Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Holy Grail, or Coyote Universe, Or Sigh of a Spoiled Mom (on a spoiled day) Waaaaa

(background soundtrack: "I'm ba-a-a-a-a-ck!! Back in the saddle again!")

I do love my kids.

I remember when Connor was first born and all I wanted to do was be with him. I couldn't relate to moms who complained when school was closed--how could they not want to be with their kids?

As with all things parent, I Learned. I've eaten more humble pie than is comfortable, and then I've eaten more.

It's become a quest of sorts, to have an entire school week intact as far as solitary time. For some reason psychologically I feel incomplete when I look back and see that it's been since before Christmas that there's not been one unspoiled week. Either illness or holiday has marred the perfection of the Uninterrupted Week. (Well, aside from Scott's half-days on Fridays and the voluntary interruptions of helping at the schools .)

Typical week:

Mon: volunteer at Connor's school

Tues: free!!!!!

Wed: volunteer at Scott's school.

Thurs: free!!!!

Fri: half day for Scott

This week Gary scheduled an architect and his wife to come over Wednesday morning to discuss what might be possible with a hypothetical garage. I received a call from a home appraiser to tell me he was scheduling his visit for Thursday afternoon. No negotiating about what works best for me--that's the only slot he has take-it-or-leave-it. Rash of home appraisals takes any choice out of my hands.

So today, this week was to be my one uninterrupted day. It was threatened by a forecast of snow. This morning a half inch sat on the ground, not the 3" predicted. As I sat down after dropping Scott I contemplated the notion of having cake and eating it too. I thought about making a post about it--the moment of perfection is in getting home and taking off my coat. All the rest is a relentless march toward the end of my one solitary day. I thought what a pessimistic orientation that was.

The phone rang, just as the laptop whispered, "It's ten hours," the number for the public school system came up on caller ID. I'd personally given a check to the lunchroom lady yesterday so it couldn't be about Connor being in arrears. The Responsible Parent in me (yeah, she's in there somewhere) (and she parents me as well as my kids) picked up the phone. Yeah. Connor. Stomach ache and Diarrhea. Yeah. How does he look? OK, guess I have to come and get him. (The Responsible Parent in me didn't put it quite that way.) (The Responsible Parent in me did allow me to finish a comment I'd been in the middle of posting when the phone rang. The roads are lousy; it's going to take me a while to get there anyway. He can wait.) On afterthought I called the school secretary back and asked her to tell him to go to his classes and collect all his homework assignments. So there.

He can't be sick on a day when solitude is going to be interrupted anyway.

"I'm ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-ack!!!!"

Next week won't be a Perfect Week from the get-go. President's Day.

At least it falls on a volunteer day and not on one of my 'free' (yeah, right) ones.

1 comment:

Douglas W said...

The Perfect Week probably doesn't exist. It's a bit like the Perfect Diamond. Or the Perfect Pearl. There's always a blemish to be found no matter how small.

But then... is the blemish really a blemish? Is that minute chip in the diamond really a flaw? Or is it one of those things that makes every diamond unique and even more valuable?

Maybe our weeks are like that. We imagine a perfect week in our minds and then discover there are blemishes and flaws that on the surface seem to make them less than perfect. But are they? Maybe they simply make each week unique and special.... and somewhat unpredictable.

What was that thing that Forrest Gump said about the box of chocolates?