The All Star tournament is over; Logan’s team lost the penultimate game last night and were out of the running when they were this –> <– close to winning it all. All I could think was, no more two hour practices every day that meant pulling everyone out of camp three hours early (and cutting my workday short by that amount) and spending evenings and weekends at games. I love my son and support his passions, but am not shy about voicing concerns that the family needs balance and priorities that reflect the presence of THREE children, not to mention the parents. One sport had us entirely subsumed, and that was unsustainable.
So of course the second this tournament ended, the coached suggested another. Just two more weeks of practice and then a three day junket to Albany, CA. Does anyone know where Albany, CA is? I sure don’t and that makes me think that it is very, very far away, someplace I have not had opportunity or inclination to visit in the twenty two years I’ve lived here. Predictably, I said, flat out, NO, we need a break, my ex said maybe, and Logan told his coach he’d love to play.
And then this one time? At day camp? We couldn’t find sweatshirts, tshirts, towels, swim suits or cover ups to save our lives this morning. Funny, they were all there when the kids were dropped off yesterday. So after tearing my house apart and then going to Daddy’s to scour the premises ("Sorry–didn’t realize you were on the phone with the IRS! Good luck with that!"), we finally piled into the car on the chance that all the missing items were in lost and found.
Oh the kids thought it was a scream, watching me go through the neatly folded mountains of clothing and gear at the camp sign in table. Everything I picked up was ours.
“Oh, here’s a Roberts sweatshirt! And here’s another! And Logan has his so you each have your own. NO TRADING.” Collective moan. “I know they are all a little big, but if you trade for fit, Daphne gets totally left out because she’s the smallest. So knock it off. And look! Here’s a shirt for …Logan…and Dylan…and Daphne…and Daphne again! And here are shorts for Dylan! And Daphne’s sweater!”
“Mom,” whispered Daphne, “There’s something else for me.” She pointed out, but wouldn’t pick up, a pair of Dora underpants. Brilliant.
What do they wear home, pray tell?
And then the goodbyes. Ugggghhh. I made the mistake of calling Dylan The Barnacle one morning at drop off because he wouldn’t let go of me and give me one last hug. Logan was off on a cloud of dust (think Road Runner. Beep, beep.), but the others were looking at me with their saucer-like eyes, limpid pools of desire swelling with manipulative, shiny, little tears.
“I don’t want to stay, Mom, I want to go home with you.”
“Come on, look around you! Two jumpy houses and an obstacle course! And look! Logan is like fifty feet in the air, about to slide down an inflatable slide in a potato sack. How brilliant is that? Get a video camera!”
Now I had two barnacles on me.
“Mom, Dad let Logan stay home yesterday, can it be my turn today?”
“Me too!”
“No!” I cried. “I have to work…uh, look for work. You can’t be hanging around with the TV on and asking for snacks all day long. I won’t play with you. I won’t take you to the park, or to McDonalds, or even watch Tom & Jerry with you. At home I sit at my computer and ignore everything else. There will be no entertainment, no fun, and no Mommy Jump House.”
Fast forward through ten minutes of crying and pleading. (I know, I’m supposed to walk away, but they aren’t supposed to cross the bridge over to the parking lot by themselves and I had to get out of there without them following. If they followed I had to bring them back. If I brought them back, they could latch on again.)
I asked Dylan, “Why the change of heart? I thought you loved it here.”
“I hate the creek walks and I got stung by a bee yesterday.”
“But you’ll be back with me tonight, and for five more nights this week.”
“But I’ll miss you.” He looked straight into my eyes and whispered, “I miss you every second I’m here.”
Great. Now I’m picking up pieces of my heart and juggling them in my arms along with all the clothes from the Lost and Found.
Eventually he went along to the camp meeting, but Daphne was brewing up a whopper of a storm. I tell you, I had a Jr. Camp counselor, the Camp Director, and then the Camp Emperor for Life over there, trying to get Daphne to go to the first meeting of the day. I walked away. I heard her wailing. I kept walking. Got in the car. Started the motor. Peered through the trees to see two grown men leaning over my baby with her shoulders hitching and fist balled into her eyes. RIght. I’ll just pull away and she’ll stop.
Driving up the driveway to the exit, I glanced in the rear-view mirror to see the guys all looking at each other, thinking, NOW WHAT? I kept driving. And then pulled into a maintenance area to peek back around the corner to see if she pulled one of those miraculous recoveries that occur when the parent is out of the line of sight.
She was a mess. She couldn’t stop. And they couldn’t get her to move, and weren’t about to potato sack a six year old girl up the hill. Fuuuuck. So I turned around, nearly taking out a boulder in the retaining wall, parked, and stood at the far end of the bridge.
“Ok, Daphne, this is it. You either go up that hill or come with me. I can’t leave the counselors to deal with you like this when everyone else is doing what they’re supposed to be doing. So what’s it going to be? Stay or go?”
Sob-sob-sob-HITCH-sob-sob-sob.
“Okay, let’s make it interesting: if you don’t start walking in one direction or the other, you will lose TV for a week. I mean it. March.”
Sob-sob-sob-HITCH-sob-sob-sob.
“One…two…” Crap. She was in total overload and couldn’t make a decision if her life depended on it. “…Three.” Paralysis.
Finally, as I started to walk away she let out a wail and ran to me and climbed into the car, crying uncontrollably.
“Baby, what IS it?”
“You’re so mad at me!”
“I’m not happy that you’re doing this even though I explained that I have to work, and also because you don’t get to decide to stay home just because Dad let your brother stay home yesterday to rest up for his game .”
“You’re going to hate me for this.”
“Never! I would never hate you! I don’t like some of the things you do, and I think you bullied me into this and I changed my mind because I didn’t have time to keep it going, but never would I hate you. I came back because I knew you’d gotten to that place where you couldn’t recover. I knew you needed to come home. Not that you’re spending much time out of your room, young lady.” I said “young lady.” For fuck’s sake.
And now I’m home, with coffee and the bowl of cereal she brought me as a peace offering. And she’s in my room, watching TV, hopefully to fall asleep and recover from the drama.
I may do the same in here.
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07.01.08 at 02:23 PM |
You need a nanny.
07.01.08 at 05:20 PM |
Stick to your guns. You said “NO”. If the ex wants to do all of the driving, then he can do it, but you did not sign up. Honestly, supporting your children does not mean giving your life (and everyone else’s) over to them.
Now, I will butt back out.
07.03.08 at 11:47 PM |
Seriously baseball seems like the most effed up sport ever, with the tournaments, and the all stars, and the practices, and the games, SHEESH. And my kid wants to play next season. I’m thinking NOT.
07.06.08 at 06:19 AM |
We used to live in Albany, when I was a W. Coaster, and it’s located right north of Berkeley—not TOO far away, as these things go. But you probably know that by now....And you shouldn’t have to drive, no matter how close…