Swim class. Again.

"Moo-dsye-lah-go", she says proudly, looking up at me with her big brown eyes and a beaming smile, fliping through my old Wildlife Factfile, the one she's halfway done memorizing. It's a far cry from the screeching, wailing mess in the JCC pool half an hour ago. I'm having one of those days I knew I would regret from the moment I woke up and dragged myself out of bed. If only I'd gone to sleep before the call came in to turn on the news- Bin Laden's death would not change from one day to the next but that precious hour of lost sleep, I couldn't have that back. Too sleepy to get out of bed, I called the morning a bust and went for a breakfast of cheesecake and Toby's leftover English muffin pieces. Thus I began the execution of my carefully calculated plan to fit in a nap before Noemie's first swim class at 3:15 pm.

It seems so ordinary, unexciting, simple. But a missed nap for Noemie is an invitation for tantrums of epic proportions. I took the kids early to the splash park where the homeschool mom playgroup meets, determined to exhaust them early. We're the first to arrive. "Woo-hoo! Check me out," says Noemie as she exits the van. I forget the diaper bag back home and arrive with Toby sitting in a super mush poop. I am that desperate mom begging strangers to take a dollar in exchange for a spare diaper. I have, however, remembered to bring lunch.

It seemed too good to be true when I laid the kids in bed for their naps at 12:15 and didn't hear a sound till I checked the clock an hour later. What a sweet, unexpected victory! And then...a sweet, unexpected voice came from around the corner- Noemie, engaged in conversation with an imaginary dragon. A terrible foreboding overtook me. I put Noemie back in the bed from which she'd wandered and tried not to panic. I threatened with furrowed eyebrow, shook my finger sternly, and marched back to my to-do lists. Fifteen minutes of silence. A peace began to settle. And it was suddenly shattered by a spirited rendition of "Doe, a deer, a female deer..." I flew into the bedroom but before I could reprimand her, Noemie complained that she was afraid of my room. All I could think to do at that point was to lie at the foot of the bed staring blankly at the ceiling fan, snapping at her to be quiet any time her overactive imagination audibly escaped. (She is, at the time of this writing, impersonating a gorilla who has lost its voice because it ate too much sugar.) By the time I heard her breathing rhythm change to that unmistakable lull of other-consciousness, the clock read 2:20. Her nap would be 20 minutes long at most, on a day that I went out of my way to drain her. I finished dinner prep and woke and changed Dominic into his bathing suit. It was time to go. And...my keys were not in my purse. Or the kitchen counter. Or the pass through... the dining table...the crib... the changing table... Now I was in a frenzy. I thought I might throw up. I found the keys, threw a sleeping Noemie over my shoulder, and ran for the van. Noemie was screaming because she was sleepy, Dominic because he was thirsty, Toby looked at us as if we were all crazy.

I jumped in the van and zipped out of the spot in reverse while simultaneously putting on my seat belt and pulling out the parking brake, painfully aware that it was 3:15 and the class was starting without us. I thought of how much we deliberated, sacrificed, and saved in order to get the kids in that class. I tried not to get angry at all the other drivers and the traffic engineers who time the traffic lights, and the JCC for being so punctual.

I ask Dominic, do you remember where the pool is? He affirms. Are you sure? Yes.

I drop Dominic off at the JCC entrance and tell him to run on ahead, hoping to minimize the loss of time while I park the car and suit up Noemie. I strip Noemie of her pajamas and manage to put her bathing suit on incorrectly not once, but three times. Off again, on again, off again, on again...I am never buying a cross-strapped bathing suit ever again! Grab towels, keys, don't forget Toby.... we run for dear life to the front doors where, be still my heart, Dominic is waiting for us. AHHHH! With less than fifteen minutes left before class is over, we come tearing across the pool deck. All eyes on us. (Noemie hasn't stopped screaming since we left the house.) I nearly toss Noemie to the teacher, while Dominic runs past his instructor to the far side pools. He gets called back and I get yelled at for having children out of my reach on the pool deck. Dominic finds his teacher. I find a shady spot under a table where I try to hide. Noemie screams for the remainder of the class. Before we leave, I get yelled at one last time for using the wrong restroom.

Here I am, trying to collect what's left of my dignity and my nerves. So that as I sit here, resenting the prospective babysitter I'd tried to book for an important appointment tomorrow, thinking about the crockpot dinner I threw together and how unlikely Dominic and Noemie are to eat it, listening to Noemie throw another exhaustion-induced tantrum, this time because Toby tore the Camargue Horse from the FactFile, what I'd really like to do is burrow between the couch cushions so that no one can find me, until Danny comes home and fixes everything.

Being a stay-at-home mom is kind of like being a top executive in that when everything falls apart, everyone suffers and, ultimately, the buck stops with you. But unlike being a corporate big-shot, you can't fire someone else anyway.

On a seperate note, abuela Angela passed away on Good Friday, ever so appropriately. (I know, 7 funerals in 6 months. Crazy.)

Abuela, nearly deaf and nearly blind for most of the time she lived with us, was known for slapping strangers on the bottom in the hope that every now and then she'd hit her intended target (my sister). She was also remembered for having memorized the entire contents of her hymnal, down to the page numbers. She could wield a frozen baguette with more force and accuracy than my brother ever wielded a baseball bat. But most importantly, she was the spiritual matriarch of the family. My family owes her a great debt of gratitude for her ceaseless prayers on our behalf, as well as her example of faithfulness.

EPILOGUE

Laying on my back on the carpet of a large room is one of my preferred, if melodramatic, demonstrations of resignation. Nothing heals a sense of mom-failure like being in such a position and having my kids cuddle up to me gently asking if I would read them a book. My love-tank on the remedy, I think I can muster the strength to wash some dishes. Danny and I are celebrating the 12th anniversary of our first date today, after all.

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, or swim classes....