By Elizabeth Helmer Bring. Bring. Bring. “Wake up and turn off your alarm.” Thump. Bring. Thump. Bring. “I’m trying to but my hand’s asleep.” Thump. Bring. Husband's hands bang the top of the bedside table like Pappa Bear’s paws husking the den for the hidden honey jar in the middle of winter. 5 AM. Awake. My day is like a clock on speed. Wash up. Down to gym. Heart rate soars. 6 AM Lift weights. Pull 150 lbs male out of bed. Make 2 lunches. Write excuse slips. Sign permission forms. Write checks for tests. 7 AM “Son, drive slow. Use blinkers. Use caution. Use your head and have a nice day.” 7:30 AM Drive 15 yr old to school. “Do you have your lunch? Do you have your books? Do you have your pens?” “Oh no, Mom, I left my homework on the kitchen table. Can you bring it to the office by 8 AM?" BRRRRRRMMMMM! ERRRRRRRR! BRMMMMMMM! 9 AM vacuum 10 AM wash and hang clothes outside 11AM-3 PM work 3 PM pick up daughter 4 PM grocery shop 5 PM fix supper 6 PM serve supper 7 PM clean dishes, clean floor, clean me 8 PM Sit down. Calm down. Write up homework. 9 PM Wind the alarm clock. My week is like a calendar on a high fat diet. Can’t say no to kid’s school. Can’t say no to church. Can’t say no to family. Only say no to self. “Will you volunteer to be PTA president next year?” I fizz like an Alka Seltzer plopped in water and hiss, “Ysss.” “Will you be a church elder?” Want to blat out NOOOO as loudly as a cow moos. “Mom can I sign up for community theater? Practice is only five days a week?” “No.” “Pretty please?” “NO” “Pretty, pretty please.” Daughter’s pleading is like a tennis ball thrown by Anna Kournikova. Lub de uh. My NO is is like Chris Evert’s backhand. “Whack” “Do you want me to join a gang? Do drugs? Get a biker for a boyfriend?” Lub de uh. Lub de uh. Lub de uh. Out of bounds. Out of line. Out of my mind. “Oh I’ll right.” Dimmed. Dumbed. Dulled. Everyone shoves their program in my face. My life is like a computer in a coma. “Mom make me an appointment for a physical. UC wants me to have it by next week.” “Mom need to mail me my black shoes with the 4” heels not the 3” or the 2”. Send it Federal Express to my dorm in Indiana.” “Mom need to go to Longs for poster board. Store closes in ten minutes.” Want to cry. Want to crash. Want to cram in my own program. See, hear, hold. Hold my life. Hold my life through words. Bzerp. Bzerp. Bzerp.
AUTHOR: Elizabeth Helmer lives in Napa, California. She is the mother of three teenagers. E-mail:elizabethhelmer@yahoo.com | 
