This is just me musing about childhood memories.
I nap in my comfy chair in the early morning while the Kinglet gets ready for school. He's mostly self-sufficient now; I just have to set an alarm to remind myself to remind him to Do All the Things (brush your teeth/hair, put on deodorant, open the front door, be ready for your ride). Then I call the Empress down, make her breakfast, pack her lunch, etc etc, and get her ready for the bus (which now stops direct at our door, thanks to my disabled self-advocacy!) Once I see her off I can usually slip back into my chair for another coupla hours--a priviledge I gladly indulge in, given my current state of ill health. Those late morning naps can be so freaking sweet.
But the Empress has been home 3 out of 5 days this week (tummy problems sandwiched between MLK Day and school inservice).
In my chair this morning, waiting for the alarm, I found myself wondering what Mom did when I was sick, or had off from school. Did it screw up her week? How did she handle it? One of those things I can't ask her about now, and have to piece together for myself. I hate that.
When I was very little, Mom worked as a waitress. Nights and weekends at a place called The Royal Exchange, up the hill from our house, in Pike Creek. Now it's a Ruby Tuesdays. I have exactly two memories of this part of her life:
1) I remember crying, broken-hearted on the stairs as she was preparing to leave for work one evening. I must have been about 3 or 4. It was a hard time for me I guess, losing that constant access to her.
She was so beautiful, then. Like, truly, glamour magazine pretty.
It must have been hard for my father, too, because I remember he was jealous a lot. I can just imagine--Mom being out late, terminally pretty, serving drunk dudes, while Dad was home alone with three kids. There were a lot of fights at that time. But I digress.
2) I remember one of her co-workers feeding me fruit from the cocktail bar. Maraschino cherries and oranges. First time I ever tried an orange (that i'm aware of).
Then at some point, Mom gave up waitressing to start her cleaning business. Another thing I can't remember, how she got the idea. Someone she knew was doing it, I guess. Anyway. I was still quite young.
3) I remember she took me with her once because I was sick, and she couldn't find a sitter. Her client was home at the time--probably the lady who had Fibromialgia before it was quite as common. I was watching TV or coloring while Mom cleaned. The lady said she liked my nightgown, that it was her favorite color. "Pink?" I asked. "Yes, salmon pink." My first introduction to nuances of color.
[So I guess she used sitters. Who? Mrs. Markovchik? Mary Ellen Welby up the street? Sweet sweet lady. I used to stop and talk to her on the way home from middle school. She remembered my favorite candy bar was Three Musketeers. Her daughter, Michelle, died young of an aneuyrism. Can you image that, having your one and only child die before you? That's always haunted me. But anyway. The boy I liked in Kindergarten and 1st Grade, Robbie Boyle, also lived in our neighborhood, in the yellow house--his mom watched me now and then too.]
But one of the reasons she stuck with her cleaning business was the flexibility. She could move jobs around, come at different times or on different days, or not work at all if I was home from school or whatever. So that's probably how she managed it.
But Also, I know I was left on my own much earlier than I can imagine leaving my kids. We've only just started allowing the Kinglet to stay in the house by himself at 13. I was a latchkey kid at least as early as 4th grade, if not earlier. A whole day at home--or even half a day, a few hours, while Mom did a house--is not inconceivable. Possibly with one or both of my brothers in charge, since if it was a school closing, chances are they were home as well. [At least once they transferred to the public school. Note to self: find out when Shawn started at Christiana.]
Anyway. I started my day with my head full of these things. Seemed like something I wanted to write down.