact, I consider these more or less business calls.

I try my sister first.  She is one of those people who possess the mystifying trait of working when she’s supposed to work and relaxing when she’s supposed to relax.  However, she indulges me and will, at times, try to do both.  She is intensely loyal and can always be counted on to agree with me with convincing enthusiasm.  We once had a discussion regarding my outrage at someone’s monstrous (in my opinion) behavior.  My sister agreed whole-heartedly!  Said she had never trusted that person, knew from the moment she set eyes on her that I would rue the day I took her on as a friend and frankly, in my sister’s opinion, the problem all stemmed from the fact that this person was intensely jealous of me.  I protested modestly, “well, I don’t know about that, but yes Jillian is a bit envious at times.”  I could hear my sister stop her vigorous typing as she said, “Jillian?  Oh, I thought we were talking about Felicity…but I can tell you this!  I have never trusted Jillian!”  Our conversation immediately resumed its pace and continued in its chummily satisfactory manner.

My sister has apparently decided this morning is for “work” and is unavailable.  That is just fine as I too have a TON of work…which I will do as soon as I finish perusing the Miles Kimball Gift Catalogue.  I cannot believe how many super useful things are in that catalogue!  I get so excited about the Magnetic Propane Tank Gauge that I immediately send the link to Beloved who immediately e-mails me back to request I please not disturb him with these time-wasting techniques of mine.  I immediately e-mail him back to say that is just fine with me!  When he is rushing out at the last minute to refill our propane tank because he was unaware it was low he should not come crying to me!  That exchange leaves me with about, ooh, 5 more hours until pick-up time, which is lucky because I have a LOT to get done.  It suddenly occurs to me that I am slightly dizzy from hunger.  I wander in to the kitchen to get a light and healthy snack.  I settle on just a few left-over potato chips dipped in sour cream with the understanding it will be about the same amount of calories as a very big bowl of whole-grain rice and vegetables.  When I am almost finished with the bag I abruptly come to and realize what I’ve done.  I hurriedly throw the rest into the garbage but notice they have landed quite safely on an absolutely clean pile of junk mail.  The prudent thing to do, obviously, is to spray them with some hair spray…just to make sure.  I run upstairs but suddenly remember I do not use hairspray.  It takes me quite a while to find an adequate substitute.  After much deliberation, I decide upon a foamy shaving cream, go down stairs and spray the hell out of the potato chips.  It gives me a feeling of accomplishment, and I reflect on how difficult it is for us stay-at-home moms to get things done when we are pulled in so many directions.

The day continues in this vein until 45 minutes before pick-up wherein I spring into action and actually begin to get some things done.  I work so hard that by the time the boys are all home I feel fairly shattered from the exertion.  When one of my boys has the nerve to ask what I do all day I look at them aghast and say when they are older they will understand the amount of work and dedication it takes to be a parent.  I then take a dramatically shaky deep breath and avert my moist eyes.  That shuts everyone up for a while, though I think Oldest is getting a bit skeptical.  I see him regarding me with narrowed eyes, and I can tell he is about to ask me something.   I quickly cut in and tell everybody I am going out for a quick coffee before he can follow up with any inconvenient questions.

Sitting in my driveway drinking my foamy cappuccino I decide there is no need to go in and disturb the boys’ dinner Rowena has so kindly made them.  I will just wait in the car for a while and…maybe make a call or two.  After all…to properly care for one’s family it is essential to first care for oneself!

Good Cause

“Would you like to help the poor hungry children?” the sweet earnest young girl with a clipboard asks, as I am rushing to get food for dinner at Cal Mart.   “Er, uh, why naturally I always want to help the poor hungry children it’s just that, well, right now my children are at home, hungry, and after this Christmas maybe even a little bit poor.”  I can tell by her less sweet expression that what is required is a yes or no answer.  “No” seems a bit harsh in response to the poor hungry children, so I try to explain that my husband recently started a new business and funds aren’t as readily available as they used to be…what with this economic climate and all…we actually have a charity we actively support…all to do with children…feeding them, educating them…my oldest son even tutors them…you can’t believe the Christmas bonuses I forked out…my husband doesn’t even take a salary!  None of this is having any effect whatsoever, and I feel like passerbys are starting to stare in disapproval.  Finally, I dig into my wallet and take out bills one by one until she nods in approval.

