August 20, 2007
The Library of Momgress
Caution: Long, but hilarious and true story below.
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Saturday morning I woke to the sound of Dawson’s chattering in his bedroom.
As far as I knew Doug had already left for work, and when I called to Dawson to ask him who he was talking to, he let out a sigh, rolled his eyes at me (I swear I could see him do it) and said, “I’m talkin’ to Mercy, Mumma!”
I listened carefully as Dawson told Murphy to “come ober here right NOW!” and giggled to myself. I think it’s adorable that he can’t pronounce the ‘f’ sound when he says our dog’s name.
I slowly got myself out of bed and walked into Dawson’s room. He was sitting on his bed pulling Murphy by his collar, trying to get him to sit on the bed next to him.
My little boy had managed to dress himself in his camouflage pants (on backwards) and his Lightning McQueen t-shirt that was two sizes too big (and inside out). I chuckled out loud.
“Dawson, that’s an interesting outfit you’re wearing. Please let go of the dog.”
“Mumma, I lubb Mercy. Mercy’s gotta sit down by Dawson,” he replied. He looked at me as if to say, “duh” and continued to yank on the poor little dog.
“Dawson, I mean it. Let go of Mercy, I mean Murphy. Do you want to go to the library today?” I asked.
Dawson nodded and I instructed him to take his pants off so we could put them on the right way and then I pulled his t-shirt off and put it on again so that it wasn’t inside out. I grabbed a pair of his socks and his Bob the Builder shoes and heard Dawson protest.
“NO, Mumma! NO Bob-shoes. Dawson’s got to wear his san-nells.” he cried.
“Ooookaaaaay,” I said. “Sandals it is.”
After Dawson was dressed, I threw on a pair of track pants and a long sleeve Old Navy t-shirt that was nearly five years old. I bought it on clearance for $3.00, and the thing is so comfortable I wear it so often that the sleeves are starting to fray and there is a small hole under the left armpit.
I managed to get my own socks and shoes on in record time, I put Murphy in his kennel and packed up all the library books and videos inside Dawson’s backpack that needed to be returned.
It was sprinkling as we made our way to the car. Halfway down the sidewalk Dawson started yelling for his blanky and I had to run back into the house and get the stupid thing. I feel like I gave birth to Linus reincarnated. On the way out the door again, I grabbed the umbrella, just in case. After a ten minute car ride, we arrived at the Portage County Public Library.
Once we were inside the building Dawson ran for the elevator that would take us to the Children’s Department in the lower level. He loves to push the button to go downstairs and I always laugh because it reminds me of that episode of Sex and the City when Miranda gets stuck with the kid in the elevator who absolutely must push the button or a tantrum will ensue. Hey, this sounds a lot like my Doodlebug.
“Dawson, wait for Mumma,” I said. “We’ve got to put these books in the receptacle.”
“We-sep-a-co?” he asked.
“Yes. Do you want to help me?” He nodded and I handed him one book a time to put in the box for check-in. After the last book was returned, Dawson nearly flew to the “magic doors” as he calls them, pressed the down arrow button, waited semi-patiently for the elevator to open and after we got in he pressed the “B” button and down we went. I was impressed that he remembered exactly which buttons to press.
When the elevator doors opened, Dawson made a beeline for the train table and began to hunt for the Thomas, James and Percy engines to place on the tracks, and he gathered all the freight cars that go with them. I sat down in an arm chair nearby and scanned the Children’s Department. We were the first ones to arrive at the library. Dawson loves this because he has all the toys for himself.
After fifteen minutes of train play Dawson had enough.
“Mumma, come to the kitchen. Dawson’s got to make supper.” he said. The “kitchen” is actually a big Little Tykes playhouse with a table and chairs, sink and stove, too, and lots of play dishes and play food. Dawson loves to make ham and cheese sandwiches and insists I drink the pretend chocolate milk.
I crawled into the playhouse and smelled a terrible diaper.
“Dawson, do you have a bad diaper?” I asked. He shook his head.
