Mother's Day letter from a friend
My wife received this letter from a friend...thought I would pass it along to all of you.
Best wishes. Gio
Ladies,
I'd like to wish all of you a very happy Mother's Day during this roller coaster ride part of our lives. And I'd like to share a little story about my talents (or lack thereof) at being a mother.
Today started like most other days. Carson watched Sesame Street as he ate chocolate Rice Krispies. I can justify that because he's watching "educational" TV while ingesting 11 essential vitamins and minerals. I kiss him on the head and I leave for work.
About 20 minutes later, Richard calls me to ask where Carson's school bag is. This is the bag that we have dutifully schlepped back and forth to school every single freakin' day for four years. Except for today. (This bag contains one complete set of clothes -- a detail that will be important later in the story). I look in the review mirror and see that the bag is in the backseat of my car, which just happens to be travelling in the opposite direction of Carson's school.
"Don't worry," I tell Richard. "He won't need it. He hasn't needed it in months."
At this point in my day, there should have been some very ominous music or something like you see in the movies to foreshadow what is about to happen.
Fast forward about three hours. I leave for lunch with a friend of mine. (Kip, for those of you who know him.) We dine leisurely at Manuel's, have an adult conversation about religion and mental health (among other things), and go to Borders for some coffee. While standing in line at Border's around 12:45, I hear my phone ring. It's Richard. He informs me that Carson's school called him at 11:30 because Carson had a "bodily function" accident and needs a change of clothes and by the way, "Where the fuck has your phone been? I've called you 17 times and left three messages. What's up with that?"
So I explain to Kip (who has no children) that we really need to go because I need to take Carson a change of clothes. But first Kip wants to see if the two books he wrote are on the shelves. So I try to play it cool and nonchalant while he roams up and down the aisles while I'm screaming to myself "Hurry up! Don't you understand that my child NEEDS me?!?" But we leave within a minute or so and hit the road, only to find more traffic on Braker than I ever imagined the road could hold. It was all I could do not to reach over and start driving on the median myself, but I kept my seatbelt on. I was starting to get frantic.
When I finally get into my own car, I break down crying while screeching
(literally) through the parking garage. All these images of Carson race through my head: him standing in sopping wet clothes, urine dripping into his shoes, wondering where I am in his time of need. I'm sure he's felt like I've abandoned him, and he will never trust me again. Oh my God, what have I done to this poor, innocent child? He deserves better than this. All the pain in his future life will be traced back to this exact moment. Not to mention the heat I'll take from him from the uncomfortable rash I'm sure he'll have due to being in wet clothes for more than two hours. In addition to the humilation he'll have to endure from his friends teasing him (yes, they are only 4, but kids can be mean). I'm ready to take my own life at this point, and I almost have with the way I've been driving. And then I think about the REAL issues: What if he were hurt and no one could get ahold of me? What if he were dying while I was having fun at lunch with a friend? What the hell kind of mother am I? Nay, what kind of PERSON am I?
At this point, I start to think (more) logically, and I wonder why Richard has spent 45 minutes to an hour trying to call me when he could have just taken care of the situation himself. So I speed-dial his ass to find out. Turns out he had a haircut appointment downtown. So that right there tells you what kind of pathetic parents we are: dad is tied up with a haircut and mom is too busy having lunch. How completely sad is that?
When I finally get to Carson's school, bag in hand, I burst through the door and come face to face with the school director, who says "Oh, you're finally here. Good. We've been waiting." Again, I break into tears. She hands me a tissue.
I run down the hall and open the door to his classroom. There is some weird cross between classical and new age nature music playing that I find just a little bit creepy and annoying. All the children are on their cots for nap time, except for Carson. Of course he's not sleeping. Could you sleep in wet pants? He must be horribly uncomfortable, I think to myself. And stinky. Ew.
But his face lights up when he sees me, and he flashes me that priceless and infectious smile of his, and then we walk to the bathroom to change his clothes. His DRY clothes. His completely, utterly, not-moist-in-the-least, almost-fresh-from-the-dryer-but-not-quite (obviously) clothes. My shirt is sticking to my back with sweat from adrenaline and guilt, and I'm confident that my clothes are more damp than his are at this exact moment in time.
Nevertheless, we do a complete wardrobe change, even down to his socks. He feels better. I feel better. (Well, not really. Maybe a little.) He informs me that he's tired now and lies down on his cot like nothing ever happened, and he waves to me as I walk toward the door feeling like with every step all I want to do is rush back and scoop him up and hug him tightly and kiss his cheeks and neck until he can't breathe because he's giggling too much. But for the second time today, I show restraint.
Two days from now, Carson won't remember that this ever happened. But I will. And two days from now, it won't be as traumatic to me as it is right now, and I probably won't be beating myself up about it as much as I am right now.
I guess that's the true lesson of motherhood that I'm trying to master. I hope it gets easier with each passing Mother's Day.
So, I salute you ladies for being moms, and I hope you have a great day!
