Musings about life in the Pigeon household

My Little Pigeons

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I feel great. I feel empowered. I’m working. Earning a wage.

Yep. The stay-at-home mom for almost a decade now has a well-paying job in a nice office with fun people.

I’m using my brain.

People listen when I say something and don’t talk back.

I wear clothes that aren’t hoodies and yoga pants.

Actually, that part isn’t so great. Whoever invented nylons and heels needs to hop on my elliptical for half a day (someone needs to use it) and eat only carrots and celery and then still have the darn things roll down their stomach to their crotch while having to sit at a desk all day!

I like the hours. These guys are flexible and allow me to work the kind of hours where I can still pick my kids up at school and hang with them for the day. My boys still get playdates (sorry, not allowed to call them that anymore. Hangouts) and time at home, and it really hasn’t affected them much.

Until recently.

Things have exploded at work. A major acquisition of land – which means I’m busy. I’m in the land department in an oil and gas company (you can say what you want about oil and gas, and some days I feel the same way, but just remember the condemning words and thoughts when you use your car today or ride the bus or have the heat come on in your house or need hot water for anything… and then cut me some slack, kay?)…

Anyhoo. Not too many people know what in the world a Land Administrator does and this post is not going to be used to explain all the intricacies of my job. Let’s just say a company buys land to develop wells. I help keep track of the land we have and I pay rentals to the government and to farmers on the land and administer contracts we create with other companies to drill the wells… clear as mud?

So things at work have been hectic. Some long days and a couple of Saturdays have been logged. The boys are acting up a bit at school and one teacher suggested that maybe it was because of me going back to work. I personally think it is because spring has sprung and my boys would rather be doing anything else when the sun shines than sitting at a desk in a stifling classroom learning fractions. But that’s just me.

Her words stuck with me though. Nagging at me.

Maybe it is my fault. I’m not doing enough. I should spend more time with the boys, blah blah blah.

Do guys ever go through this? Is this why women might not ever conquer the world? Would we feel too guilty?

Would we be all, ‘Oh, sorry Lieutenant, we can’t invade that country today. I have five loads of laundry waiting for me at home and I need to have quality time with my kids.’

Not that I’m worried about conquering anything other than the absolutely filthy floors in my house…

And then it all came to a head yesterday.

My oldest was on the school field, horsing around with a buddy. They both were chasing after a rubber chicken (they still make those?) and collided.

My child got the worst of it. Darn rubber chickens.

He went to the office and the phone-call-saga, as I like to call it, began.

No one was home.

They don’t have my new cell number, so they couldn’t reach me. Stupid stupid stupid. I kept meaning to send the information to the school, but kept putting it off.

They didn’t even try hubby. My oldest kept telling them he was out of town and not to call him.

He was running errands about five minutes away from the school, actually.

Why the school administration took the word of a nine-year-old and didn’t at least call hubby for my new contact information is another post entirely and something that will hopefully be discovered later today after I drop the kids at school and am finally calm enough to ask them face-to-face about it.

Deep breathes.

So while my poor child is in pain, the school secretaries are frantically trying to find someone to come take this boy off their hands.

They end up calling my emergency contact. Who was actually out at a park with her kids. Thank God she had her cell. Thank God she called her hubby and he was home and available to pick up my child (big bottle of wine and some flowers were promptly delivered to their home!).

So emergency contact doesn’t have my cell number either.

Please understand my own cell phone history.

I used to have a cell that I usually forgot at home, left at restaurants, lost in the van, etc.

Half the time it wasn’t even charged and I hardly ever gave out the number. If you needed me, call me at home.

Being at work changed all that and I need to be on the ball more and realize that I’m not at home anymore. I need to hand out my contact information.

Yes, it would have been most helpful for my frigging emergency contact to have my frigging cell phone number. Ugh. What a dumbass I am.

And what was I doing all this time? Why, I was out for Vietnamese food at a lunch I helped organize for a co-worker’s birthday.

Even if my phone had been called, I wouldn’t have heard it.

Oh, the guilt.

