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He just stared at me. Lately it seemed like his favorite pastime was annoying me and being obstinate. "Get up right now, or no TV for a week." I knew I'd never follow through on such a threat when the reason we were going to be late was my fault and not his, but he didn't need to know that. Parenting 101.
He stared at me and I stared right back. My scary mommy face must have been convincing, because a few minutes later he was dressed in the outfit I'd picked out, wrestling on a pair of too-small shoes.
"Alexa. Add shoe shopping to my to-do list," I said out loud to my virtual assistant.
"Shoe shopping added to your to-do list," she chirped back at me.
"Can I get Spider-Man shoes?" Trevor asked, looking at me with big hopeful eyes.
As a new mother I'd sworn that those tricks would never work on me, and every request made with a pouty brat face would instantly be denied, but since Henry died, I'd had a hard time denying them anything. It was totally understandable, but unfortunately they were starting to figure that out.
"You get what you get and you don't throw a fit."
Kid two shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Mom! That's for like… If someone doesn't want to eat the food you made. It doesn't apply to shoes."
"It should." Taking hold of his shoulders I steered him to the table and poured him a bowl of Raisin Bran before tracking down my oldest.
"Marlee! Marlee! Are you ready? It's almost time to go," I hollered, even though I myself was always running late.
Marlee came stomping out of her room in her favorite Care Bear t-shirt and a pair of pink leggings that hit her mid-calf. I eyeballed them with a frown. I’d bought them semi recently and they were not supposed to be that short.
"Your pants don't fit." I stated the obvious. Had I shrunk them or had she hit a growth spurt?
"Alexa, add new pants for Marlee to the shopping list," I said loudly, barely containing my rage at how quickly the kids were outgrowing perfectly good clothes and shoes like I was made of money or something.
Spoiler alert: I wasn't.
It took an hour to round up all three kids, get them dressed, feed them breakfast, and get everyone out to the car. While I was buckling them in, a bill collector called. I ignored it. I could barely afford the basics and I didn't have time for the constant interruptions to service and life.
When I got back to the house, venti caramel frappuccino in hand because I deserved it, dammit, I stepped through the front door with every intention of maybe doing a little bit of housework and a whole bunch of writing. At first, everything went according to plan. I cleaned the kitchen, straightened the kids rooms, ordered grocery delivery, and even threw a load of laundry in before sitting down to work.
I had an assignment due two weeks ago, and I was pretty sure if I didn't turn it in today, I'd be fired as an independent freelance writer and we'd end up in the poorhouse. Luckily I work best under pressure.
It took several hours, but I eventually finished that project and took a break to put away groceries and clean the kitchen.
My cell phone chimed with a text message from Henry’s mom, Gia. I loved her and was so thankful for her help, but she was flighty, idealistic, and sometimes out of touch with reality—the exact opposite of me—and sometimes she was just a lot for me to handle. I rolled my eyes, tempted to ignore it. I couldn’t, of course, because she had Marcus, and it might be an emergency. Of course it wasn’t; it was just Gia being Gia.
I’m taking the kids camping this weekend so you need to pack accordingly.
“Camping? Since when do you camp?” I said out loud, frowning at my phone. Today was only Thursday, but it was the start of a three-day weekend for the kids, who didn’t have to go back to school until Monday. The idea of having a long weekend without them was tempting, but all I could see was the potential for disaster. While Gia helped with the kids all the time, she hadn’t taken all three of them for a weekend ever, and the idea of letting her, a non-veteran camper, take them up in the woods somewhere where I may or not be able to reach them terrified me. I was trying to find a nice way to explain that when my phone chimed again.
Bought a new trailer and can’t wait to try it out!
The fact that she was talking about camping in a trailer made me feel loads better, but also gave me a case of FOMO. My life with the kids was always so hectic and there was not, since Henry died, ever enough money to do spontaneous fun stuff.
“Must be nice,” I grumbled, even though camping, especially with three kids, even in a trailer, was not my idea of a good time.
Trying to let go of my resentment, I reminded myself that I hated camping and that as crazy as Henry’s mom made me, I was thankful for all she did for us, and that with Henry gone, she needed us as much as we needed her. The kids would have a blast, and they deserved that, just as much as I deserved the break.
What should I pack?
I’d been camping once in my life, not in a trailer, and not with kids.
Gia’s next response was a list that felt insanely long and honestly overwhelmed me, given that all my kids were outgrowing everything at a rapid pace and I didn’t even know if they had acceptable clothing choices available. But I set the phone face down, and resolved to be thankful for the break and deal with the packing later, and got back to work, rejuvenated by the prospect of having a weekend off. My brain raced with all the things I needed to do, and might actually be able to do without three kids underfoot, before realizing that even if I worked my ass off all weekend, I would not come close to being fully caught up between work, the house, and the kids’ stuff.
Something had to give, but I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t do everything myself, but I couldn’t afford not to. I was stuck in a never-ending cycle of hopelessness. There wasn’t enough of me to go around.
Because it was the only thing I could do, I started cleaning again, ignoring the vibrating phone. Gia was just excited, but she could wait.
