“The garbage!” she called after him.
Allie took a sip of her now cold coffee and peeked in on the kids, who were frozen, mid-play, in front of Barney, as if they had just been slapped in freeze-tag. She was indebted to that big purple dinosaur; the final gurgle of “I Love You, You Love Me,” was a very sad moment indeed. She glanced at the clock—6:46 am. Too early to make any of the calls she needed to make. She picked up the newspaper; she had 14 minutes to catch up to the world.
“Mom, I’m hungry.” Matthew wandered into the kitchen as the top of the hour commercial kicked on.
Allie put down the paper. “Hi hungry. I’m Mom.”
Matthew smiled. “May I have something to eat?”
That face, he was so cute! She bent down and kissed him on his nose, on both cheeks. “Toast?”
“No.” He bent down and picked Jack up off the floor.
“English muffin?” Allie took Matthew by the hand and led him to the sink.
“No.”
She eased the filthy rabbit out of Matthew’s grip, soaped up his hands, and rinsed. She handed him a towel. “Oatmeal?” Oops, don’t have any.
“No.” Thank God.
“Liver and onions?”
Matthew giggled. “Toast,” as if he’d just thought of it.
“You got it.” Allie raised her voice. “Gill, do you want some toast?”
“Melon.”
Allie sighed. “We don’t have any melon.” She grabbed a pen and added oatmeal and melon to the list. “How about toast?”
With one eye on the toaster, Allie flipped through the pile of bills and scribbled out two checks.
“Butter?” Matthew said when she brought him his toast.
“There’s butter on it.”
“I don’t see it.”
Allie pretended to spread more butter on it. “Okay?
Matthew smiled. “Good.”
“Thanks Mommy, you are fabulous and beautiful,” Allie said to him with a smile.
“Thank you,” he said, his mouth full of toast.
“You are fabuwous and bountiful,” Gillian said solemnly.
Allie laughed. “I’ll take it.”
Leaving Gillian strapped in her high chair, Allie raced upstairs to gather diapers, wipes, pacifiers, toys, bathing suits, towels, hats, and then clomped back downstairs to load up snacks, juice, and suntan lotion. She wrestled the two kids into clothes (literally wrestled, as she had to first catch and then fight a struggling, howling, clothes-averse Gillian), and settled them down in the playroom with some toys—trains for Matthew, plastic animals for Gillian—while she cleaned up the kitchen and jotted down a few last groceries. Then she answered the enthusiastic cries of “Come play with me!” and brought her coffee into the playroom for an interesting game of trains chasing animals, and the animals retaliating by knocking the trains off of the tracks.
————
“Okay, guys, we’re going to go in a minute, Mommy just needs to go potty.” Allie dashed to the bathroom, gambling that the kids would be fine alone for 60 seconds.
A moment later, while she was sitting on the toilet, both kids came in, sat cross-legged on the bathroom rug, and looked at her expectantly. “Pee or poop, Mom?” Matthew asked. Allie sighed. There was nothing sacred anymore.
————
Madaket sat patiently by the back door, his long, pink tongue hanging out and his soft brown eyes watching the morning finale—a mad hunt for shoes. His patience snapped however, when the three bodies rushed past him and out the door. He let out an indignant bark.
“Oh, Madaket, you haven’t been out yet.” She opened the screen door wide and the stocky dog bounded down the steps. Vet appointment. She swung her purse and the overstuffed beach bag onto one shoulder, hoisted Gillian onto her opposite hip, and reached out for Matthew’s hand as they followed Maddy down the back porch steps.
Once the kids were buckled into their car seats, Allie ushered the dog back inside and grabbed the pile of Dana’s dirty shirts. She didn’t know if they’d make it to the dry cleaners today, but just in case. Today the priority was the grocery store, and although after the pool it would be like dragging them to the dentist after Disney World, the refrigerated stuff would spoil if they went beforehand.
As she pulled away from the house, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten breakfast. She eyed the sea of spilled goldfish on the seat next to her and grabbed a few.
