don’t pick today to regress. Please,
pal.
I push the bowl toward him again,
strangely reminiscent of the situation with Lissa at the diner.
But when he pushes the bowl back
this time, it goes crashing to the floor. I try to snag it in mid-air, but stub
my toe on the table leg. Then I slide into the table, soaking my shirt in the milk
puddle that’s now dripping onto the floor. A few drops hang from Cade’s nose
from the splatter. He giggles and draws a happy face in the milk.
So I guess the saying should be never
reach for a falling knife or falling bowl . Good to know.
One more smiley face in the spilled
milk and I lose it.
“Cade,” I yell and he freezes. I
don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice around him before. “Look at the mess you’ve
made. I have a big day and you’re making it so hard on me.”
I throw my own little tantrum then,
slamming drawers and stomping around as I clean the mess. And when I move onto
Cade, his eyes go wide as saucers and his bottom lip trembles.
“Sorry, mama,” he says. “I didn’t
mean to.”
“Why won’t you just eat your
breakfast?” I ask, pleading.
“It hurts my neck,” he says.
“What?”
He rubs his throat and now it’s me
whimpering. I’m yelling at the kid and he probably has strep throat or
something. God, I’m a terrible mother.
I pick him up and we snuggle on the
couch to watch a cartoon together, both still wet from the spilled milk.
That’s where Serena finds us.
“Why aren’t you two ready to go?”
she asks. “It’s getting late.”
I fill her in on the story while
she cleans up Cade and I try to straighten up.
“He’ll be fine, A,” Serena says.
“If his throat is still bothering him at lunchtime, we’ll head over to the
minute clinic.”
“Maybe I should stay home.” I feel
panic coming on.
“You can’t do that. It’s your first
day.”
“Tell that to my brain,” I say,
packing up the rest of Cade’s bag. “Because all I want to do is take care of my
boy.”
***
Once I leave the house, the day
doesn’t get any better. On campus, an asshole with a lacrosse stick takes my
parking spot.
“I had my blinker on,” I scream out
my window.
“Didn’t see it.” He winks. Winks! “Sorry, babe.”
It’s the last close spot near my
first class because everyone drives here. It’s a big commuter school. So I
drive around forever and end up in the Siberia lot by the lacrosse fields of
all places.
The universe is clearly fucking
with me today.
So I end up ten minutes late for my
first class, wearing my only clean jeans which are old, faded, and full of finger-paints.
Washable paint, my ass. My hair is hanging in clumps by my face, sticky from
the Cheerio milk I was bathed in this morning, and I forgot to brush my teeth.
But worst of all, my heart still
aches from the way I treated Cade. Maybe I should just stick to being a
waitress and forget school. What if I’m one of those people who can’t handle
stress? What if I can’t do it?
I don’t have much time to ponder
those questions because my mind is busy. Too busy for the internal dialogue
that usually rules my day, and that is a welcome change.
After recovering from the
embarrassment of arriving late, I actually enjoy anatomy. While I was pregnant
in Iowa, I was able to fit in one semester of generals before Cade arrived. I
was one of the last students to register there, but managed to pick up two general
science courses. It couldn’t have been more perfect for the nursing program,
because biology and chemistry are prerequisites for some of the courses. I’m
amazed that I finally did something right.
After the class housekeeping is
taken care of, we begin with cells. Okay, I can do this. Cells are fine; cells
I can handle. Maybe I can slowly work up to the blood and guts.
During class, nobody stares at my
jeans or sticky hair. Most everyone keeps to themselves. Whether they’re listening
to the lecture or staring into space, I
pal.
I push the bowl toward him again,
strangely reminiscent of the situation with Lissa at the diner.
But when he pushes the bowl back
this time, it goes crashing to the floor. I try to snag it in mid-air, but stub
my toe on the table leg. Then I slide into the table, soaking my shirt in the milk
puddle that’s now dripping onto the floor. A few drops hang from Cade’s nose
from the splatter. He giggles and draws a happy face in the milk.
So I guess the saying should be never
reach for a falling knife or falling bowl . Good to know.
One more smiley face in the spilled
milk and I lose it.
“Cade,” I yell and he freezes. I
don’t think I’ve ever raised my voice around him before. “Look at the mess you’ve
made. I have a big day and you’re making it so hard on me.”
I throw my own little tantrum then,
slamming drawers and stomping around as I clean the mess. And when I move onto
Cade, his eyes go wide as saucers and his bottom lip trembles.
“Sorry, mama,” he says. “I didn’t
mean to.”
“Why won’t you just eat your
breakfast?” I ask, pleading.
“It hurts my neck,” he says.
“What?”
He rubs his throat and now it’s me
whimpering. I’m yelling at the kid and he probably has strep throat or
something. God, I’m a terrible mother.
I pick him up and we snuggle on the
couch to watch a cartoon together, both still wet from the spilled milk.
That’s where Serena finds us.
“Why aren’t you two ready to go?”
she asks. “It’s getting late.”
I fill her in on the story while
she cleans up Cade and I try to straighten up.
“He’ll be fine, A,” Serena says.
“If his throat is still bothering him at lunchtime, we’ll head over to the
minute clinic.”
“Maybe I should stay home.” I feel
panic coming on.
“You can’t do that. It’s your first
day.”
“Tell that to my brain,” I say,
packing up the rest of Cade’s bag. “Because all I want to do is take care of my
boy.”
***
Once I leave the house, the day
doesn’t get any better. On campus, an asshole with a lacrosse stick takes my
parking spot.
“I had my blinker on,” I scream out
my window.
“Didn’t see it.” He winks. Winks! “Sorry, babe.”
It’s the last close spot near my
first class because everyone drives here. It’s a big commuter school. So I
drive around forever and end up in the Siberia lot by the lacrosse fields of
all places.
The universe is clearly fucking
with me today.
So I end up ten minutes late for my
first class, wearing my only clean jeans which are old, faded, and full of finger-paints.
Washable paint, my ass. My hair is hanging in clumps by my face, sticky from
the Cheerio milk I was bathed in this morning, and I forgot to brush my teeth.
But worst of all, my heart still
aches from the way I treated Cade. Maybe I should just stick to being a
waitress and forget school. What if I’m one of those people who can’t handle
stress? What if I can’t do it?
I don’t have much time to ponder
those questions because my mind is busy. Too busy for the internal dialogue
that usually rules my day, and that is a welcome change.
After recovering from the
embarrassment of arriving late, I actually enjoy anatomy. While I was pregnant
in Iowa, I was able to fit in one semester of generals before Cade arrived. I
was one of the last students to register there, but managed to pick up two general
science courses. It couldn’t have been more perfect for the nursing program,
because biology and chemistry are prerequisites for some of the courses. I’m
amazed that I finally did something right.
After the class housekeeping is
taken care of, we begin with cells. Okay, I can do this. Cells are fine; cells
I can handle. Maybe I can slowly work up to the blood and guts.
During class, nobody stares at my
jeans or sticky hair. Most everyone keeps to themselves. Whether they’re listening
to the lecture or staring into space, I
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