(This is the continuation of a story...so you're starting in the middle if you are reading for the first time. You're welcome to. I used to be one of those people. But I've changed. Really.)
It was two months into our friendship when I got a late night phone call I can honestly say I was both expecting and dreading simultaneously. Rob was away on business, yet again, and Lacy had a fever. Could I pop over to stay with them while she ran down to the market for some medicine? How do you say no to that without coming across as a callous, uncaring waste of humanity?
I walked into her usually spotless apartment to find toys, laundry and the remains of an unknown meal on the kitchen counter. I had never felt more proud of her.
"Both of the girls are asleep now. I should be back in twenty minutes. Thank you so much!" And she was gone.
I moved a stack of towels aside to sit on the sofa. Five minutes later a sweaty, frowning Lacy padded over and climbed up in my lap. "Where's Mommy?"
It wasn't a natural movement to wrap my arms around this little human, but I did as I pulled her into me. Her hair smelled of some sweet soap and her skin was soft and feverishly warm.
"She'll be back soon. She went to get you some medicine."
"Will you read me a story until she gets back?"
Perfect. I wouldn't have to entertain. This was a piece of cake.
"Sure, sweetheart."
As we read about the sleepy moon, I envisioned the scene Susan would find upon her arrival. Sweet Lacy, curled in my lap, reading a story. I could handle this. Parenting didn't seem as difficult as the horror stories I'd read about. Perhaps they just didn't have the best ideas. I was obviously gifted.
Until sweet Lacy looked up to say, "Mags, my tummy hurts."
"Oh. Well, Mommy will be back soon and I'm sure she can make it feel better. Let's finish our book."
In the next instant our book, along with Lacy and my arms and legs, was covered in sickness. Lacy whined once, gave me an utterly helpless look, and proceeded to be sick again. I looked around the room for the nearest trash bin, decided it was too far, and opted for the vase on the coffee table before us. After quickly tossing the peonies aside, I offered it to Lacy to hopefully contain the mess. The room began to spin as I dry heaved. Oh no. No! Fortunately, that was the moment Susan returned.
"She exploded!" I wailed as I held my arms away from my body.
Susan surveyed the situation for all of two seconds before springing into action. She simultaneously carried Lacy to the restroom while catching and containing the rest of the sickness the poor thing still elicited. By the time I joined them in the restroom; she had already started a bath, stripped the soiled nightgown and calmed the distraught child. With only a glance in my direction, she commanded me to use their master bath to get cleaned up and to leave my clothes in a towel in front of the door.
I don't honestly know how long I stood there, scrubbing the top layer of my skin off. It could have been a few minutes, or even days. All I know is that I still didn't feel clean. When I emerged from the shower smelling like a fresh summer peach, a pair of black gauchos and a red t-shirt awaited me.
The scene before me didn't make sense. Everything was clean. A lit candle on the coffee table was doing a miraculous job of masking the memory of the last scene witnessed here. The whir of the washing machine attested to the hope that my favorite jeans just might have been spared a life of certain destruction. I found Susan, sitting in the glow of a night light on the floor beside Lacy's bed. She held a rag to the head of the now sleeping child.
"Hey," I whispered. She stood to her feet, kissing Lacy's cheek before quietly closing the door behind her. "How's she doing?"
Susan laughed quietly. "She's much better actually. I'm so sorry you were here for that."
I nodded. "I'm sorry I used your nice crystal vase to catch things."
"Nothing is sacred." She headed to the kitchen. "How about a cup of tea?"
I said that tea would be lovely but a glass of wine might be better. She agreed and we soon each held a glass as we sat at the table.
"How do you do this, Susan? Rob travels so much and you're just here with them all the time. How do you know what to do with them? Do you ever resent the fact that you are the primary caregiver day in, day out?"
She took a long sip before answering. "Most of parenting is trial and error. I know the kind of person I hope my children grow to be and the best I can do is be a living example of that. And I do resent him sometimes when I get calls at two in the morning when he is at a piano bar entertaining clients or out with co-workers. I'm only human."
"You always seem so put together. Not a hair out of place, clean kids, orderly routine."
"That's what I want you to see. Look around you now, Mags. This is what life is really like. Some days I think my face is going to crack from the smile plastered there."
"What do you do for you, Susan? I see the way you care for the girls, the way you take care of your home and your husband. But, what do you do to take care of yourself? You were Susan long before you were a wife and mother. What do you like to do?"
She took another long drink, sitting quietly as her eyes began to water. "I don't know anymore, Mags."
"Well that is something we are going to change," I assured her as I softly clinked my glass to hers.
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