One Disney song later (“Hakuna Matata” 11 times over) and half an hour late, they arrived at the pool, and after locating Tess and her cherubic one-year-old, Allie released all the gear in her arms onto a lounge chair that she had no hope in hell of reclining in. “Sorry I’m late.”
“We just got here too.”
Allie leaned over and riffled through her giant bag. “If Mary Poppins could magically fit all that crap in her carpet bag, why the bag in the first place? Why didn’t she just carry it all in her pocket?”
“My nanny has a bag of tricks like that.” Tess sighed. “She’s always whipping out fun things for Juliette to do. It makes me wonder why Juliette wants to be with me when I’m always cleaning up the kitchen for the umpteenth time or dragging her on errands.”
“She’s working out?”
“Maria? She’s a better mom than I am.” Tess lowered Juliette down in the pool. “I’m thinking of going back full time.”
Allie looked up from the bag.
Tess shook her head. “It’s just a fantasy.”
Allie took a longer look at her friend. “You look great.”
Tess blushed and glanced down at herself. “Well, I’m not Zoe, but I’ve lost weight, although I still have a ways to go.”
“How’d you do it? Because my diet of stale Teddy Grahams and half-picked-apart chicken fingers isn’t working.”
Tess smiled. “Mostly it’s that I’m not eating Hershey’s Kisses while I sit on the couch and breastfeed. And I’m not popping M&Ms while I stress about whether to go back to work, and I’m not—”
“Hang on,” Allie said. She turned to her kids. “You guys need lotion before you go any further.”
“No lotion!” Matthew yelled.
Allie rolled her eyes at Tess.
“How’s Gavin with the whole back to work thing?” Allie said as she lathered up a squirming Gillian.
“He encouraged it.” Tess chuckled. “I’m sure he wanted me to stop eating chocolate too.”
Allie took Gillian’s hand and they stepped together into the pool.
“So, I wanted to—Oh!” Tess said, as she reached for Juliette. “That’s not yours honey.” She eased a green plastic shovel out of her daughter’s hand and handed it to the mother standing nearby. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” the woman said. “Hilary doesn’t mind sharing, do you Hilary?” She handed the shovel back to Juliette; Hilary screamed. The mom sighed. “We’re just learning to share.”
“I’m so sorry,” Allie said. They all laughed.
A fourth mother, who was in earshot, joined the conversation and the women became a temporary sorority, sharing pretzels, juice boxes, and bottles of water, and throwing out half-sentences from their strategic positions around the pool deck, never quite getting more than a few thoughts out into the warm summer air before one of them was leaping to a corner or calling out to one of their kids.
As lunchtime approached and the tears started to rival the dimpled smiles, Allie strategized the next hour of her day, weighing toddler crankiness against the sheer necessity of the supermarket.
“This is going to be fun.” Allie rolled her eyes at Tess as she started to pick up the Lion King figurines, which were strewn all around, and in, the pool.
“Promise them a lollipop if they’re good,” Tess said.
“Any more sugar is just going to work against me,” All
ie said. “And anyway, it’s my fault for waiting so long. I deserve whatever they dish out. I’m just going to hold tight to the cart and never let go.” She glanced at her watch. “Six more hours.”
“Until relief walks in?”
“It’s the golden bullseye in my day. It doesn’t matter what time he tells me it’s going to be, I start looking forward to it around lunchtime.”
“It doesn’t matter what time?” Tess smiled.
“Okay.” Allie smirked back. “But I can at least deal if I can aim for a time. It’s when he’s really late and doesn’t call that I want to throttle him.”
Tess nodded. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something, but it’s too hard to talk here; it’s like being at an ADHD convention, I’d get about half the story out, and you’d hear even less.”
Allie appraised her friend. “You okay? Is it an emergency?”
“I’m fine and no.” They decided on dinner next week.
