Firecracker

Summers are the joy and the bane of the stay-at-home parent's existence.

And that goes double for work-from-home parents.

Summer is a whirlwind of highlighting documents during swim lessons (and hoping the client doesn't notice the chlorine watermarks), paying an exorbitant $8 an hour for Internet access at McDonald's playland, and promising Nerf guns and gummy bears in exchange for being seen and not heard in business meetings. But the stress of the late nights and multi-tasking are mitigated by the pure joy of handing out generic Popsicles by the dozen to the neighbor kids, riding the tandem bike at dusk to get ice-cream cones, and watching mudcaked children scramble up a hiking trail.

Still... I live for Tuesdays.

On Tuesdays, my boys run out the door at 8:30 and spend the day, three houses down, with two friends and their work-from-home dad. And I get to work, in peace, for an entire day.

Except yesterday.

Yesterday was rather devoid of peace. I was slightly stressed from the moment of wake-up, so I decided to start my alone time with a nice jog with Love Dog. Except that Love Dog wanted to RUN. Fast. So I spent my jog leaning backward, putting the brakes on, lest I be dragged to my death. So much for stress release.

When Love Dog and I pulled onto our block (and by pulled I mean pulled), the sidewalk was swarming with kids ringing doorbells. Apparently Love Dog had been determined to have gone missing (really? My jog was not that long.) In my brief absence, they had canvased the block, called their Dad, and started a Lost Dog flyer.

Their relief was so great that they all had to hang out in my tiny house while I was trying to shower, caressing and consoling the "lost" dog.

"I need some privacy- I'm changing," I said.

"Don't worry, we won't come in the bathroom."

No sooner did I have my legs lathered and sharp new razor poised than the pounding started.

"I have to pee."

"I need an advance on my allowance."

"Have you seen my goggles?"

"The sprite just used the last Transformer Band-Aid, and you said that I could have it..."

"I need to PEE!!!"

Even when I banished them from the house, they sat on the front porch. The crescendo of dog whine, porch swing squeak, and the constant, "Love Dog, come! Love Dog, come! Come! COME!!!" made me flee the house (somebody please make it stop!) and run errands without my checkbook.

The apex of my angst, though, came at 3, when I was stuffing my bag and a non-quite-appropriate-for-the-dress-I'm-wearing bra into the passenger seat of my car, and Firstborn came running down the block.

"Mom! Mo-om! Oh wait, are you already running late for something?"

"Yeah, I am honey, really late. Have a great night with Dad. I love you."

"Wait, Mom. I need to show you something."

"Okay, honey. Really fast."

I walked around the car to see something that looked like a left-over 4th of July firecracker in his hand. "We found this under the tree and I really want to light it, and Jeff said we had to wait until you were around. So can you please stay so we can light it?"

Ummm. What part of "Mom has to work" does he not understand? I mumbled my apologies, and sped off.

Now I can take off a bra with my shirt on pretty well, but putting one on was trickier. Especially since I was wearing a dress. While I accidentally flashed the guy in the dirty pick-up and the trucker hat at the stop light, I fumed about my son's complete disregard for the fact that I have to earn money to put food on the table.

But later, when I was still running late, I dashed down five flights of stairs in an echoing stairwell. My flip-flops slapped against the concrete, "Bam! Bam! Bam!" I realized was making my own fire-cracker sound effects, and softened toward Firstborn. I wished I could keep my adult problems from infringing on his childhood joy.

So if you'll excuse me, I have a firecracker to go light.