Bread Bones

Fire Island Bakery opened up a new store two doors down from our house last week.

We walk past the small shop in the morning on our way to school. I walk past two more times on my lunch break, and again at the end of the day on our way home.  Often I leave school before Olive, and then return to pick her up from Campfire, which adds two more trips past the smell of warm baked goods.

"Can we stop at the bakery?" Olive asks on our way home from school tonight.

"Not today."

"But I want to Mom."

"I know. I want to take a nap." Olive's hand swings in mine. "And I can't get what I want."

Its been one of those days, you know the ones, when you just want to climb back in bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend you're young again on a Sunday morning with no plans in sight.

No responsibilities. No awareness. Just your breathe keeping you warm in a cocoon of down and fleece.

"But Moooom, I want to get some bread."

I had a meeting about meetings after school and left a long note on my desk with kids I didn't have time to get to today and need to follow up with tomorrow. "I want to get home and see Elias and your Dad."

"But I'm hungryyyy..."

"Good, we're going home for dinner."

It doesn't help that the friendly bakery owners gave Olive ample servings of free stuff while they worked on getting their shop ready--my girl who told me she was "allergic to gluten-free" who loves carbs, bread, cookies, cupcakes, you name it--or that, at five, the concept of money looks more like Santa Claus mixed with the Tooth Fairy than like sitting at a kitchen table late at night wondering if you'll ever get out of debt.

"But," Olive turns on the tears: "I waaaaant to go to the baaakeryyyyyy..."

I'm not sure which is worse. The sound of her whine or her tears manipulated to get what she wants. Both kill me. Little daggers up my back that make my head turn, shoulders twitch.

Especially on days when there is no break between the end of my day as a school counselor and the start of my evening as Mom, when I carry a backpack overloaded with stories of impoverished children, children who act out, children who grieve, invisible children, children who steal, children who imitate the worst of TV, children who ask for help, children who hand me gifts from their pockets and tell me: Keep it, its yours.

This is why I need to run after school, to release the contents of my work bag before the threshold of home.

If not I feel like my own kids get the tail end of me. The picked over bones with all the best meat carved off by other children. Whittled away as I respond to the behavior of other people's kids.

I hear the tone of my voice when I speak to Elias and Olive sometimes and cringe.

I dont want to be that Mom.

Just as I don't want to spend seven bucks on bread and cookies every day after school.

Ah balance, or the search thereof, the persistent bane of parenthood.

Comments

[Lisa Y]

As a school SLP, yes I feel exactly the same. I hate that there are days when all my patience seems used up by the time I pick up my own three littles. Also, after a day of documentation forms and IEPs, filling out those reading logs and signing homework charts and writing in the "letters to home" journal just seems like more WORK, instead of participating in my kids' education.

But my first-grader has made great friends with a little girl with severe CP and has even started saying maybe when she grows up she wants to be a pre-k teacher for kids with special needs. And I think maybe they gain something special from having a mom who is in the thick of documentation forms and IEPs all day.

[Joanna]

Yesterday I was shushing my 2 year old in the car - totally ineffectual and unkind but sometimes I just am that mom even though I always feel bad about it a moment later. Maybe you could make the bakery a once a month ritual so it's not a possibility any other day? First Monday? xo

[Pili]

You make life deeper with your words and insights Christy..and parenting, you reveal the universal struggles as parents. Your words are like a free piece of gluten rich bread!

~Pili

[Jill]

"The picked over bones with all the best meat carved off by other children". I have felt that so many times. The tank running on empty as I face my own family. Then it dawns on me: we are all in it together, one giant network of aid and dependence. Those who helped my son as I helped another, the lady in the checkout line, etc,etc.

[Christy]

Oh how I love your comments, thank you. It helps on this wild wacky road of parenting and life to know others understand and get it and are connected through the fibers of struggle and support. I told Olive we could only go once a week and I may also stretch this to two times in a month. Luckily its closed on Monday and Tuesday and we were in Seward for the weekend so i've had a break from demands:)