Mucha Lucha Parenting

My tag team parenting Luchador -- wrestling name: "Daddy" is away this week, leaving me to fend for myself in the ring. Ayeeeeee, the jump from the top rope, she is not working so good for me anymore. Even in sparkly stretch pants, I cannot really keep up in the ring.

Round #1
My ordeal began just hours after his departure with a call from my youngest's daycare. The director was first overly calm, imploring me to come pick up my son immediately because he had a bump on his head. I hestitated, apparently a minute too long, as I tried to process the mental calculus that was going to get me across town to pick up my other son from camp and also take a conference call from my biggest client. I could tackle two, but probably not three in the same ten minute allotment.

Sensing my hesitation, the day care director came back with "He's bleeding and very, very lethargic -- should we send him to the hospital in an ambulance?"

"Well, why didn't you come out & say blood and hospital in the first place?! That changes everything.

After scrambling to reschedule a call and get a friend to pick up my older son, I sped over to the daycare and set a land-speed record for getting him to the ER, adrenaline coursing through my veins the whole time.

Fortunately, the little guy perked up once he saw the hospital aquarium and what first looked to be a very scary eye/head injury was a cut minor enough to warrant glue vs. stitches. He had such a shiner though that I took to calling him the Cinderella Man. About this, he was mucho pleased.

Round #2
An evening filled with brotherly love. Both boys celebrated their father's absence by giving each other full-body massages. Unwanted full body massages punctuated my me yelling "That's It" "Time Out!" and "For the Love of Pete - Knock It Off!"
The last causing the obvious question -- who's Pete? I don't know, but he needs your love so get your hands off your brother's neck!

Round #3
After a Tuesday like that -- How could I possibly turn down an opportunity to chapperone my 4 year old's field trip to the Science Museum. 16 kids, 3 adults, one big, jam-packed museum. I think my jaw nearly snapped it was clenched so tight when trapped in the bathroom with a gaggle of 4 year olds all squeeling over the hand-dryer while one locked herself in the bathroom to enjoy a little self gratification.
I wasn't angry so much as jealous -- I wish I had thought of that move first. She was blissed out on the bus ride home -- Me, not so much.

Round #4
Clearly I thought I was hitting my stride when I decided to mix yet another day of work and solo-parenting. Please, don't try this at home. Camp and pre-school drop-offs went OK, but I pushed my work/home choreography too far when I picked up my 7yr old and took him home with me so I could squeeze in a conference call before picking up his brother.
A wiffle ball game broke out on my front lawn and 4 boys poured into my kitchen all simultaneously hunting for cool-pops, bathrooms, juice boxes and a referee just as my call came through. I yelled "SILENCE" with an imperial finger wave as I fled up the stairs. Two minutes later, I realized the critical piece of paper I needed was downstairs. Just as I pushed mute on the phone, I lost my footing and went ass over teakettle down the whole flight, landing with a thunderous splat in the front hall -- smack dab in front of a freckle-faced cool-pop smacking audience of four.
"Mom, You OK?" asked my son.
"Does it look like I'm OK?" I snapped, my eyes welling.
"Um, no - not really. I'm sorry you fell down" He said, extending his hand.
"Thanks Pal, I'll be OK"

I lose.

Time for the sweet elixer of defeat -- A margarita!