These are letters to Jack, my son, and my daughter, Audrey. You have given me the gift of motherhood. This is just a little gift back. I want to share my experiences with you of your childhood from my perspective of watching you grow - of being your Mom.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Nothing Routine about it


I started my new hours at work and they have been hard for you to adjust to. You wouldn't think that one hour would make that big of a difference, but it does. Apparently you cry the entire hour that I am not there to get you. You know when I should be there and, when I don't show - you fall apart. I don't know if it's that you miss me or if you worry that I'm not coming or if you are just sick and tired of your teachers or what, but I feel horrible.

Yesterday when I picked you up, you were sitting alone on the playground, clutching your teddy bear with a red and puffy face, snot rolling down your face, and tears clouding your vision so you weren't completely sure you were right in seeing that I had actually showed up.

When you knew it was me, you ran into my arms and said over and over again "Mommy! I go home! Mommy - I go home!" Like - THANK GOD! I GET TO GO HOME! or was it a checklist: Mommy comes (check), I get to go home (check). Your teachers heaped a little more guilt on my shoulders by telling me that you were so smart that you knew I was supposed to be there and cried till you were choking. They even told me they were afraid you would dehydrate. God... If I had anymore weight on me, I'd leave big old sinkholes when I walked.

So, I decided to make last night a great time and asked you where you wanted to go and - as if I didn't already know how smart you are - you said the toy store. So we went to a toy store called Circle of Knowledge that displays toys for kids to play with because I knew that was your primary motivation. We played for so long, I bought a toy because I actually felt like I owed it to the lady who witnessed how long we stayed. I know she did because she kept coming over to ask if she could help as though to make a point of saying - really? still here?

But it also made me feel better because I feel so bad at how red and puffy your face was for the rest of the night. And you didn't sleep well. Mommy, mommy I want my mommy.

God, I hope you are okay when I pick you up today and not so sad. I love you!



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