Page 36 of Woman on the Verge

He gave me a slapdash kiss on the cheek, grabbed his cleats and his stupid bat bag, and was out the door.

“Mommy, mommy, mommy,” Grace said, still hopping up and down.

“Just a minute, sweeties. I have to go potty.”

They followed me to the bathroom, their hands on my arms, my legs, whatever they could grab to reassure themselves of my presence. I was abruptly back to real life, a life in which my body is rarely not touched and I am rarely alone on the toilet.

Grace instructed me not to flush and then analyzed my pee like a chemist in a lab.

“Why is it so yellow?” she asked.

“I’m dehydrated,” I said, and immediately regretted the word choice. Predictably, she asked me what that meant, and I had to spend three minutes explaining it. I can’t help but wonder if there are mothers out there who relish these learning opportunities. There probably are. They are the ones who are teaching their preschoolers Mandarin.

“What do you girls want for dinner?” I asked. The moment the question left my mouth, I wanted to take it back. Was I expecting them to come to a consensus like civilized human beings?

Grace yelled, “Pizza!” and Liv yelled, “Pasta!”

“Okay, what did you have last night?”

“Chips!” Grace said.

“Chips?”

“Chips!”

I sighed. When I looked in the pantry, the bag of potato chips was indeed gone. I, like many mothers, have an almost photographic memory of the contents of my pantry. There is a ticker always running in my brain, tracking food inventory.

“Let’s do pasta,” I told them. I tried to use my authoritative voice, hoped they wouldn’t pick up on my fear.

“I don’t want pasta,” Grace whined.

It was already six thirty, meaning I needed them to eat quickly and get in the damn bath. With the yogurt in their hair and the pasta sauce about to be on their faces, we couldn’t skip the bath. Bedtime is supposed to be seven thirty, but I knew we wouldn’t make it that night. I resolved to get as close as possible, for my own sanity.

“Here, watch YouTube,” I said, thrusting the iPad at Grace.

She calmed immediately. The iPad is the new pacifier.

I started to text Kyle:

You could have at least fed them and started the bath.

I didn’t send it. Delete, delete, delete.

There was no point. I could already imagine the back-and-forth:

Me: You could have at least fed them and started the bath.

Kyle: You didn’t tell me to do that.

Me: I shouldn’t have to tell you. You know the routine.

Kyle: When you’re not here, I have my own routine.

Me: Okay, but you knew I was coming back.

Kyle: I actually thought you’d be back by five, which is why I wasn’t anticipating being late to my game.

“Mommy, is me done?” Grace asked after taking exactly one bite of her penne.

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