Page 7 of Cluelessly Yours

“Call my mom! I want to go home!”

“I’m so scared! I’ve never seen a dead woman before!”

“You think they’re gonna make us look at the body?”

“I’ll puke!”

“My mom loves to listen to smodcasts about people dying!”

Teachers bounce around the room like pinballs, trying to bring calm, but it’s too late.

The entire auditorium is in pandemonium, a crowd on the stage is on the phone with 9-1-1, and Principal Harris is clutching her chest in abject horror.

Andmykid is the one responsible.

Something tells me I’m about to find myself in the principal’s office, suffering the consequences of what will be yet anotherlong story.

“We’re not in the business of suspending seven-year-olds, Ms. Baker, but it’s safe to say we need to find a resolution here.”

Bone-chilling words from Principal Harris spin through my head as Seth and I rush from our meeting in the head honcho’s office at Calhoun Elementary to St. Luke’s Hospital, where my sister is located after being carted there in a freaking ambulance.

The guilt I feel for putting Brooke in this situation is clawing at my nerves, and one thousand pounds of stress sit on my shoulders as I try to navigate my eldest son and myself through the crowded New York sidewalk traffic.

Truthfully, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or go fetal right here on the concrete.

The only thing that’s preventing me from having a full-on breakdown is knowing that Noah went with Brooke and they’re heading tohishospital, where his Chief of Pediatric Anesthesiology title ensures my sister will get the best care. He was kind enough to ride in the ambulance with her so that I could collect Sethandget an earful from his principal.

It goes without saying that Principal Harris’s words weren’t ones I was happy to hear, but without a shadow of a doubt, they’re words I was expecting. Not only has Seth been a constant distraction for his class, his teacher, and himself this year, but today, he told his entire elementary school and its Career Day guests that my sister writes sex books for a living while herseven-months-pregnant, frequent-fainting, vasovagal syncope-suffering ass was on the stage.

Forget suspension. I was considering strangulation.

I love my son,obviously, but my patience is half past tried.

I’ve been through the wringer since my shitty ex-husband Todd underwent a pathetic midlife crisis and decided he wanted a life that didn’t include his wife and kids. In an instant, I went from being a stay-at-home mom to a forty-one-year-oldsinglemom trying to find her way again with two young boys in tow.

Before my sister’s generosity and vacant apartment made it possible for me to move myself and my kids to New York, I was living in Hometown, Ohio, with my parents and had no career prospects to count on. Between my complete and utter lack of direction and my dad’s shock and horror every time my children acted like children, it was a nightmare. And while relocating to the Big Apple has helped me find my freedom, it’s still been hard.

And I know that Seth must be suffering too, but I’m trying with everything I have to give him—and Grant—the kind of life they can be proud of. I want to be supportive and easygoing and loving, but my God, most days I feel like I’m on the brink of collapse.

Since the moment he started to toddle, Seth’s been hell on wheels. And my ex was a walking, talking red flag from the moment I met him, but I was too young and naïve to notice.

Basically, I’ve been the primary parent every step of the way. Todd barely knew his kids existed even when they were right under his nose, and now, I have full custody—that he didn’t even fight me on. And while he does have visitation rights, he’s pretty much MIA from their lives and off doing only God knows what in Cincinnati, Ohio.

“Mommy, when am I supposed to see Ms. Sandy Rose?” Seth asks, and I gently grab the back of his jacket to guide him away from a huge puddle on the sidewalk.

“You’re going to hang out with her for about an hour, twice a week, for the rest of the school year.”

Counseling sessions with Ms. Sandy Rose, the school’s psychologist, are what Principal Harris and I settled on for Seth in lieu of strangulation.

It’s the best answer when I consider that maybe his acting-out is deeper rooted than I can imagine. Divorces can be hard on kids. And while Grant appears to be taking it all in stride, he’s only five. Seth is seven and far more aware than his little brother.

Plus, a little therapy can’t hurt, no matter what’s causing Seth’s wild behavior. Hell, I’m pretty sure I could use some of my own.

“Do I get to miss school for it?” he questions further. “I want to skip science.”

“No, buddy. You’ll talk with her after school.”

He groans, but his attention is otherwise diverted toward a taxicab driver who is loudly honking his horn at a delivery truck illegally parked on the street.

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