What is it about an average day in the life of single motherhood that can test us to the brink of a triple martini? Friday began like every day. There was the usual “Get up Brian, get up Brian, get up Brian” monologue montage which flows naturally from my lips, sounding oddly of my own mother.
(Hear me scream no).
My son went through the typical “I can’t find my shoes” and “I’m tired” responses that I have come to so lovingly to ignore.
Yes – today was a typical day. A day in the life of this redhead mom Catherine Hughes and her son Brian. This will be the first of many stories about what life is like raising a boy when you are a pre-menopausal redhead mom. So sit back and relax and enjoy as my day continues with -
The cat deciding to upchuck on Brian’s backpack. Now why, with all the possible choices did she decide his backpack needed a fur ball design? This made us slightly late for school. OK, very.
Once at school on my way to get his late excuse note I drop my brand new cell phone square in a puddle. As I am picking the wet metal thing up, my ex husband calls with a request for help, which usually leads to more work for me.
Next while wiping dirt from my phone I get a call from my mother who informs me that she would like me and my son to travel IN A CAR WITH HER to Washington State for my 45th birthday. You should know that his is about a 16 hour road trip spread over two days. And, she likes to drive most of the time. I’ll be 90 and shell be 120 and she will still want to be my designated driver.
This call is proof I have no life.
Because I said, “OK.”
All my client calls that follow have a series of loan problems that I do not have the answer for. Doesn’t anyone take Good Friday off anymore? Without having lunch, I race to pick up my son at school promptly at 2:30. He jumps in the car -
Like this announcement could make me produce a hamburger right there on the spot.
“How was your day?”
“OK. I’m hungry!”
“I heard you the first time Brian, but I have to go to the store before we go home.”
He rolls his eyes and sighs.
“But I’ve had a really long day!”
It’s about to get longer.
We go to the store. He is no help. Choruses of Can we go now – Are we done yet – Mom – Mom – Are you done yet – Can I have this – Will you buy me that follow me around the store like a dark shadow befalling a haunted house. I try those deep breathing exercises they tell you on Oprah that are suppose to work like Prozac so you won’t kill your kids in the middle of the sugar cereal isle. We finally get through the checkout.
I cannot find my wallet.
Yep. No wallet.
My son gives me the You’ve GOT to be kidding me look that only a 10 year old can give. The store informs me that they will put everything in the back, but when I return, it will all have to be re-rung up again. I was proud I didn’t let out one of those blood curdling primeval screams and pull out my hair spray like some pepper spray shooter and spray everyone in the face within 5 feet of me.
We calmly left. I didn’t cry.
We had soup for dinner as I eyed that bottle of vodka in the freezer.
I did not go back to the store.
Post number 1 is complete. Welcome to my blog.
Until next time -