“No, Mumma. It’s just wet.” he lied.
I convinced him to come out of the house so I could change him, and I promised we’d come right back when we were finished. I dragged him to the ladies room with the diaper bag in tow, hoisted him onto the changing table and completed the task. We each washed our hands and Dawson impatiently tugged at the bathroom door to get out.
“Wait a minute….” I started to say, but Dawson was out the door. I followed after him, just barely drying my hands and Dawson was standing outside the ladies room frozen in his tracks.
“What’s the matter, Bug?” I asked. He pointed to two little girls inside the playhouse. “Mumma, get those girls outta there.”
“Oh, Bug, you can share. The girls don’t bite. Go play, too!” I said energetically, but Dawson was glued to my side and followed me back to my chair. He was not happy. I tried to walk him over to the little girls to play but he refused.
The girls were around Dawson’s age and were dressed in identical outfits. They wore white sweaters and pink, red and white flowered capris, with white sandals and each girl had her hair tied neatly in a white bow.
When I turned around, their mother was behind me wearing the same white sweater. Very interesting, I thought. They all match.
She was tall and slender with shoulder length brown hair, and her black capris made her legs seem miles long. She wore black, sporty ballet flats with the words Puma on the side and she was pushing a $300 MacLaren stroller. Her little boy who was about a year old was squirming to get out of it.
“Hold on Robbie,” she said and looked over to her girls. “Emily, Katherine, do you need to go potty?”
The girls shook their heads and the woman placed Robbie into his father’s arms. He was a short, stocky man with a protruding belly, wearing a white and navy striped polo shirt, navy Docker’s shorts and brown leather shoes with white tube socks that were slouched at the ankles. I bit my lip, trying hard not to laugh. His hair was dark brown, styled in a spike and he wore black metal-framed glasses.
“Robert,” the woman began. “Where did Sara go?”
“She’s looking at the fish tank with Mom.” he replied. Oh how adorable, I thought, Robert and Robbie.
I turned my head toward the fish tank and saw a little girl about seven years old admiring the silver and gold fish with her grandmother. She too was wearing the same white sweater, floral capris ensemble. Grandma had on a navy sweater over a white and navy striped blouse, and a pair of navy pants. These people look like they should be on a yacht, I thought.
I knew instantly that this family was not from Stevens Point. The MacLaren was a dead giveaway and the kind way they spoke to each other signaled they were putting on a show, and from they way they were dressed I knew they were oozing money, so they were probably from Buffalo Grove or maybe even Hoffman Estates, Illinois.
My mind began to imagine that they were here visiting Grandma as one last vacation before school started in September. Dad definitely looked like a Point native, the white tube socks suddenly made sense. He probably attended UW-Madison, got a job in Finance in Chicago, married the princess of Arlington Heights who quit her job after she got married and birthed four adorable and well-behaved children.
Sara went to look at some books and Grandma returned to sit next to Robert and her daughter-in-law. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their conversations. They spoke loud enough for the whole library to hear. With an eye on Dawson, I listened intently as they talked about their upcoming cruise to Alaska, and Grandma was enthralled with how daring they were to take all four children along with them.
“Nancy,” she said. “Aren’t you going to be very overwhelmed? How will you ever relax?”
“Oh, I’m not worried. I live for my children. It will be so educational for them.” she replied. “And Robert promised to help, didn’t you Rob?”
Robert nodded and I nearly gagged. I live for my children? Did Nancy really just say that? Oh, yeah right. Put on a show so the librarian and I think you’re the perfect mother.
Nancy continued, talking about her theory that travel agents and airlines were in cahoots and that the cost of the cruise was more than they wanted to pay but she was not giving up her dream of going to Alaska. Again, I had to bite my lip. I could feel the laughter brewing in my belly. It was too much.
I could tell this family thought they were “upper class”. The tone of voice, the way they spoke as if to project an affluent image; slow and careful drawing of words, precise pronunciation, clear enunciation. Nancy was very articulate, I give her that. It was like watching a movie.
