Monday Evenings

Monday evening at the Solomon house has become so predictable, it's practically ritual. At three o'clock I begin herding Hannah towards the Tahoe so we can pick up Katie and Hailey from school. Hannah does not transition well (Dandy-Walker? Sensory Integration? Beligerance???), even when the transition is towards something she wants or enjoys. As a result, moving from her 3:00 interest towards the door is...taxing, to say the least. Usually around 3:07 she is loaded and screaming and I'm contemplating the consequences of drinking and driving (not really, I would never do that, but you get the idea.)

On Monday nights Katie has Girl Scouts and Hailey has basketball practice. Both begin at 5:30. Because 5:30 is a mere two hours from our arrival home from school, I require that Katie and Hailey immediately begin their homework without much break time. Hannah absorbs the tension created by this "pressure" (oh, that my life held such "pressures"), and bounces it back onto us by tormenting Hailey while I help Katie with math.

"Mom, this problem doesn't make sense."

I reply, "OK, I can help you. Hailey, why don't you find something to eat and get ready for basketball practice while I help Katie." So far, so good. Hailey heads to the kitchen while I shuffle to the couch where Katie sits.

As I read Katie's math problem we are interrupted by Hannah's screaming in the kitchen, "No! 'Top! AAAhhh!" Katie exhales a huge sigh and I holler towards the kitchen, "Do you know what's wrong, Hailey?"

"Yes, I got a spoon out of the drawer and Hannah's mad." How dare Hailey get her own spoon. "Can I put Hannah in her room?"

"You can try," I reply and return my attention to Katie. We attempt to focus on the fraction problem as Hannah screams from her room and slams doors. I suggest to Katie that she do her homework in her room, my room, any room but the living room, which is in the center of the house. She'll have none of it, as if moving somehow equals allowing Hannah to win. Argh.

Somewhere early in all of this, the phone invariably rings. I typically ignore it, but today it is my sister-in-law who, according to my caller-i.d., has called five times while I picked up the girls from school. With the holidays upon us, I think it might be important. Katie and Hailey are each handling their homework at that moment, so I answer. My sister-in-law hasn't called for anything pressing, but I still spend twenty minutes visiting, occasionally muting the call to issue instructions. Mother of the year. Yessiree. Continuing with the phone theme, I usually call Carl around 4:15, trying not to sound as frazzled as I feel, and ask what time he'll be home. "No pressure, or anything, just wondering. Hannah is being a jewel tonight." His answer: 7:00--just in time for me to have juggled supper, taxi-driving and Hannah on my own. Again, single moms: kudos!

Although I asked the girls to be ready to walk out the door at 5:15, Katie works on a math problem until the very last second, then asks me if 420/30=120. When I say no, tears threaten to bubble from her eyes. "Bring your math and we'll look over it after we drop Hailey off. Let's get Hannah out to the Tahoe."

I won't repeat the constant rerun of "Trip-to-the-Tahoe." I trust you remember. I drop off Hailey, confer with her coach about Wednesday-before-Thanksgiving practice, look over Katie's math as I drive to Girl Scouts (is that better or worse than drinking and driving?), discover the error, watch her correct it, then drive home.

The finale turns this tragedy to a comedy. For the past four Mondays as I pull into our drive, Hannah and I have shared the following conversation:

Hannah asks, "Daa-ee?"

I translate, "Where is daDDy?" with emphasis on her missing middle "D."

She says, "Daddy...is....at...work." She's been working on that specific sentence in speech therapy.

I reply, "Yes, Daddy is at work."

She says, "Bee muh-ee?"

I translate, "Yes, he's making bean money."

She concludes with, "Eee bees?"

"Yes, so we can eat beans."

Hannah. One minute she's making me cry. In the next, she's making me laugh. Out loud.