"Honey, where's my tie? Did you go to the cleaners like I asked?"
"It's on your tie rack, Dear. Where you put it last night....Oh, Chelsey, bring this coffee up to your dad before you go to class, will you? Did you talk with your physics professor about dropping that course? ... Well, do it today, ok, before it's too late?..."Oh, not again; DANIEL!!!"
"Bye, Dear, have a good day. Yes, I'll get the film developed, the packages mailed and call the insurance agent. Remember, your mother is coming this weekend so you have to figure out where we're going to put her and your sister and brother-in-law on Sunday. I can't handle it all by myself. Tonight; promise?"
"Chelsey, wait! You forgot your student i.d.! It's on the kitchen table!"
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
"And in the nation today the peace talks are going down hill."
click, click, click.
"A is for Apple, a yummy tasty treat. B is for Butter, it's what I like to eat. C is for Cookie, I eat them all the time. Oh, cookie, cookie, cookie, cookie, cookie."
"Yes, Honey, that's Cookie Monster. Look; Cookie Monster doesn't have cereal all over his hair. Can't you be like Cookie Monster, just this once?....Oh, no, Daniel, not the milk too! Mommy just cleaned the floor yesterday! How am I ever going to get everything ready for this weekend if I have to wash the floor all over again? Here, get down. Mommy'll just pop you in the tub to get that goop out of your hair. No, no, don't cry, Danny. Mommy loves you. It's ok. Mommy's sorry. It'll be all right. Just let me... NOOOOOO, don't grab the curtains! I just hung them up last night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
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Martha thought her day would never end. In addition to the insurance, mail and pictures, she still had the bedrooms and baths to clean, new sheets to buy for the new bed in the Study, call the furniture company to be sure the bed would be delivered before Saturday, contact the Play Group mothers to be sure they were all meeting in the afternoon. Then she had to figure out what in the world they would have for dinner, struggle with Daniel to get him to take a nap since he was so wound up after Play Group, and fight the urge to take a nap herself. Life just never seemed to find that plateau of peace she was promised when she first started childbirthing classes 18 months ago.
Just as Daniel was awakening, the back door slammed and in walked Chelsey.
"What's the matter, Babe? You sound...oh, Chelsey, your face. What happened?"
"Nothin'. It's ok. Health service took care of it. Just an accident. No problem. No, I don't want to talk about it. Just leave me alone, will ya'?"
Slam.
Slam.
"Oh, great, Darren is gonna have a fit when he sees Chelsey's face. He was hoping she'd go for that interview tomorrow. How am I going to keep him from exploding when he sees Chelsey? God, I hope they did a decent job at that health service. I wonder if they'll give me any information if I..."
Just then the front door opened. It was Darren, fuming about something or other and unwilling to talk.
Slam.
Slam.
"What the devil is .... Oh, Daniel, I'm sorry! Mommy's coming!!!!"
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And so Martha's evening wasn't any less hectic than the daytime, only now she had other people's problems to solve as well as her own. And she couldn't even take time for a bath for herself, since she had to keep father and daughter from fighting with each other. It seems they were always fighting over something these days. Martha thought the college years were supposed to be better than the early and mid-teens, but it seemed her step-daughter was always brooding about something, and her father was always getting upset about something Chelsey did. As if he were disappointed in how she was maturing. And she had no idea why, since she was a bright young woman with a real talent for art. If only her dad could accept that she wasn't....."Hon, would you bring me my brief case? I left it in the Study when I was measuring the room for that cot."
So off Martha went, tending to the details of her home. The next 3 days were not much better, but by Friday the house was ready for company, Chelsey's injuries turned out to be more innocent and less serious than they looked at first, and the bed had finally arrived. It was breakfast time again, and the morning was a lot like every other morning.
"Honey, where's my new jacket, the one we picked up last night?"
"In your closet, Dear, on the left, in front of all of the shirts. Oh, Chelsey, would you bring this coffee up to your dad before you go out? Did you drop that course the other day? You did? Good, what did your professor say?"
"Honey, would you bring me some coffee?"
"Chelsey's coming up with it, Dear. ...Chel, lets talk about that class when you get home, ok?"
A few minutes later there were those familiar sounds:
slam
slam
slam
"And in the world news today, President..."
click, click, click
"Today's lesson is brought to you by the letters F and G, and the numbers 1, 2, 3."
"Look, Danny, Mommy found Big Bird. Oh, Danny, not again! Look at your face. Oatmeal in your hair, all over your high chair, on the floor. No, Honey, don't cry. It's ok. No, No NOOOO. Danny don't throw your spoon right into the...Oh, Danny, you have got to stop this. You can't just put...."
buzz....the door bell..."Special Delivery for Darren. I wonder if I should open it? Maybe I should call him first. Oh, no, not the apple juice, too. DANNNNNNNEEEEEEE!"
Martha put down the letter, wiped Danny's mouth and chin and hands, took off the high chair tray and helped Danny out. Leaving the goopy oatmeal all over the floor and curtains and dining table and cupboard doors, Martha grabbed Danny and a jar of bubbles off the kitchen shelf. She took him outside and sat on the stoop, slowly blowing bubbles and watching them float through the air. They popped and disappeared as mysteriously as her thoughts of special delivery letters, beds and cots for weekend guests, physics courses and briefcases, coats and ties, play groups and insurance companies, world events and Cookie Monster. The only thing left were Martha and Danny, bubbles and stoops. Every time she dipped the wand, Danny would try to grab it and eat it. But she managed to blow into it several times until the colored orbs appeared, changing shape as they grew, making their way along invisible pathways, sometimes popping but often floating out of sight. Dip and blow, grow and float. Dip and blow, grow and float. A rhythm of motion developed and Danny started to slow down, no longer grabbing and biting at the wand, but settling down into the music of the mysterious soapy balloons. He sat down in front of his mommy, watching the circles float in front of him, floating and popping, floating without stopping. Dip and blow, grow and float. Dip and blow, grow and float.
And then it hit her. This is it. This is what they were talking about. They didn't promise a smooth ride. They didn't say her house would be ready for company and her husband and step-daughter would start understanding each other. They didn't even promise she'd have dinner on the table by six, with laundry done and hair washed and oatmeal scraped off the counters. Instead they promised a plateau of peace. And here it was. A peaceful interlude in her hectic life. A plateau - a small table of time, when she could notice the rhythm of the bubbles and the quiet attention of her son as he watched the mystery unfold before him as the remains of his oatmeal dribbled down his chin. Dip and blow, grow and float....