I was enthralled. I wanted to a closer so I wouldn’t miss a word.
I got out of my chair and went over by Dawson who was cautiously watching little Emily who came over to pay with the train table as well. Dawson was angry, as Emily grabbed a train out of his hands. Nancy flew to her feet.
“Emily Andrea, you do not take another child’s toy. You know that.” Nancy said. She pronounced Andrea as Ahn-drea. Visions of 90210 danced in my head. “Give it back to the litle boy, please.”
“It’s quite alright,” I replied as Emily gave the train back. “Dawson doesn’t mind sharing.”
Dawson gave me a look that could kill. Why didn’t you yell at that naughty girl, he said with his eyes.
“Dawson is a very hip name, isn’t it?” Nancy asked. “How old is he?”
“He’ll turn three in September,” I said. ”I suppose it is a name that isn’t too popular.”
“Oh, Emily turned three at the beginning of the month, and little Katherine Elaine is almost two. Robbie is 13 months and Sara, my oldest is almost eight.” she returned, as if I asked for her birthing history. I smiled politely and was about to reply when she said, “It must be so hard for you to be a single mother.”
My face went white. I didn’t know how to respond and I wasn’t even quite sure I really heard Nancy correctly. I pulled an awkward smile from the corners of my mouth and stood up.
“Actually, I’m not a single mother. I’ve been married nearly six years.” I laughed nervously. What about my appearance screamed “single mother”? Was it the track pants? The comfy running shoes? The faded t-shirt?
“Oh gosh,” Nancy sputtered. “I apologize. You weren’t wearing a wedding ring, and the way you dressed…I just assumed….”
“That’s alright.” I said flatly, and noticed her husband coming over to us. I’m sure he overheard our exchange. Oh great, I thought. This ought to be good.
“You’ll have to forgive my wife,” Robert said. “She’s a stay-at-home mother and she has the toughest job in the world, I’m sure you know.”
At this point I was fuming. How dare these uppity people make assumptions about me! Never mind the fact that I made my own perceptions about them, at least I kept mine to myself. And it looks like I was right about them.
Since when does being a SAHM mean you have lost your mind? Since when is that an excuse to say ridiculous things to others? I know many SAHM’s who wouldn’t dream of being so rude.
“Actually,” I said, my voice edgy. “I work outside the home. I wouldn’t know what a stay-at-home mother goes through. But I am a mom, and I do know it’s very difficult. I also know when to keep my mouth shut.”
I looked down at what I was wearing and said, “Oh, and another thing, I’m only dressed like this because I’m a very busy mom with no time put on my church clothes to come to the library.”
I don’t know why I felt compelled to justify my attire. I looked up and Robert’s face was red with embarrassment. Or maybe he was fighting back laughter. I couldn’t tell. He started to speak but Nancy interjected.
“What do you do?” she asked, in a cheerful voice. As if the conversation two minutes earlier never took place. “I used to be a bank teller.”
“I’m a writer,” I said. I dug into my bag and pulled out my business card. Nancy took the card and read The Dana Files out loud and tossed the card in her pocket. “I’ll have to check that out.”
“You do that,” I replied. I politely excused myself and told Dawson it was time to go get lunch. I packed our things and we headed to the elevator. I was grateful that my Doodlebug didn’t throw his usual exit tantrum.
Nancy called out, “It was lovely meeting you!”
I turned to half-smile and I gave a lazy wave, and then willed the elevator doors to open quickly. We got in and Dawson pushed the button to go up. The second the “magic doors” closed I started mentally recording every moment of this trip to the library.
Once in the parking lot, I opened the umbrella since it was still raining a little and I noticed a black Cadillac Escalade parked next to me with Illinois license plates. I laughed uncontrollably and wondered if an alarm would go off should I decide to key the passenger door. But I’m not a vandal. I’m just a writer and I knew I would enjoy blogging about this.
Thank you, Robert and Nancy, for the excellent blog fodder. I hope in the future you’ll keep your completely incorrect assumptions to yourself.
