I had signed up to bring mashed potatoes to the preschool Thanksgiving Feast. The Cat’s teacher then strongly suggested that I be one of the parent helpers at the actual feast so that I could dole out the appropriate food on the Cat’s plate and so that I could be around to mediate what she expected would be a stressful situation for him.

I have mixed feelings about being present for such events because sometimes I think he “gives up” faster if his mom is in the room. If I am there, he can put on a show for me. He can expect to leave early (which we did.) And I knew it would be tricky to have Spliggle around. However, I agreed to be there.

Husband made mashed potatoes. He used six potatoes, which we both thought would be fine. When we have potatoes for ourselves, we use fewer and end up with enormous quantities of leftovers. Somehow, these six shrank into a paltry helping, so Husband made another six. I made biscuits that the Cat could eat, since I knew other parents were bringing instant-bake type biscuits that would have preservatives in them. We were running late, and I didn’t have time to put on makeup or attempt to look put together in any meaningful way.

Someone else also made mashed potatoes. I was running after Splig while trying to eye the mashed potatoes to make sure I knew where “mine” were at all times so the plate I made for the Cat would contain those potatoes and not some that might potentially have artificial margarine or something in it. I was also making sure that the plate I had set aside (far away on a piano) wouldn’t accidentally have cranberry sauce or gravy put on it. I hid the biscuits I made until I could put a couple on the Cat’s plate. Then I put the rest out for the other kids.

I heard the screams before I saw the Cat, and knew it was him. The children all marched in with Pilgrim hats and collars. All except the Cat, of course, who was shrieking. The teacher looked at me as I called out, “Hey buddy, ready for a feast?” and said to me, “We even put green cats on his collar, but that obviously didn’t help.”

I had strapped Spliggle in his stroller and put him in a corner with a biscuit and some milk. I had a hard time attending to the Cat while knowing that Splig was also unhappy. Yet if I let him out, he would have run out of the room and towards the construction zone as he had the entire hour preceding the feast.

The other kids lined up on the wall and were joined with the three year old class who had been dressed as Indians. (Yeah, we aren’t very PC, but it was cute!) Every three year old was dressed as an Indian. Every four year old was dressed as a Pilgrim, except the Cat. All the kids smiled to have their photograph taken. The Cat was standing next to me, whimpering.

The kids sat down. I directed the Cat to a place near one of the kids he enjoys. He was skeptical, but obeyed. I brought him a plate with corn, mashed potatoes, and two turkey-shaped biscuits. He screamed. Apparently, the mashed potatoes that Husband had worked so hard to make and I had guarded so carefully were offending him. They had to be scraped off before he would touch his biscuit. (The corn didn’t disturb him, but he wouldn’t eat it.)

The Cat squirmed, ate a little, cried, complained, turned around in his seat, looked for me, grabbed Spliggle’s stroller to race him around the room, screamed when I directed him back to the table, and the cycle repeated again.

I sat down with my lunch, took Splig out of his stroller, and started feeding him. I figured I’d ignore the Cat for a bit in the hopes that he would continue sitting with his friends.

One of the moms said, “Oh, this is supposed to be fun!” while she looked over at the Cat. He then ran up to me and jumped in my lap.

I was angry and disappointed at the Cat. But I was also sad for him and worried about how scared he was. But most of all, I was selfishly jealous. All the other kids had dressed up. All the other kids had their picture taken. All the other kids were sitting nicely. All the other kids were participating. None were crying. The other mothers were all beaming at their little angels.

I am thankful that none of the other mothers made negative comments or nasty looks or anything like that. I imagine they just assumed it was an isolated bad day. Or maybe they knew that he is frequently “the odd one.” I didn’t feel pressure from them that I was a failure, but I felt it from myself. I blew everything out of proportion: Why were the other younger siblings quiet in their strollers or wandering around within their proper limits whereas Splig would have run far away and was now screaming in his stroller? Why were the other kids just so “perfect?” Why were the other moms made up so perfectly and how come they have tiny waists and exquisite hair?

I collected the kids and exited as quickly and quietly as I could. It was an hour before preschool was to end.

