Dale’s ability to get lost in his recounting of his own dreams is amazing to me. He’s absorbed enough in his own voice that I can grab my phone and tap out a text to Mike without getting busted.
ME: Work sucks today. Can you be on after-school duty?
Three dots flicker next to his name, then disappear.
My brain feels like my computer: like too many windows are open, and too many programs are running at once. From the moment I wake up, I’m operating at full capacity, trying to shift my attention from the kids to Mike to work to the million other tasks that seem to always, always, fall onto my to-do list. I have to buy Mike’s mom a birthday present. I have to find a venue for the company retreat. I have to schedule the kids’ yearly checkups and make sure Roscoe gets his flea and tick medication sometime this week.
Still no response from Mike.
ME: Mike. Answer me.
The three dots flicker again and then disappear.
“It’s like, there I am, butt naked . . .”
Dale is still talking about his stupid dream, but my computer is beeping at me. I’m supposed to dial in to a conference call with our sales team.
“Amy Mitchell,” I say, overenunciating when the robo-operator asks for my name.
“Huh?” says Dale.
I hold up my finger to indicate that he should be quiet, but apparently Dale’s real mom never used that move with him, because he does the exact opposite and pulls his scooter right up to my desk, where he plops his scrawny little butt right next to my laptop.
Oh. Right. It’s a video call. On my screen, our sales reps are popping up in little squares like members of the Brady Bunch, dialing in from their homes and hotel rooms. Does everyone else have better lighting? Get better sleep? Have better genes? Because my camera has picked up on the dark circles under my eyes. They’re somehow casting a shadow upward, making me look like the business-lady version of Skeletor.
“So, what do you think? End of quarter?” Dale says as he jumps up and scoots behind my desk to show off for all his salespeople.
They cheer and wave to him, and I mute my microphone and switch off my camera, turning my chair and my focus to the man-child in charge of my income and my daily schedule.
“What do you think?” he repeats, with the excitement of someone completely unencumbered by reality.
In the corner of my eye, I can see my email notifications rolling in, just like they do in my nightmares: Jane, Tessa, GAP, Tessa, Mike, Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn, Gwendolyn . . .
“Well, what do you think?” I ask. Another trick I use on Dylan and Jane when I haven’t been listening to a word they’re saying.
“I think . . . that if anyone can roll out a brand-new sales program to hotels, it’s you. Our team mom.”
My blood pressure rises.
My phone dings. Mike has finally responded. It’s . . . a gif. Of a dog wearing sunglasses. The word “COOL” wiggles beneath it. Is this a yes? Is he picking up the kids after school . . . ?
More email notifications pop up in my peripheral vision, rolling in like a tide of bullshit threatening to pull me under . . .
The conference call beckons, a half dozen people waiting for guidance. I turn around, switch the camera back on, smile, and signal that I need a sec. Somehow I look more tired when I smile?
It’s all too much. There is no way I can juggle all this bullshit. I feel like I’m going to scream. Instead, I spin back to my boss.
“And just when would I do this, Dale?” I ask, gesturing to the piles of work on my desk. “I’m already running sales for supermarkets, restaurants, and airlines. I’m already running basically everything.”
He’s back on my desk, kicking his feet against the legs the same way Dylan used to kick the back of my seat from his car seat. He nods, and for a moment, I think that he might be considering the position I’m in. That he might look at my overflowing plate and think, Wow. This woman is doing a lot. She’s going so far above and beyond that there is no way I could add yet another ball to the circus act she is currently juggling.
“You know, Amy?” he finally says. “I can’t remember if it was Dr. Martin Luther King or Dr. Oz who said it, but it’s true . . . we make time for the things that are important to us.”
* * *
To: [email protected]; Amy Mitchell; [email protected]
From: Gwendolyn James
CC: Principal Burr; McKinley Staff
BCC: Gwendolyn James
Subject: McKinley Mom Squad Assignments
Hi Mamas,
Thanks for being a part of our McKinley Mom Squad. We’re looking forward to this year being the best year yet. Your assignments are as follows:
Lice Task Force
Landscaping
In Love,
Gwendolyn James
@GwendolynJamesStyle
Click here to see why Oprah called my blog “a must-read”
Click here to download my free eBook: It All Comes Down to Mom: 1,000 Reasons Why Motherhood Is Your Most Important Job
To: Amy Mitchell
From: Jane Mitchell
Subject: Emergency!!!!
Mom,
I have an emergency. Soccer tryouts aren’t next week. They’re THIS WEEK. I haven’t had any time to work on my first touch, and Blair and Gandhi said they spent the summer training with Abby Wambach??? Please tell me you know a professional athlete who can get me up to speed ASAP.
PS—who is picking us up from school?
To: Mike Mitchell
From: Amy Mitchell
Subject: ARE YOU PICKING UP THE KIDS FROM SCHOOL
To: Amy Mitchell
From: Mike Mitchell
Subject: RE: ARE YOU PICKING UP THE KIDS FROM SCHOOL
What? Babe. I have a job. I can’t do pickup! I’m taking our EVP out for drinks to celebrate his promotion. See you at home?
6
Kiki
From: [email protected]
Subject: 40% off all-weather decking!
Dear {Name},
As a valued member of our community of contractors, we’d like to offer you 40% off the essentials that will cut your costs AND keep your customers happy. Your 40% off coupon code is BIGDECKENERGY and is good for the next 48 hours.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: 40% off all-weather decking!
Hello!
My name is Kiki, and I got the email below this morning. I wanted to reply to thank you for the generous offer, and to let you know that I am afraid there must have been a mistake. I am not a decking contractor, and therefore am probably unqualified to use this coupon. I apologize if I misled anyone, but I wanted to correct this to ensure your very generous offer could be extended to a person who truly deserves it.
Thank you so much for the kind offer and keep up the good work!
Best wishes,
Kiki
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: RE: 40% off all-weather decking!
STATUS: UNDELIVERABLE.
* * *
My life revolves around poop.
When Clara eats too many blueberries, her poop looks like it’s made of kinetic sand. When the twins have peanut butter, their poops look like peanut butter. Bernard poops exactly five minutes before we leave for school. Last month, Clara didn’t poop for four days straight, and when she finally did, it was like she was delivering a baby. I’m not kidding. I had to help her deliver her poop baby. I had to actually put my finger in her butt and break the poop apart so it could come out of her tiny little butt without ripping her apart. It wasn’t even disgusting to me. It was exciting.