My son was sitting in the school office for almost an hour before he was picked up.

With a broken collar bone.

Guilty? Oh wait, the guilt train is just leaving the station, people! All aboard!

Everyone finally gets hold of me, I get hold of hubby. He picks up the oldest at our friend’s house – who by the way, went to the school in such a panic that he forgot his wallet. When asked for I.D. to take my son home, he says, ‘Well, I don’t have my driver’s licence, but I’m a cop. Will my badge do?”

Best line of the day!

Needless to say, my oldest was released to my friend right away!

Hubby takes our child to the hospital where it is determined he indeed broke his collarbone.

And throughout the pick-up drama, I’m racing out of downtown to get anywhere that is closer to my family than the concrete building I work in.

And after picking my other two up at school, I spend the afternoon waiting. I wait. And wait. Texting constantly back and forth with hubby for updates and trying to make cookies with my youngest to keep my mind focused on anything other than guilt.

So my oldest and my hubby finally get home (two hours, in and out – I think it is a record for any hospital in Calgary! Very impressive!)

And my boy, who didn’t cry on the field, in the van or at the hospital, takes one look at his mom and breaks down.

I am Mom. Hear my roar… ish…

This is why the school now has my contact number because I’m not home and this is also why I’ll beat myself up every time I think of this incident, knowing my boy was scared and in pain and alone. Completely alone without his mom, the one person he needed and wanted.

So his soccer season is done. So many tears on that one. His birthday party next weekend at the roller rink is postponed. Poor dude.

I can’t even hug him properly because his poor body looks and is so broken. He’s lopsided because the collarbone isn’t hoisting up his shoulder anymore. He’s uncomfortable and confined to no activity for the next four weeks. This is brutal for this active guy who just learned to do backflips on our trampoline.

My perfect boy will have a bump on his collarbone when the bones finally fuse together and he’s pretty upset about that and when the two of us were alone, my brave, sweet boy allowed himself to cry in front of his mom over that one too.

Last night I was putting both boys to bed and I was going back and forth between heading into work today. I talked to my oldest about it and asked him what he wanted – to have Mom home? And he said it was up to me.

Then my middle boy piped in and said, “Mom, what do you love more? Work or J?”

And I said, “J. No question.”

And he answered with, “Then why don’t you just stay home with him then?”

So my new Life-Coach is my eight year old son and here I am, in front of my computer, still in my robe, waiting for everyone to wake up so I can make breakfast and then hang with my oldest boy today and bring him juice and prop up his pillows and stroke his hair.

I might work a bit from home… maybe we’ll have a nap instead.

The guilt has eased… for now…


One thought on “My Little Pigeons

  1. Tracy….first, “shit happens.”
    Don’t let some teacher who thinks because she has a degree on the wall, guilt you into anything.
    I have the same degree as them, plus another…and, from what I’ve seen….most of them should butt out of thinking they’re any sort of an authority on ‘how best to live your life’….shut up…and simply, ‘teach’.

    You’re a dedicated mom, and might I add…a loving one. You are smart, articulate, hard-working and a wonderful mentor and friend to many. You’re an amazing wife to Jason, positive role model to your children and an inspiration to many.You’re smart enough to be the best damn land administrator this city’s ever seen, and being all these things is not something you should feel guilty about.

    If you could only see the IQ pool that I’ve seen in University, you’d know they’re not as smart as people would like to believe. I remember when I started on my university path, and being horrified at how stupid these ‘bright minds’ really were. How could the future of our society be so book smart, but have no common sense? That still is a mystery to me…but…whatever you do, don’t let some academic mental midget try to tell you that your decision to go back to work is responsible for boys acting up in school.

    FYI…have your children ever told you this teacher is mean? Weird? Kooky?

    From what I’ve seen and experienced…and witnessed in class….most, not all…but most…are all these things and abuse their authority. And, yes, I’ve been on the other end of things with my child too so I know how this abuse transfers from the class, into the home.

    Did she ever think they’re acting up because they’re in HER classroom?

    Anyway, hang in there sweetie.

    Me (Alex’s mom)

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