Life with a second grader and a kindergartenerwas always busy, especially when you were working full time.Elizabeth felt like she never got a chance to breathe. Somethingalways needed to be addressed. Some fire needed to be put out. Shelooked around at the kitchen, with her counter covered in papersand dishes piled up in and around the sink. She closed her eyestightly and tried to take deep calming breaths before she totallysnapped. She balled her fists and pressed them tightly to her eyes,hoping that when she opened them, the house would miraculously beas organized as her calendar. Some days, she could pull it togetherand she felt like Helen Reddy, Martha Stewart and Supernanny allrolled into one. Other days, she felt like a hybrid of MommyDearest and Cruella de Ville. Today was a Mommy Dearest/Cruellakind of day. The thought of facing the week alone was too much forher to handle on a Monday morning.
"Peter, since you're going away this week, doyou think you can get the kids on the bus this morning. It'll be myonly chance to get in early."
Peter was pouring his coffee, spilling creameron the counter. He stirred his coffee, licked the spoon and put itdown on the counter, next to the drops of creamer. He didn't answerher before leaving the room to watch CNBC in the living room.Elizabeth let out another exasperated sigh and wiped the counter.She threw the spoon into the sink, startling the kids sitting atthe counter, waiting to be served. She wished she could break everysingle dish in the sink. It took all the restraint she had not tostart smashing plates. The only thing that stopped her was theknowledge that she would have to clean it all up. She was seriouslyon the verge of losing it. She wiped again, using too much force,and then proceeded to vigorously scrub the rest of the counter.Well, at least the part that was not covered in papers and shit.Elizabeth knew she needed to calm down. She bent over, resting herhead on her arms on the newly cleaned counter. Sydney,ever-compassionate, even for a five-year-old, said, "Mommy, why areyou sad?"
Elizabeth steeled herself and raised her head,trying to make the rage go away. "I just have a case of theMondays, that's all." She turned on her nice-Mommy voice. "What doyou want for breakfast?"
"Can I have eggs?" Sydney asked. Elizabethlooked at the clock. The kids needed to leave for the bus stop intwelve minutes. So much for getting to work early. "No, sweetie. Wedon’t have time. Tomorrow morning we'll plan better and have eggsthen."
This was her life. Every day. The same hecticrushing. The same refereeing. The same disdainful looks from herhusband when she lost her shit. The same feelings of inadequacy inher marriage. The same feelings of guilt at being a working mom.The same feelings of failing to live up to the standards that theother mothers set. The same feelings of needing approval of theother mothers at school, to somehow reassure her that she was agood wife, mother and volunteer. Elizabeth's life was certainly notun-full, but it was unfulfilling. She dare not admit that out loudthough. What would the other mothers at school think? It waspitiful, she knew. Elizabeth feared that if her marriage failed, asit seemed destined to, the other mothers at school would judge herand, in turn, her children would be ostracized. It was pitiful thathere, in the face of her failing marriage, she cared more aboutwhat the school community thought, than about the prospect oflosing her husband. It was stupid, she knew.
Elizabeth tried. Lord knows, she tried to bethe best wife and mother she could. She was not an idiot. She couldtell where her life was heading. She knew it was only a matter oftime before Peter stopped coming home at all. When he was home, allthey did was bicker. They no longer saw eye-to-eye on anything.They really did not have a marriage anymore. She thought that thisrealization should devastate her; it didn't. It did, however,terrify her. Not because she feared the logistics of thesituation—she had been on her own so much in the seven years sinceTeddy was born that she knew she could handle that aspect. Shewould hate it, but she could certainly handle it. She felt often,even on days when Peter was home, like she was a single parent,shouldering all of the responsibility alone. Rather, she wasterrified of the financial burden. She knew of other women whosehusbands had left them, and they were financially ruined. Teachingspecial education at a local preschool did not pay well. She wasnot financially stable without Peter's support.
Somehow, Elizabeth managed to pull herselftogether, get the kids off to school and get to work. Dealing withfifteen three-and four-year-olds with various levels of disabilitywas draining. By the time her day was done at 2 p.m., Elizabethfelt like she barely had the strength to walk to her car. Theenergy it took to repress her depression was considerable. It lefther drained and disconnected. She drove, on autopilot, to thegrocery store. She silently berated herself for not going on theweekend, but her free time was so precious that she hated to spendit at the market. She should have clipped coupons, because Peterwas so tight with the money, but in her own passive aggressivemanner, she purposely resisted out of spite. She wandered up anddown the aisles, half in a daze, throwing items that lookedappealing into the cart. Occasionally, she had to back track,forgetting that she needed onions for the stew, and thenremembering that she needed tomato sauce for the pizza. With
