BEING MOM


Being Mom means:
the CHOCOLATE your daughter put in your bag -- for safekeeping ,
and the SPORTS BOTTLE your son was too tired to carry,
have had an unfortunate encounter involving
your checkbook,
a small feather,
a new roll of stamps,
and a cassette tape of songs about fish.

All of which you discover ONLY
when you take out your wallet
and attempt to pay for dinner -- which,
if you still assume a meal
at which everyone eats the same food,
and at the same time,
can only mean PIZZA.

Being Mom means:
Friday nights, which you used to LOOK FORWARD TO,
used to enjoy,
SEEM TO REMEMBER spending: at the movies,
or with a glass of wine and a good book,
in a smoky bar, out with friends, dancing,
OR EVEN
snuggling up in bed with your husband.

Are now filled with:
DRIVING packs of mostly strangers back and forth across town
NOISE. Loud. Repetitive. Mostly unpleasant. Definitely NOT music.
AND CONFUSION (for which read lies)
generated by the aforementioned strangers regarding
where they are supposed to have gone.
And with whom.

Being Mom means:
the phone has now become the LIFELINE
which you use to call THE OTHER MOMS to ask
if they have seen your kids
or might have heard
where they are supposed to have gone.
And with whom.

Being Mom means:
Meeting the new principal
(under EXACTLY those sets of circumstances
you would most like NOT to be
meeting the new principal!)
And embracing the role of child advocate
at EXACTLY the moment when
you’re most furious with said child.

Being Mom means:
You’re the person they depend on to keep things safe,
to always remember what they will or won’t eat,
to pick them up and drop them off,
to be the voice on the other end of the phone when they call
and to -- somehow – track them down when they don’t,
to be on their side when there’s trouble,
to forgive, and forgive, and forgive them,
and to LOVE.