Love,
cj
Best wishes. Gio
Ladies,
I'd like to wish all of you a very happy Mother's Day during this roller coaster ride part of our lives. And I'd like to share a little story about my talents (or lack thereof) at being a mother.
Today started like most other days. Carson watched Sesame Street as he ate chocolate Rice Krispies. I can justify that because he's watching "educational" TV while ingesting 11 essential vitamins and minerals. I kiss him on the head and I leave for work.
About 20 minutes later, Richard calls me to ask where Carson's school bag is. This is the bag that we have dutifully schlepped back and forth to school every single freakin' day for four years. Except for today. (This bag contains one complete set of clothes -- a detail that will be important later in the story). I look in the review mirror and see that the bag is in the backseat of my car, which just happens to be travelling in the opposite direction of Carson's school.
"Don't worry," I tell Richard. "He won't need it. He hasn't needed it in months."
At this point in my day, there should have been some very ominous music or something like you see in the movies to foreshadow what is about to happen.
Fast forward about three hours. I leave for lunch with a friend of mine. (Kip, for those of you who know him.) We dine leisurely at Manuel's, have an adult conversation about religion and mental health (among other things), and go to Borders for some coffee. While standing in line at Border's around 12:45, I hear my phone ring. It's Richard. He informs me that Carson's school called him at 11:30 because Carson had a "bodily function" accident and needs a change of clothes and by the way, "Where the fuck has your phone been? I've called you 17 times and left three messages. What's up with that?"
So I explain to Kip (who has no children) that we really need to go because I need to take Carson a change of clothes. But first Kip wants to see if the two books he wrote are on the shelves. So I try to play it cool and nonchalant while he roams up and down the aisles while I'm screaming to myself "Hurry up! Don't you understand that my child NEEDS me?!?" But we leave within a minute or so and hit the road, only to find more traffic on Braker than I ever imagined the road could hold. It was all I could do not to reach over and start driving on the median myself, but I kept my seatbelt on. I was starting to get frantic.
When I finally get into my own car, I break down crying while screeching
(literally) through the parking garage. All these images of Carson race through my head: him standing in sopping wet clothes, urine dripping into his shoes, wondering where I am in his time of need. I'm sure he's felt like I've abandoned him, and he will never trust me again. Oh my God, what have I done to this poor, innocent child? He deserves better than this. All the pain in his future life will be traced back to this exact moment. Not to mention the heat I'll take from him from the uncomfortable rash I'm sure he'll have due to being in wet clothes for more than two hours. In addition to the humilation he'll have to endure from his friends teasing him (yes, they are only 4, but kids can be mean). I'm ready to take my own life at this point, and I almost have with the way I've been driving. And then I think about the REAL issues: What if he were hurt and no one could get ahold of me? What if he were dying while I was having fun at lunch with a friend? What the hell kind of mother am I? Nay, what kind of PERSON am I?
At this point, I start to think (more) logically, and I wonder why Richard has spent 45 minutes to an hour trying to call me when he could have just taken care of the situation himself. So I speed-dial his ass to find out. Turns out he had a haircut appointment downtown. So that right there tells you what kind of pathetic parents we are: dad is tied up with a haircut and mom is too busy having lunch. How completely sad is that?
When I finally get to Carson's school, bag in hand, I burst through the door and come face to face with the school director, who says "Oh, you're finally here. Good. We've been waiting." Again, I break into tears. She hands me a tissue.
I run down the hall and open the door to his classroom. There is some weird cross between classical and new age nature music playing that I find just a little bit creepy and annoying. All the children are on their cots for nap time, except for Carson. Of course he's not sleeping. Could you sleep in wet pants? He must be horribly uncomfortable, I think to myself. And stinky. Ew.
But his face lights up when he sees me, and he flashes me that priceless and infectious smile of his, and then we walk to the bathroom to change his clothes. His DRY clothes. His completely, utterly, not-moist-in-the-least, almost-fresh-from-the-dryer-but-not-quite (obviously) clothes. My shirt is sticking to my back with sweat from adrenaline and guilt, and I'm confident that my clothes are more damp than his are at this exact moment in time.
Nevertheless, we do a complete wardrobe change, even down to his socks. He feels better. I feel better. (Well, not really. Maybe a little.) He informs me that he's tired now and lies down on his cot like nothing ever happened, and he waves to me as I walk toward the door feeling like with every step all I want to do is rush back and scoop him up and hug him tightly and kiss his cheeks and neck until he can't breathe because he's giggling too much. But for the second time today, I show restraint.
Two days from now, Carson won't remember that this ever happened. But I will. And two days from now, it won't be as traumatic to me as it is right now, and I probably won't be beating myself up about it as much as I am right now.
I guess that's the true lesson of motherhood that I'm trying to master. I hope it gets easier with each passing Mother's Day.
So, I salute you ladies for being moms, and I hope you have a great day!
Love,
cj
posted by Juan Giovanni at 8:19 PM
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