My husband is off traveling yet again making me a "single" working mother of twins. I had thought I had been handling his work absences better and better each time he left, beginning with his first extended trip away from home last April when he stayed in Wichita for a month. Then I was away for the month of June in Sacramento with my mother-in-law and kids in tow leaving hubby at home alone. We spent a couple months together in the summer as a family. Just when we were getting back into a comfortable rhythm (or so I thought), he left again for Miami. He came back just in time for the kids' big birthday party weekend and then he was gone again, back to Miami, missing the kids' actual birthday completely.
I really do think I was doing pretty well -- up until the kids' birthday. We were supposed to go camping with our preschool that day (hence the birthday party a week earlier). I had planned the trip and scheduled the kids' big party around this trip months in advance. My husband's last minute return to Miami was supposed to end on the first day of the camping trip. And then his work requirements in Miami got complicated and he had to extend his stay. Needless to say, despite months of planning and anticipation, I ended up withdrawing three days before the camping trip. And I had no back up plan to celebrate the kids' birthday. Camping had been my big plan, where they would have been distracted by marshmallows and glow sticks running around like wild animals in the woods. It would have been the best way for them to spend their 5th birthday, surrounded by their classmates and covered in dirt and leaves.
We were all disappointed, me more than anyone else. Sure, my kids were disappointed that they weren't going to spend their birthday camping with their friends. But they're 5 years old and I knew they would get over it quickly. Some balloons, pastries with candles, and a couple hastily purchased trinkets were surely enough considering the big fiesta they had the week before, I thought to myself. Imagine my surprise when two days before their birthday my daughter asked me innocently and wide-eyed whether we'd have balloons strung around the backyard again. When I asked her why, she explained simply, "Our birthday is in two days." Ugh. Perhaps it had not sunk into their 5 year old brains that their big celebration had occurred the week before. I felt the panic of a single working mom start to rise in my throat as I carefully explained that they had already had their big party. When my son asked if all his friends were coming over on their birthday-in-two-days and when I explained once again that they would all be camping without us, I felt a thud in my chest. The sudden disappointment on his face from happy almost-5-year-old anticipation to dawning realization broke my heart in a way so indescribable only another mother can understand it. I tried to put on a happy face and gently told him, "I thought we could spend your special day together, just the three of us." He groaned loudly and I knew then and there that his birthday was doomed.
I spent the next day scrambling between getting the kids to preschool early, still getting to work late, hustling through work trying to get back in time for the sitter who had to leave promptly at 6:30 in the evening, and frantically racking my brains and the internet for anything REALLY GREAT to make up for the fact that their birthday the following day would be tainted by no party, no friends, and no Daddy. I had an inside glimpse of the painful guilt that the single divorced parent must feel, trying to compensate for absences.
I wish I could say that I was successful. I wish I could say that the helium balloon arch, the special mylar balloons I had grabbed at work the day before, and the personalized presents that greeted them at the breakfast counter the next morning filled them with joy, that the sparkly candles I had hastily purchased on the way home from work made their fancy French pastries special and exciting, that the afternoon we spent at Happy Hollow filled them with happy birthday memories.
But it didn't. Besides feeling guilty and overwhelmed and helpless over my kids' disappointment, I was also extremely exhausted. Operating on little sleep each night, tending to every household chore and detail that had previously been divided between me and my husband, fighting off a sinus infection, and working a stressful job the day before their birthday had left me feeling spent with little reserve or tolerance for their typical 5 year old behavior. When my son declared first thing in the morning that the balloons I had stayed up until 1 a.m. inflating and arranging the night before were "boring", I instantly lost my temper. I took the presents and balloons away from him and sent him up to his bedroom crying and screaming the entire time. Great way to start the birthday celebration, Mom. Eventually, after I had made several phone calls to my husband, to my sympathetic friend, and to the daycare where I was planning on leaving my son for his birthday to "teach him a lesson", I calmed down. I tried to smooth it over in hopes of salvaging the day. (And of course I returned his gifts.) But I had a doctor's appointment that lasted too long and a time-sensitive errand that could not be postponed. Their renewed enthusiasm began to wane as the day stretched on. It was definitely not turning out to be the fun-filled day that I had hoped it would be. We finally made it to Happy Hollow in the early afternoon. The park was operating on a skeleton crew so not all the rides were open at the same time but they still seemed to be having a fun time. Even when my son disappeared in the two minutes it took me to take my daughter to the bathroom, when I had to search out a park official who was getting ready to notify the entire staff that I was missing a child, I did not lose my cool again.