————
Allie arrived home and breathed in the cool peacefulness of her house, relishing the relief of home after a meltdown at the store. She savored it for 15 seconds before the sleepy abode shook back into life and she rushed to get the kids into fresh diapers and dry clothes, lunch on the table, and groceries put away, all with Maddy trailing her so closely that she kept tripping over him. Finally, after Gillian was down for a nap (or at least captive in her crib), and Matthew was snuggled up on the couch for quiet time (a half-hour video of a real construction site—pure genius), she took the desperate dog out for a few quick throws of the tennis ball.
All dependents taken care of for the moment, Allie slapped together a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She was quite definitely a waitress during the kids’ lunch—retrieving more milk, another napkin, a dropped spoon, or wiping up some kind of spill; her own lunch waited until the kids were settled into their various prone positions. She didn’t mind; in theory, eating lunch alone was a quiet luxury, although in reality she stole bites while doing other things. She found it hard to sit still while so much lay in wait for her during this midday hole: bills, phone calls (I’ve got to call Megan), laundry, various messes. Food had now become simply fuel.
With a full tank and a few things crossed off her list (and a few more added), she settled down on the floor with Matthew to play cars. While she drove her red Matchbox Corvette around the colored curves of the oriental rug, she debated whether he could spare her attention as long as he had her motions, at least for the few minutes it would take her to call Megan. But Megan wasn’t at her desk, so after leaving a message, “Just checking in to see how you’re feeling,” she dialed Zoe.
“I have about one second before I have to get my butt into a meeting,” Zoe said. “What’s up?”
“Not much, just driving my Corvette.”
“Hang on a sec. No, that needs to be copied,” Zoe’s muffled voice said to someone in her office. “Sorry,” she said to Allie.
“No problem. How are you?”
“Actually, a little hungover,” Zoe said. “I’m on my fourth cup of coffee and it’s… oh my God, it’s three o’clock.”
“Hungover, that sounds interesting,” Allie said as Matthew drove a car up her leg.
“Eric took me to a fundraiser last night. Potentially deadly, but it turned out to be highly entertaining, or at least, our table was. There was the most amazingly gorgeous man, have you ever heard of Colin Parkman? As in Parkman Books? The son and heir apparent; I couldn’t keep my eyes off of him. Anyway, we were up until four or so, and I basically crawled into work this morning.”
“And how was your date with the fact that you were ogling someone else?”
“Ogling?” Zoe laughed. “Oblivious, I think.”
Allie heard papers shuffling.
Zoe continued, “That Parkman guy had a date anyway. I just hope I run into him again. I’m going to have to work on that. A new project.”
Allie chuckled. Zoe’s lifestyle amused her, and she liked to think that she lived vicariously, if not a little enviously, through her friend’s latest dates, fabulous clothes, and special events.
“How’s Meg?” Zoe asked. “I keep meaning to call, but I’ve been swamped.”
“She’s more confident now that she’s at 12 weeks. But I think she’s still nervous.”
“Can you blame her? How far along was she the last time?
“About 10 weeks. It was just after her honeymoon.”
“I remember. That was awful.” Zoe paused. “A few more weeks and she’ll be out of the woods, right?”
“I think so. You can miscarry at any time, but the chances decrease the further along you are.”
“Oh shit—Allie, I’ve got to run, sorry. I’m going to the Hamptons with Eric this weekend, but maybe next week we could get together? Any interest in coming into the city?”
“Sounds great. I—” Allie could hear someone coming into her office as Zoe hung up the phone.
————
Five thirty. Dinnertime, a.k.a. Hell Hour. Or really more like purgatory, a frenetic holding area where one false move drops you down into fire and angst and absolute chaos. There was a sense of urgency—panic really—quivering inside Allie as she raced around the kitchen. Everyone needed her, right now, this minute; the kids, the dog, the boiling macaroni.
Thank God Dana will be home soon.
