I left work today, carrying too many things and rushing as usual.  In my haste I was almost knocked over by a guy on a bike.

 “You look nice today,” he said sincerely as he passed me by, and thus made my day.  I thanked him, and meant it.  I continued smiling for maybe 5 minutes on my way to pick my son up from daycare.  Being that it was Tuesday, his sister was already at soccer practice, brought there by an extremely nice coach who helped me out by being her driver.  This spared me from having to get out of work early repeatedly, something I was doing anyway every Friday, and now every Monday and Wednesday for my son’s new kickboxing lessons.  But on this day it was just my son and me, and we had an hour and a half to get stuff done.

 Our first stop was the grocery store, a trip that had been long overdue.  The day before I had given them peanut butter and honey sandwiches, graham crackers, and plain yogurt with some honey in them.  I had scrambled to find that much.  And as a result, the kids were not especially pleased with the selection.  That night when I picked my daughter up from my parents’ house, my mom let me “shop” her cupboards to save me a nighttime trip to the store.  I gathered cheese, granola bars, and carrots, and a yogurt for me.  I made them cheese sandwiches just the way they likes them: mayo and mustard for my daughter, just mustard for my son.  I peeled carrots for my daughter and stuck the last of the almost expired yogurts we already had in my son’s lunch.  I wrote a quick note on each bag, a little something to let them know I thought they were spectacular, and we were off for school.  Of course, at 10:30 am my daughter called me to let me know that she had forgotten her lunch, the very lunch I had done special shopping for with no pride whatsoever at “la casa de los abuelos”.  And it just so happened to be the busiest work day ever and showing no reprieve.  I told her I’d be there right at noon with her lunch.  I was about to ask where she had left it when she hung up.  I hoped it would be in the van, and checked for it an hour later as I took an early lunch.  It wasn’t.  Going home wasn’t even an option since we live on the opposite end of town, commuting against traffic and across a busy highway to get to school every morning.  A trip to the store was necessary and I had only a short amount of time to do it.

 In hindsight, I should have bought her the most plain and miserable lunch there was to teach her a lesson in responsibility.  She is chronically forgetful and it’s been pretty tiresome to pick up the slack for her poor memory.  But the thing of it was, I was hungry too and I wanted Safeway sushi.  So she got sushi too.  I had the bagger put it in a small paper bag, complete with chopsticks and soysauce.  And when I came in the classroom, I leaned down next to her ear and told her to not let this happen again.  The teacher gave me a knowing smile as I walked back out and rushed back to work.  It was later that I found out that she had actually found her lunch after lunch recess.  It had been hidden under another student’s bag.  But she had been thrilled with her sushi.

 I should have gotten her bread and water.

 Regardless, it was now time to do some real shopping.  My son begged me to let him stay in the car.  I sometimes let him when I just need to run in and out.  But this time I knew I would be a bit longer, and besides, I needed his input as it was his lunch I was shopping for.  I let him push the shopping cart, walking ahead of him with my hand held up behind me to keep him from ramming me.  I was quick to grab the edge of the cart as he whipped it back and forth down the aisles, causing the traffic to part to the sides to keep away from his erratic driving.  I was seasoned in the skill of jumping between the cart and the display tables to keep them intact, leaving me with a few nice bruises for my trophies.  And I was a pro at ignoring his whining and pouting when I inevitably took the cart back and announced that it was my turn to push it.

 Down another aisle, a familiar face was coming from the opposite direction.  I had gone to school with her.  She was taller, thinner, looked very professional and successful as the working single woman.  I was glad to at least still be in my work clothes, even if I was leading a grubby 7 year old who was fidgety while hiding behind me.

 “Hi!” I exclaimed, certain she recognized me.  The look on her face let me know she did not.

 “Hi…” she said slowly.  “How’ve you been?”

 “L, right?” I asked.  “Do you remember me?”

 “I do, but I can’t place your name right now,” she said honestly.  I told her my name, and we made a little small talk about some of our old friends.  I could tell throughout our conversation that she was still trying to place me, and I suddenly realized that I was done with this happenstance meeting.  This girl and I had hung out all though Jr. High.  In High School I had rescued her from a boyfriend’s house who had failed to mention that he had another girlfriend who showed up while she was there.  We had always been friends, had even cut school together before.  And here we were, 12 years later, and the girl couldn’t even place who I was.

 I made an excuse that I needed to hurry as my daughter’s soccer practice would be over soon, and we said our goodbyes. 

 “Have a nice day,” she said, as affectionately as she would any of her regular customers at work, leaving an even more sour taste in my mouth.  I couldn’t help but notice with guilty satisfaction as we departed that she was sporting a collared work shirt with an emblem of a certain bank that was the most recent to go under…..

 Back home I quickly put the meat in a bag with the marinade and started the artichokes.  Once they were boiling, I lowered the heat and left to pick my daughter up.  Yes, yes. I know.  I turned the lights off to conserve energy.  Don’t worry.  It was already dark at the field when we arrived.  I stayed and chatted with another mom, making plans for a time when our girls could hang out, sometime when the schedules weren’t so crazy.  I wasn’t quite sure when that would be.  But we promised anyway.  And then we were on our way back home to finish making dinner. 

 The warm and pleasant smell of artichokes greeted us upon our entry.  My son sat at the table to do homework.  My daughter lay on the couch to read a magazine.  I slaved away cutting onions and carmelizing them.   I mixed flour, shortening, buttermilk and other various ingredients for biscuits.  I made the chicken and drained the artichokes.  I washed dishes in between adding the onions and some yellow squash to the meat and putting the cut biscuit dough in the oven.  And I begged my daughter to please straighten up the living room and clear the dining room table so we could eat every 5 minutes before finally threatening her with lack of dinner.  The smoke alarm went off like clockwork, as it does whenever anyone uses the oven.  Burn a piece of toast or leave a water kettle on high heat all night long when you forget to turn it off before going to bed (um, at least I’ve heard), the smoke alarm stays quiet.  Turn the oven on low and then open it to check on whatever’s baking, the alarm goes on and will not stop for at least 15 minutes, no matter how many windows are open or how long you wave a towel at it.  A neighbor who spoke only Spanish even knocked on our door to see if we were burned to a crisp.  I let him know in broken Spanish that we were ok, but the alarms were about to meet their death.  He hurried away after that, repeating that he was sorry.  I’m not sure if something got lost in the translation.

 We all eventually sat down to dinner.  It was 8:45 pm.  The food was delicious.  I closed my eyes with each mouthful, savoring the taste of a rare home-cooked meal in my own kitchen.  My son ate with slightly less gusto, but enjoyed it all just the same.  My daughter ate the biscuit and most of the artichoke, then picked at the squash and chicken before throwing it away when I wasn’t looking.  I’m sure she can’t wait for leftovers tomorrow night.

 Homework was finished, laundry put away, dishes were finally drying in the rack.  Teeth were brushed, kids tucked in bed, cheeks were kissed with promises of love and wishes of good night.  And now the house is quiet except for the clacking of keys, the memory that someone unknown thought I was pretty, and the thought that someone familiar didn’t know who the hell I was.  My belly is full and the food is all put away.  Lunches will be a breeze tomorrow.  And another day is successfully conquered.

 Introduce yourself and find me unforgettable at winecountry.singlemom@yahoo.com.