I Want My Mommy

A professional organizer—who am I kidding? What I really want is a mom. Not a mom like me—one who doesn’t keep up with the laundry, goes to bed before her 12 year old, and almost never bakes. I want a REAL mom to take care of me; to take care of my family for me.

My mom died of breast cancer when I was 13, and up until today, I’d have told you this: that her death made me extremely independent. Mature. Self-reliant. Responsible.

Yeah, yeah.

Today I’m looking at my life differently: I don’t want to be responsible. I’d like to buy back those missing years of my childhood. I figure I have 7 years coming to me, credits for ages 13-21. I’ll take them now, please.

In order to do so, I’ll need a mom. To buy the groceries, and cook healthy meals. To do my laundry. Deep cleaning! Wow! That would be so cool! To keep track of schedules, arrange rides. To simply be there, so I could be free to come and go.

I’m leaving in two hours to drive to Dubuque for the Iowa Library Association conference, where I’m presenting about Project Smyles, the early literacy outreach program that I helped create for our library. I’ll be gone for three days. I arranged for babysitters, made phone calls, arranged rides. I’ll stock the fridge before I go. I’ll scoop out Smokey’s litter box. I’ll keep my cell phone charged, and I’ll call home each night.

But...someone else will prepare my meals. Change my sheets; wash my towels. I’ll watch tonight’s presidential debate uninterrupted, and I may even drink as I do so! The conference schedule will structure my days for me. Don will take care of himself and the kids.

It won’t be a slumber party. It isn’t 7 years—not even 7 days. But it will be a change of pace, a chance to recharge a little—get re-energized about work. Sometime Friday evening, somewhere on Highway 20, as I drive back to Ames, I’ll morph back into a mom. And when I do, the universe will still owe me little mothering. Somehow, someday, I intend to collect.