The Mom Who Did Too Much

I had one of those weekends.  You know the kind where you do everything for everyone else to the point of running yourself ragged then you collapse because in the end you've promised too much, given too much and the guilt of not doing overwhelms? 

It all started Friday morning with the impromptu request for a playdate from my son's classmate who lives in the neighborhood.  No problem - could it happen at our house?  Again, no problem.  Then my daughter's class had a publishing party that went on and on - but fine -  the kids are sweet and smart , the parents are interesting and funny.  Fine.  I got home from that at 9:45 am - emails to answer, details to handle in my burgeoning freelance career.  Then back to school for my promised lunch duty.  Last year I did lunch duty three times or more a week.  This year I promise only Fridays for my kids and for the lunch aide whom I became great friends with last year.  So I race back - did I mention it is raining and blowing all day - for my boy's ridiculously early lunch hour - 10:40 am - (school overcrowding is a whole other post).  I'm late for lunch but there for recess - indoor (recall the rain) a screaming, sweaty, LOUD mosh of five and six year olds. 

My girl's lunch is next - I run out and buy her a slice of pizza - she doesn't like the school pizza.  A second indoor recess - also loud, also sweaty - and really rather BORING!  Where occasionally the k/1s might need help being nice, managing games, these kids are 2nd and 3rd graders - they manage just fine.  Kisses and goodbyes, my ears ringing with the echos of pent-up childhood screams I run back home and work for a little on a couple of newly assigned articles. 

Back for pick-up of my boy and his friend at 3:10, dear daughter has dance class.  Darling husband has agreed to pick her up.  It is still raining.  We ride the train home and the kids try to work out what to play.  But they are a boy and a girl, not as easy as boy and boy or girl and girl.  Mommy manages the interaction a fair amount while trying to straighten up the house.  Playdate friend has remarked after seven minutes in our home, "You're house is weird - it's so messy." I resist the urge to tell her I don't have a cleaning lady and I'm trying to work and still be a full-time mom.  Will she care if I do say it?  Do I care if she cares?  But her dad is coming sometime later to get her - so I want the place cleaned up, too.  Then dear husband calls. He's walking home with dear daughter and friend whose mom is working and whose grandparents are not home - so he's bringing her to our house.  She's recently been allowed to ride the bus home after school alone but she's ten - it makes us uneasy and while still trying to respect the mom's wishes - we like to bring her along when we can.  Mom works in the neighborhood.  But then it could be a long playdate as the mom is busy with work these days - still bring her - we'll have dinner - make it work - it's Friday night after all.  Meanwhile, son and friend are arguing about what to do next.  I turn a movie on - enough trying to play together.  Haven't heard from her dad.  Mom is in Japan for an art show.  The rest of the family is flying out  tomorrow.  (take me!)  Dad arrives around seven.  Kids are fed - dinner cleared.  Husband and I share a beer with playdate dad.  All is well.  Playdate mom arrives twenty minutes later.  Quick goodbyes.  Dear son is exhausted and very weepy.  We get him into the shower and into bed - lots of hugs and kisses.  He is asleep in five minutes.  Dear daughter follows not long after.

Saturday - the day of the both kids' big Locomotion dance performance - but we don't have to be there until 4:45. I agree to the new Speed Racer movie - first show of the morning - perfect - plenty of time to get home, eat and get ready to dance.  But - here is the mistake of mistakes - I decide to take the PATH train to the Newport Center Mall to see  the movie because it is half the price of any movie theater in Manhattan. Then I can buy popcorn and soda without feeling gigantor money guilt.  But the movie is at 10 am - it is nine.  We get ready quickly - grab bagels at the deli - jump on the subway to the PATH - EERT- grinding halt - the PATH is painfully slow on the weekends.  Still it will be worth it - I can get to Kohl's to shop for the niece's christening and the nephew's 1st communion tomorrow - (mother's day!!). 

So we are late but run to the theater and don't miss enough of the movie to matter.  The kids are happy - I enjoy the movie, too, which means I don't fall asleep and I even laugh a few times - (Spridle is the best comic relief!)  We shop after the movie for gifts for the niece - of course the kids find stuff for themselves, too.  And, do I have to buy something for my 15-year-old nephew who is not being christened or  communioned?  And, if so - what?   

Then its home finally- again the PATH is a small, slow nightmare.  We get into the city and I need bagels for the dance performance.  I'm a parent helper and we need to feed the kids at the theater before the performance.  Husband googles a shop on the walk back from the train.  I refuse to get on the subway and wait again.  We find to the shop and order a dozen plain, plain bagels and a 1/2 lb of cream cheese.  We arrive home but not before bird droppings land in my hair.   Home - husband makes lunch.  I need another shower.  We eat.  I'll slice the bagels for tonight.   Open the bag - the bagels are not plain - but assorted.  We call the bagel shop - Zuckers on Chambers.  Can you deliver plain bagels?  No - I asked you said assorted.  I said plain plain.  Sorry lady!  ERRRGGG!!!   My husband even argues with the guy.  Says obviously he's not married or he'd get it.  Thanks hubs.  So now I have to stop on the way for more bagels.  Get the kids in costume and we travel - by train - up to Columbia's Miller theater - stopping at  Nussbaum and Wu's for a dozen plain bagels.  The guy has no trouble understanding the meaning of plain.  We make the theater in time and we settle in. 

I am the mom in charge of the Friday class and wishing I was just a drop-off mom.  The kids do their thing, rehearse, need bathrooms, bagels, leotards turned around and to be reminded of costume changes.  All goes really, really well - the kids have fun, the audience is entertained and impressed - brava! bravo!  Grandma and Grandpa happen to be in town for the christening/communion tomorrow and so graciously make the trek into the city for the performance.  But - they need to get back to Penn Station for a 10:30 train back to Long Island.  So we decide to have a bite to eat at Penn Station - a grim alternative but we make do.  We eat hot dogs and other junk food chat for a minute then they get on the train and we take the subway home.  At that moment I learn May 10 is National Train day - which is of course why I rode the train 80,000 times today.  Kids are home and in bed by 11:00 pm.  Husband and I sip some wine.  I fall asleep on the couch. 

In the morning - Happy Mother's Day - the kids make toast and sweet homemade cards.  Hubby makes me an omelet and coffee.  Then it's off to Little League.  My boy has a great game but I am exhausted, unshowered and feeling a migraine coming on.  The whole morning I debate how I am possibly going to take a two-hour train out to my brother's for the party and still get my kids back home for a decent school night bedtime.  I seek my mom friends for counsel on the side lines of the game.  "Don't go" is the consensus.  "It's Mother's day - you can blow it off."  Don't have to ask my husband twice - he wasn't going anyway, too much work.  So I decide to skip the party.  My kids are disappointed, my brother will be miffed, my dad will think me a shirker.  But I have had it.  I call with regrets, eat a sandwich my dear husband prepares and fall asleep for two hours in the middle of the afternoon.  I had given all I could and while I regret missing one more thing I had promised to do - sometimes you have to give a little to yourself.

An original post to New York City Moms Blog.