Oh well, I think as I walk on basking in the earnest girl’s approving gaze, it is for a good cause.  I certainly don’t want to be the reason some poor child goes hungry tonight!  I stroll along lost in my reverie of moral goodness when suddenly, out of nowhere, someone screams in my ear, “DO YOU OR DO YOU NOT SUPPORT PROPOSITION 8!!”  “Holy Hell!!!” I scream, as I drop my wallet spilling coins all over the sidewalk.  Jesus!  I can’t remember what the right answer is!  I start to panic.  I seem to remember it is counter-intuitive, but I don’t want to get this wrong!   “um…I…am…against it?” I say in a timid voice.  “EXCELLENT!”  I feel weak with relief.  “If you really mean that” long piercing stare “then I’m sure you won’t mind signing these.”  “Oh…not at all” I say as I look at the thick stack of papers thrust in my face.  He turns around so I can use his back as a desk.  I think about asking Poor-Hungry--Children girl if we can borrow her clipboard, but Proposition 8 seems to be in a hurry. 

Twenty minutes later I am on my way again and am a-a-almost to Cal Mart.  Outside there is a group of angelic looking boys singing with the most beautiful voices.  Aahh, it is so nice to see boys doing something purely for the love of it, I muse when out of nowhere leaps a mother (was she hiding behind the boys?) with a clipboard (again!).   Since you obviously enjoy listening to my son’s singing for free, she says in a very loud voice, do you think you can find your way to donating to the Golden Gate Boys Choir!  I feel as if I have been caught running a sweat shop packed with underage children.  I look frantically around to see if there is anyone I know that may have witnessed my offense.  “It was purely by accident that I was listening” I protest, but apparently ignorance of the law is no excuse.  “Yes, well that’s all fine and good but you did benefit from the music, did you not?”  The boys are singing even louder and more beautifully and every one of their eyes is on me.  I sigh and take out my wallet.

On my way home, exhausted, mentally drained and with ground beef instead of steak, I decide to stop off at Peets to get a much needed cappuccino.  I place my order then notice the guy behind the counter is staring pointedly at the tip jar that has a sign that reads, “If you appreciate what we do please let us know with a tip.”  I do appreciate what they do that’s why I pay $2.85 for it...it's in a paper cup... The guy continues to stare at me.  The people in line are waiting.  Finally I throw a dollar in (I feel coins would be crass) and decide tomorrow I will call Cal Mart and have my groceries delivered.                               

Ski Trip

My annual post-Christmas trip to Tahoe with Micki and our boys was going to be a bit different this year…our respective Beloveds were coming with us. 

Most years we would lament on how sad it is that our husbands aren't able to join us.  “Are you sure you can’t come darling?” we’d sadly inquire, just managing to look distraught that they had to stay and work as we squeezed ourselves into a car stuffed full of boys and ski gear, happily roaring off for a pre-trip cappuccino at Peets.  Micki and I somehow managed to make the four hour trip in about five and a half what with stopping for multiple coffees, bathroom breaks and lunching at Ikeda to catch up with similarly snow bound friends from San Francisco.    

This year, to our shock and…delight, the Beloveds announce that business is awful, they have nothing better to do, so they might as well join us.  “Welllll…that is really something…really…fabulous…what a…treat!” We declare with big frozen smiles on our faces.  “What!” Oldest exclaims when he hears the good news, “Is Dad going to be all grumpy and cheap if he comes?”  “That is really ungrateful and unkind” I admonish, as I make a mental note to return my new ski jacket and cancel my après- ski massages. 

To ensure we can squeeze in an afternoon of skiing, we agree upon 7:00 as a sensible departure time.  Since Micki and I always agree 7:00 is a sensible departure time and never actually depart until 10:30-11:00 we happily agree to this plan.  At 6:00 the next morning, I am rudely awoken by a showered, packed and parka wearing Beloved yelling at me to get a move on…we are behind schedule!  At exactly 7:10 I find myself careening through the streets of Pacific Height, whizzing right past a warm and cozy Peets without even a hint of slowing down.  We screech to a stop in front of Micki’s apartment building to find her Beloved pacing and glancing impatiently at his watch.  As soon as he sees us he herds Micki and their son into their car.  Micki turns and looks at me with a dazed and confused expression.  We press our faces and hands to our windows as we each pull away.  I am starting to grasp the enormity of our situation.

Exactly 3 hours and forty-five minutes later we arrive in Squaw.  The boys and I tumble out of the car parched, starving and desperate to go to the bathroom.  We are immediately frog marched to the ski rental shop where we rent (standard) skis, put them on and go skiing. 

That night, after, ooh about 140 runs, Micki and I sit drinking wine and nursing our sore limbs.  “What the hell!” Micki cries.  “We’ve already done more skiing this afternoon than all our previous trips put together!”  “I know, and they’re having such a good time they’re already talking about next year’s trip!” I say worriedly.  Just then the boys run up breathless and complaining that the Beloveds won’t let them have room service and are giving them the third degree trying to find out who ate gummy bears from the mini bar.  We sigh, pour another glass of wine and settle in for three more days of fun in the snow.