The shrill ring of the phone was just another needy hand clawing at her. She ignored it. She had to get this mac and cheese on the table before there was a meltdown of catastrophic proportions. Megan’s voice echoed out from the machine—“Allie, you there?”—and Allie leaned over and grabbed the receiver as Matthew roared indignantly from the other room.
“Oh Meg, hold on a minute. Matthew, what’s going on?”
“Gillian’s messing up my game!”
“Dinner’s almost ready, just play with her for a minute.”
Both children screamed like they were being stabbed in the heart.
“No! I was playing that first!” Matthew shouted.
Another scream.
Allie wanted to scream too. “Okay you guys, hang on a minute, I’ll be right there!”
“Bad time, huh?” Megan said.
“You combine exhausted and starving and it’s not pretty,” Allie snorted. “And I’m just talking about myself. Can I call you back? So sorry,” Allie said over the shrieks from the other room. She hung up as the timer on the stove screeched. She dumped the steaming macaroni into the colander in the sink and sprinted into the playroom.
Gillian and Matthew were red-faced with rage in the middle of an explosion of colored blocks; they looked like soggy-diapered prizefighters, each sizing up their respective opponent with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Along the edges of the room, empty plastic bins were upside down next to heaps of Legos, cars, dolls, balls, plastic Happy Meal figures. The room looked like the town dump, minus the flies.
“What is going on?” Allie’s words were clipped, her jaw clenched.
“Gillian kicked over my tower!” Matthew swiped at Gillian and connected with her plump leg. Gillian fell backwards onto the blocks. She started to wail.
A scream surged up through Allie’s throat and out into the room, a scream erupting from some primal place. She clenched her fists. “Enough, you guys. Enough!” She was shaking as she scooped up Gillian; grabbed Matthew by the arm, bent down to his face, and growled, “We don’t push.” Her heart was pounding. She marched into the kitchen, holding Gillian stiffly in one arm, and towing Matthew with the other. She had a flash of her mother’s face, twisted with rage, and Allie was in pigtails again, standing underneath her mother’s wild-eyed glare, anger and shame and guilt and dread knotting together in the pit of her stomach.
She deposited both kids at the table and slapped macaroni and cheese into two blue bowls. She stomped back over to the count
er to pour milk, mumbling about manners, the mess, the missed call with Megan.
She plunked the bowls and the milk down on the table. “Eat your dinner.”
Matthew opened his mouth to say something.
She knew he was going to cry. She didn’t care. “The yellow bowls are dirty. Eat.” Allie’s voice was steel.
Both kids looked at her with wide eyes, their faces wet with tears.
Allie turned away and stared into the sink filled with dirty dishes. The emotional vomit in her stomach curdled into a wave of self-loathing. It roiled inside of her, obliterating all five senses. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear. Black self-hatred became everything she was. Her body buckled with it, surrendering, as if succumbing to a familiar demon’s clutch. She clutched the edge of the sink to stop from collapsing.
I hate myself.
I hate my kids.
I hate my mother.
I hate myself.
She slid to the floor into a broken pile and put her hands over her face. She was a failure; a wretched daughter, a witch of a mother. The weight of self-hatred was crushing her; soon she would extinguish. She waited for it. She closed her eyes.
Some minutes later, Matthew’s warm body nestled into the curve of her body on the floor. The whisper of his breath grazed her face. She put her arms around him and squeezed him close.
————
At 7:30, Dana braced himself as sat in the car in the driveway, the funny story about a colleague that he had wanted to share with Allie now buried under his growing defensiveness about the time. He was an hour and a half late. She was going to be simmering.
He hated feeling this way at the end of the day, as if he was going to get punished for simply doing his job. His success or failure, once something that had felt recreational, now had deep repercussions on the people he loved. He was fully aware that as the breadwinner, their sovereignty as a family rested solely on him. Ironically, the more freedom that his job provided them, the more he felt as if his own personal choices narrowed.
He glanced again at his watch, although he knew exactly what time it was. He should go in. He massaged the back of his neck.
The Truth Is a Theory Page 27