I want my Mommy!

My Mom (actually my stepmom, but she as real as it gets in my world) is out of town and I need her. I have house-guests, birthday parties, work, more work, children, food, aches, pains, and neurosis to attend to and I need someone to set me straight.

She is brilliant at cutting through my clutter and hearing the heart of the matter. She can see the big picture and hone in on the missing pieces. I am more of the throw the puzzle at the wall and hope that the lost pieces won’t be noticed type, perhaps even mistaken as art.

She knows exactly what I have to tackle no matter how much mess I hurl at her. I can talk endlessly about the kids, the house, the food, the floor, the lack of sleep, the people coming over, the stress, the unfairness of my condition and a price of gas. She will say, “So, you need to mop the floors before they arrive.”

And at that very moment, I can see everything in high definition. Yes, that is it. How simple? How brilliant? How utterly doable? How manageable and realistic? Just pick up a mop, fill a bucket and clean up my life. She is like a gentle rapping on the knuckles, which calls a die-hard catholic-guilt girl like me to action. I need her focus.

Everything is in order. We are ready, but I feel like I am forgetting something. I need that final advice, a piece of wisdom, a drop of knowledge or insight that remarkably fills my entire bucket. It could be as simple as “Did you pick up extra milk?” or perhaps after hearing all the preparations “How long has it been since you’ve seen them?” In order to get me thinking about them instead of me, and my crazy, for a whole nanosecond.

I need a hit. Something to put my mind at rest, something so sincerely loving that you know, if you forgot the milk, it would truly not be worth crying over.