Separation Anxiety

So, the deal is, I'm a mother and a marketing consultant. Clearly I identify with each role, and I'm happy to blather on in public (here) about my flailings as a mother, but for the most part, I like to keep the two worlds seperate. Oh sure, there are some crossover friends, and a few who know about my blog, but mostly not. I try to keep a certain image, as a consultant; one of organization, control and experience. And sometimes I feel that the image I portray as a mother undermines that a little.Sometimes.

So it was not without trepidation that I told a sales rep at one of my client's that he could swing over one evening and borrow my projector. Especially when I realized he'd have to come in and hook it up to his laptop to make sure it worked.

I enlist everyone to prepare. Pick that up! Take that to your room! Man the dishwasher!

I survey the results right before he arrives. House in order? Check!

But alas, control over clutter and control over children are two different things.

He comes in and stands in the hallway for a second as we exchange basic greetings. Low and behold my 9-year old is now wearing a bikini, hiking boots and has scarves wrapped around a tiara on her head. She scrambles down the stairs, looks at us and shouts, "I am a Tuna. And I like cheese!" Then she runs past us into the extra bedroom.

My eyebrows shoot up and I look at her retreating figure. I fix my expression into a forced Doris Day and say brightly, "Lets check this out and get you going, shall we?"

He just smiles and follows me to my office.

As I open the door and step inside, my brain is slow to catch the scene. My younger girl is in a "singlet" (a white ribbed sleeveless undershirt I'm trying not to call a "wife beater") and sweats. She's playing plants and zombies and yelling at the screen, "Take THAT you zombie BATARDS!" She has been listening to her father play, apparently, but obviously not closely.

I am distracted by this, naturally. Which is why I don't see my bra laying on my keyboard until I catch my colleages quizzical, yet amused, gaze.

"Oh hell," is all I can say.

"Mama," Boo starts, still staring fixedly at the computer screen, "I found your bra on the stairs and brought it to you. I sniffed it. It smells like you!" She turns towards me then, and shoots me a beaming smile.

Well, okey dokey then. It's time to give it up and just say, "Welcome to my life!"

Comments

[Betty Campidonica]

"Okey Dokey." I am going to start saying that again. I had converted to "Tarter Sauce" by that one is an oldie but a goodie.

Take Care,

Betty