Once I had loaded everything and everybody into the van, the Cat announced that he had to pee. I was frustrated already and doubly-so because as the Cat spoke, he was kicking off his shoes. I told him that he shouldn’t have taken his shoes off if he expected to go to the bathroom. I started to drive away. He screamed. I explained calmly that if he asked me politely, we would go to Grandma and Grandpa’s to use their toilet (I really didn’t want to put his shoes on and use the preschool potty when I had been so eager to get out of there.)

He asked properly, so I drove to my parents’. My mom was there, and started doling out advice about the Cat’s behavior. It wasn’t the right time, and I was frustrated. Given how mobile Spliggle is, and how wild the Cat was Wednesday, my mother shook her head and explained that she would only be able to baby-sit one of them while I went to a luncheon the next day.

The luncheon Thursday was the annual charity holiday fashion show that a posh woman’s organization throws each Thanksgiving. My aunt is a member of this society and enjoys buying tickets for all of the women in the family. Typically, my mom goes along with me. This year, she announced that she would baby-sit the boys and forgo her spot.

But now she was reneging on it. She explained that when she had made the original promise, she had suspected that my dad would be around to help her. (My dad is semi-retired, so although he works, he makes his own hours and can typically help out for a few hours.) But she remembered that while all the women go to the festival, all the men go out to lunch. She didn’t want to make him miss The Guys Traditional Lunch.

She asked if perhaps Husband could take one of the boys.

I froze. I was already sad about what a disaster the preschool feast was, and I was looking forward to having a couple hours to go to a fancy luncheon. But now I would have to ask my husband last-minute to watch one kid while my mom watched the other? I didn’t want to rely on either of them, and figured I would give up my spot to my mom. Why inconvenience two people just so I could go to lunch? I wanted to scream. I hate being in this position. (I’ve tried finding local sitters, but my friends don’t have recommendations, and I am distrusting of simply calling up random teenagers. And teenagers aren’t available in the middle of the day.) Yet I know that even if I had a nanny, that person could call in sick. I am never completely off the hook.

Thankfully, as I drove home, my mom called to let me know that my dad would help with the boys. I was glad, but I knew what had happened: for me to go to the luncheon, my mom was missing it herself, and my father was missing the annual guys’ lunch out. Guilt.

But I pushed the guilt aside, and woke up Thursday morning ready to take on the group of diamond-dripped women. I dressed up in a satiny green shirt with fake jewels and a swishy pair of black pants that looks like a skirt. I wore green jeweled shoes and elaborate earrings. I felt fancy. As I floated into the event, I saw some people look twice. One lady complimented me, saying my shirt looked like one she had seen Oprah wearing.

I enjoyed hanging out with my aunt and cousin. (My other cousins had various excuses for why they were absent.) Lunch was delicious: salmon, roasted vegetables, and a creamy risotto. We had tiramisu and See’s candy for dessert while we watched the elaborate fashion show with its empowering and festive music. I had essentially a front-row seat on the runway and felt wonderful. My aunt purchased a centerpiece for me, so I lugged home an enormously heavy mirrored box that had been stuffed with greenery (along with gold leaves.)

For those short hours, I had a wonderful time!

When I returned to pick up the kids, I got more advice from my mom: time outs on a stool, stricter discipline, make him wear sweaters that aren’t green, read him a variety of books. And I got a call from my brother that a client of mine wondered if I had received his email (because I was so swamped, I hadn’t responded yet.) And I got more emails from other clients with updates. I was so overwhelmed!

But I pressed on, and got a lot of work done last night. I then tackled the kitchen, and finally the play area that had been a disaster even before our trip. I knew I had to vacuum up the decorative corn that the Cat and his friend had strewn about during my packing day.

I was angry and at a definite breaking point. But once I vacuumed the play area, Husband swooped in to finish vacuuming the family room. He knew I was at the brink and thankfully stepped in so that I could go to bed.

I thought today would be okay. I have some work to do, but not extremely urgent. My dad is picking up the Cat from preschool, so I figured I would have a bunch of time this afternoon since I wouldn’t have to worry about him. I envisioned going grocery shopping, and perhaps stopping by the mall to find some Thanksgiving outfits for the kids (and me.)

When I brought the Cat to preschool, his teacher looked at me wearily and asked, “Did he calm down after Wednesday?”

I didn’t want to think about Wednesday.

