We've been going through the annual hatred of summer camp at the Arens house. She hates bowling. Rather, she hates the fact that her team never gets any strikes. She's sick of swimming with the babies and hasn't passed the swimming test yet. She doesn't want to get up in the morning.

And she blames me.

"I promise I won't bother you," she says, noticing for the 800th time that my office is in our house.

Beloved reinforced it had nothing to do with that. "You know why you have to go to summer camp."

She splashed water up the sides of the bathtub. "Because Mommy thinks I'll bother her here," she said, making the mad eyes at me. "But I'll be really quiet. I just want to be home like a normal kid."

"What are you talking about?" I said. "Almost everyone you know goes to summer camp. All your friends from your old school, all your friends from this camp, nearly all of your cousins. You are not the only child in the world who has two parents with jobs. You are completely normal."

She started crying. "I just want to stay home with you."

I didn't react well. For a variety of reasons, yesterday was a shit day, and that sort of knocked me over the edge. I picked myself up, put myself in time out in my bedroom and sobbed into the pillows.

She knocked on the door after a little while. "I'm sorry I made you cry," she said.

I tried to tell her it wasn't her, but I could see she didn't believe me.

In the wee hours of the morning, she woke up with the pirate nightmare and I woke up with puffy eyes and a crying hangover.

I don't know what normal kids do. I just know what we do, how we adjust and react.

I'm pretty sure it's normal to want whatever it is you don't have.

This weekend we "vacationed" (by this I mean: we drove to see family and went to the zoo) in fabulous downtown Des Moines, Iowa.  I didn't see any flood waters, but I heard from my Cedar Rapids-based brother-in-law that a) flood "water" is a term that should be used loosely, as there is a lot in the water besides water and b) flood water is powerful enough to move just about anything in its way.  It was depressing to hear of how much had been lost in Cedar Rapids and Iowa City, cities I've lived and worked in. 

On the upside, my in-laws are safe and still in their house, which is more than a lot of folks up there can say. (And in Iowa, they are "folks," trust me.)  Also, we had a wonderful time.  We stayed in a hotel, which made the little angel delirious with happiness, we went to the zoo, we grilled out and the little angel and her five-year-old cousin A. immersed themselves in their cousin M's American Girl collection, which I have to say is very impressive.  Those dolls had crutches, roller skates, and tap shoes with real taps on them. It was all I could do to keep from seizing them myself.  I got to see three of my nine in-law families, including my MIL and FIL.  We had to skip traveling to see them at Thanksgiving last year due to finances, so it was really important we get to see them this weekend.

This morning, of course, the little angel woke up, realized it was a school day, and started having a fit.  I told her we were running late (as usual) but today, I just really didn't care.  She randomly changed her tune.

"You'd better hurry, Mommy," she said.  "Otherwise your work teacher will be mad at you."

GOOD POINT.

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Talking about how to spot stroke and heart attack today at BlogHer.

This week I had a meeting with a woman who left the workforce when her second son was born and the first stopped sleeping.  She had a great career, an enviable career, but one day, she'd just had it and realized she wanted to be home for her kids.  She said they were poor for a while. We talked about how some of her friends and family reacted to her decision, how some called it "giving in," how she'd built a successful consulting career in the 15 or so years since she made that decision.

I ate my bagel and wanted to cry.  If I quit my job, we wouldn't be just poor. We'd be out on our asses.

I've been having a hard working mommy week.  The little angel has been really fighting daycare. I don't know what's different - she was doing fine for months - maybe it's that she senses in me a wistfulness when I drive her there.  A realization, for me, that any chance I would have to be home with her before she starts real school is running through the hourglass at breakneck speed, and there is nothing I can do to reverse time.

I've worked full-time since she was three months old. I've had to. We are a solidly dual-income family - we need both salaries. I've gone around and around the mulberry bush for four years, trying to figure out how I could possibly spend more time with my daughter, and the answers have always been disappointing.  I don't regret my "decision" to work, per se, because it doesn't feel like a decision when it's a necessary evil.  I'm very happy I've been able to move my career in a direction that makes me happier - I love writing and editing - but I'd love to do it fewer hours a week, at least now, before my daughter completely grows up on me.

I don't know where I'm going with this. I feel like I've been over this ground so many times I've worn ruts with my pacing, and the answers never change.  But this morning when my daughter clung to me, crying, I think if I'd been able to make a decision like the woman with whom I had coffee, I would've done it right then.

But I can't.

Damn it.