Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Superwoman's Secret

I woke--45 minutes early--to the sound of a crying toddler, who was, himself, awake 90 minutes early.

I rescued him from the crib, and I cuddled and comforted.  I provided toys as distraction.  I escaped for a quick shower.  I provided crayons as distraction.  I switched a load of laundry and got dressed.  I provided food as distraction.  I packed breakfasts and lunches and drinks and snacks.  I lured our kitty cat from her haven in the backyard so as to provide one more foolproof distraction.  I switched and folded a final load of laundry, and packed the car.  I hurried to use the bathroom before we left, as this baby appears to favor my bladder as its most comfortable resting spot.  Miraculously, we made it out of the house on time, and completed the babysitter drop off and work commute without further complications.

I arrived at work to a mailbox full of new documents to peruse.  I booted up my computer.  I made a bagel.  I skimmed documents.  I attended an impromptu kitchen meeting while buttering my bagel.  I checked our program's database for updates.  I delivered necessary documents to the classroom, stopping quickly in the restroom on the way.  Our first student arrived early with her toddler, and our school day began.

I cuddled the toddler, because she is a marvelous cuddler, and because her greeting is a flying leap through midair, landing in my arms, limbs wrapping tightly around my waist and neck.  In the face of such a greeting, what choice does one have, really, other than to cuddle?  I took her to the classroom, and set her up with a big fat paintbrush, a fresh cup of water, and a brand new package of watercolor paints.  I sat across from her with the latest database printout, and my own records, to cross reference.  We worked hard together, comparing, contrasting and combining: her colors and my figures, while we waited for the other teachers and students to arrive.

I kept one eye on the classroom gate, awaiting the rest of our crew.  A rambunctious baby was carried in, attempting to escape her infant carseat, and clamoring for a bottle.  A tired toddler rolled in, running late, and needing a quiet space to sit and prepare for the busy morning ahead.  Two teachers appeared, bearing apple juice and cereal.  I held hands, guided children to chairs, poured cereal, laid out thick mats for almost-crawling babies to safely explore, took attendance, greeted and sent parents to various rooms for testing or tutoring.  Then I ran to use the bathroom, and retreated to my office to analyze data and write reports.

I cross-referenced the first report and discovered three errors that will take us from noncompliance to compliance for the month of May.  I added them to a master list of changes to send our data entry person.  I raced from my office to the classroom to teach a parenting class.  I took one look around at the particular group of parents present, tossed my lesson plan to the wind, and pulled a new, more appropriate plan out of thin air.  I assigned an exercise, sprinted back to my office, procured new supplies, stopped at the copier to make copies, ran back to the classroom.  I taught my new lesson.  Class dismissed!

I printed reports for an afternoon meeting.  I organized information.  I ate bites of lunch in between receiving and replying to text messages, photocopying papers for all parties expected, cross-referencing columns of data, taking notes, and discussing potential problems and possible solutions with a colleague.  I ran to the bathroom right before the start of the meeting and noticed a pair of baby pajamas, clean and unfolded, next to the changing table.  A new mom had been searching for a clean outfit for her daughter who had wet right through the diaper and soaked her clothes, and she'd left the extra, unchosen outfit out.  I stopped to touch the soft, white, fluffy fabric before folding it and putting it away in the extra clothing bin, where it will wait for another such accident, sure to occur before too long.  I daydreamed about my own sweet baby-to-be, and smiled at the thought of adorable brand-new baby pajamas, while I emptied my bladder for the umpteenth time.

I attended the meeting.  I presented the latest findings from our program data.  I fielded questions, and made notations, and helped to brainstorm, and when the meeting ended I sat alone with piles of paperwork, and tracked down answers, and recorded them, and finally I stacked the piles of paperwork, dropped them on my desk, made a pit stop at the restroom on the way out, and drove home.

I cooked lasagna.  While my husband cooked lasagna (even Superwoman has her kryptonite), I hugged and kissed my son, and switched and folded laundry, and changed into sweatpants, and read stories about pokey puppies and scrawny lions, and youtubed nursery rhymes, and sang along, and tidied the living room, and sent an e-mail, and checked a voice mail, and switched another load of laundry, and read another small stack of books.  Then I sat down with my family and we shared some delicious lasagna.

And then, at the very end of this long, productive day, I went into the bathroom one last time, sat down, suddenly noticed seams where there shouldn't be any seams, and realized ..... my underwear have been inside out.

All day long.  And this is the first time, in my many, many stops today, that I have noticed a single thing.

If today I am Superwoman, and cooking is my kryptonite, perhaps this is the source of my power?  I might just have to try it again tomorrow, in order to find out for sure.

No comments:

Post a Comment