“Um, no not really.” I tried to be dismissive and to look busy as I put his belongings in his cubby.

“Because something is really wrong with him. He needs help. His social skills are lacking.” She announced.

I looked up from the sign in sheet and went through my spiel: yes, I know he needs help, yes we have tried to get help, yes I know early intervention is best but nobody seems to be able to help us.

“Early intervention is really important. Have you talked to his pediatrician?”

Yes, duh. Did she not remember how there had been a psychologist observing him in class two weeks into the school year?

“Kindergarten will be really difficult for him. Thankfully, these kids don’t shun him. They like him. But next year will be different.”

She went on to ask which school system he would be in, whether we had pursued private help, and so forth.

I didn’t want to have this conversation and this time. I didn’t want to continue to hear how my child is so different from the other kids and how it will be a “disaster” next year. There are times when I want to have a serious conversation about specific examples of how he is different, but this was not the time.

I started to cry. I felt so embarrassed, both for my child and because I was crying in front of the teacher and the other parents. Forget it, I am done pretending like everything is okay! Those other parents in their size-0 jeans and fancy jewelry now know that I have been defeated. I shouldn’t care about what others think, but I do. I hate that my child is the odd one, and because of that, I am also in a different class. And for me to cry, well that just proves I am unstable and not put together like those other women. At least that is how it feels, even though I know it isn’t true.

In book club at the beginning of this week, one of my friends explained how she had gotten so frustrated and sad that she went driving once her husband and children had fallen asleep. She told her husband she’d be gone for awhile so that he would know, but then she just drove around to think and to get the anger out of her system. She says she ended up in Barnes & Noble in the “I am a bad parent, so I need a parenting book” section.

I feel that way frequently. I love my kids, but sometimes I just have to get away.

As I wheeled Splig to the van, he vomited all over the cheap loner stroller. (I find that kind of amusing actually, since I hate it and wish to wring the neck of U.S. Air for losing my Maclaren.) I put him in his car-seat and he christened that as well with large white globs of sour milk. So much for my shopping idea. He is now in his crib, sleeping intermittent with loud screaming.

And I had to rant. Sorry. ;-)

So as to leave this post on a happy note, here is what I am thankful for:

• That my son does not have a terminal illness or other more challenging condition.


• That the day is crisp and sunny such that I can have all the van windows down so that the vomit smell will air out


• That my husband and I talked about the next steps we should take in our journey towards getting the Cat help. (We’ll get a preliminary evaluation from a private psychologist – pricy, but perhaps worth it. And I will press the Government Sponsored Caseworker who hasn’t yet phoned us.)


• That my birthday is Monday. We are having a family dinner tomorrow, then a Husband and me only dinner Monday night.


• That Harry Potter is coming out. And Rent soon thereafter


• That I have wonderful bloggy friends such that I am not embarrassed to be writing about my shortcomings, frustrations, and selfish behavior. I enjoy reading about your lives, and appreciate that you take the time to read about mine.


• That I have great “in person” friends who also want to drive around screaming to get away from their kids, or that friend who is pondering purchase of beautiful winter china but needs confirmation from the rest of us to go ahead and do it. To my college friends who I saw this past weekend, I love you guys. To those I see at Book Club, you are quickly becoming very important to me. I know I have friends who appreciate and value me, even if I feel that I don’t fit in with those women at the Cat’s preschool


• That my Grandmother is 94 years old and strong mentally. She’s been having chest pains recently and I know that she won’t be around forever. But she just celebrated her 94th birthday, and she and I will be having a joint family party tomorrow evening.


• That my dad takes the Cat home from preschool every Friday to play with him


• That my family is local. We’ll be having a 30-plus person feast next Thursday. It is local, so no traveling nightmares!


• And of course I am thankful that I have clothes, food, shelter, and all of those “mandatory” and yet sometimes forgotten things. One of the shopping errands I had hoped to run today was to purchase gifts for one of the several families that my mom’s club has adopted for the holidays. I will be buying for a nine year old boy. During the conference last weekend, one of my Society-mates gave an amazing presentation of her time doing medical work down in New Orleans. That is something to really cry about. She was articulate and her photographs were telling. I am thankful that I have things those people no longer do. So I know I shouldn’t be angry that my camera died and the stroller is gone.