Until the ride home.
We were stuck in rush hour traffic. I was exhausted, dizzy from lack of sleep and cloudy from my untreated sinusitis. My son (who reappeared just before the park officials were going to start searching for him) happily grasped his special mylar balloon which he had brought with him to Happy Hollow. It was at this point that my daughter noticed that her balloon was missing. I lost my temper again. I had bought these balloons in the midst of my stressed out busy work schedule the day before. In a rushed trip to the gift shop, I saw the purple Tinkerbell balloon which was perfect for my Tinkerbell-obsessed daughter. It was, perhaps, the one part of my morning surprise that I knew I had gotten right. And it was gone, somehow lost at Happy Hollow. In my cloudy state of mind and not quite familiar with the roadways, I hauled my navigation-less minivan back to Happy Hollow, unfortunately into rush hour traffic going in the OTHER direction. As we finally pulled into the deserted parking lot, my daughter informed me that she remembered seeing someone else with a balloon that strangely looked the same as hers. Translation: I drove back here for no damn reason because that balloon was long gone. I lost my mind at that point.
Yes, it's just a balloon. I understand that. Balloons can be replaced. At the time, though, all I could think and feel was failure, utter and complete failure. I had failed to make the day special and memorable. I had failed to live up to their innocent and oh so fleeting 5 year old anticipation. I was a failure as a mother which is the worst kind of failure of all.
I was either going to break down, curl into a ball in a corner and cry, or I was going to go stark raving mad. So I screamed and yelled and berated them illogically and without restraint. I ranted and raved about her carelessness, her lack of responsibility and appreciation. I went on and on about how hard I tried to make their birthday special and how little they seemed to care. Does it make sense that I should unload all of this on my 5 year old children? Absolutely not. But at this point, disappointed, frustrated, overworked, stressed out, and a little sick, I really wasn't making any sense at all. For the umpteenth time I called my husband in Florida to yell at him on speakerphone about all the ways my children had ruined their birthday -- for me. I mean it's their fault for not being ecstatically thrilled by all my superhuman efforts, right? If only they had been happy beyond words, then my efforts would have all been worthwhile. Of course deep down I knew, I KNEW that I was the one ruining it for them. Yet, I couldn't seem to stop myself. I couldn't admit that to myself, that I am my own worst enemy, that I was never going to succeed at making my children happy on this day of all days, that I can't make up for what is lacking in their lives or for time and innocence that is lost day by day that we will never get back again as their childhood slips through my tightly clasped fingers. It was worse than watching a train wreck. I was watching myself breaking my children's hearts. Can it get any worse than this?
My epilogue isn't much better. That evening, I apologized profusely with hopes of forgiveness. To my son, I asked, "Did I ruin your birthday completely?" to which he replied a merciful No. When I asked my daughter the same question, I got an unrelenting Yes, despite my best efforts to convince her otherwise. God willing, there will be many more birthdays in their future to make up for the one I just ruined. The day after, with no pressure to compensate for the temporary "brokenness" of our household or to live up to unrealistic expectations on their special day, we were back to being our somewhat normal Daddy-less threesome. My big chance to be a "Supermom" on their big day came and went and I didn't just fail, I went down in flames. They seem fine today. But I'm not; I'm really not okay.
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