Freaky Friday

Sam didn't like me.  Then I didn't like myself.  Pretty soon  I didn't like him either.  With a ruined laptop and a public meltdown -- I didn't like the day, and the day didn't like me.

I knew it wasn't going to be such a good day when I first came downstairs last Friday to Sam and Daddy Mac playing at the train table.   Sam announced, "I don't like you!"  Don't get me wrong, I am glad that he enjoys his time alone with Daddy Mac and all, but that was a little bit extreme.  Am I not the one who gave up alcohol, sushi, and goat cheese to haul him around for 40 weeks plus, not to mention ripping apart my innards to give birth to this pint-sized ingrate?  Aaargh! 

When talking on the phone later that morning to my mother (known as "Grams" in our house), I mentioned Sam's declaration of dislike for me.  Without missing a beat, Grams responded, "Oh, you kids said that to me all the time.   And I'd just think to myself, 'Sometimes I don't like you either!'"  Of course, my first reaction was that of my inner child -- how could you not like me even for a second?   Then as maturity settled in like a blanket, I tried to think of times when I didn't like Sam.  I was sure there had been some, but I just couldn't think of anything specific.  (As you can see, I've learned that amnesia is a handy maternal coping skill.) 

Fast forward to the afternoon during precious nap time.  I was doing my usual triple tasking -- checking my e-mail, drinking a big cuppa tea, and yaking away with my friend Michelle on the phone.  I'm still not even quite sure what happened, but somehow I whacked my mug by accident.  Yes, you guessed it, a couple of waves of tea went sloshing all over my laptop.  Nooooooooo!  

Within seconds the screen looked like it was on hallucinogens -- turning all blue, then all red, all green, and back to blue again.  Freaky Friday it was!  I tried to sop up the liquid, but most of it had fallen inside the keyboard.  Not good, not good at all.  Upon Michelle's suggestion, I picked up the computer and water poured out of it.  (It was a pretty big trickle, not a small trickle, mind you.)  Then I turned it off, but it wouldn't start up again.   

So I conceded defeat and called the doctor, I mean, the Apple Store at Short Pump.  Luckily I was able to get an appointment for late afternoon.  However, unluckily I would be missing a fun loving neighbor's rockin' Cinco de Mayo party, complete with margarita machine.  And it was all over a silly cup of tea I really didn't even want...  At this point I didn't like myself a whole lot either.

On our way to Short Pump, I told Sam that we had to go to the computer store first.  Then we'd ride the train, one of his all-time favorite activities.  He was fine in the Apple store considering there was nothing there for him to do but break some pricey  computers.  All in all, though, he did OK, only wandering out of the store in a stupor of boredom a couple of times.

In the meantime, the "genius" at the help bar informed me that my computer was broken with no hope for resuscitation.  Not such a big surprise considering the laptop had swallowed half a cup of Early Grey.  Determined not to cry over spilt tea, I went ahead and bought a new computer.  I left my waterlogged laptop there in hopes that they could save the hard drive.  (As it turns out, they couldn't, but let's not dwell on that or I will slit my wrists, OK?)

As we left the store, I commended Sam on what a Good Boy he had been during the stay.  And it was train time!  Sam was so excited he was having trouble controlling himself.  So we headed over to buy the tickets at the concierge desk.   Meanwhile Sam took off running like he was starring in a toddler remake of "Chariots of Fire," only not in slow motion.  What the heck?  He knew the drill -- I was buying tickets for the train and just about to pay as a matter of fact.  Scared of losing him in the crowd, I screamed at him to come back.  Hearing the fear in my voice, he turned his head to look AND KEPT GOING.  That stinker!  

After hesitating for a second, I abandoned my spot in line and took off after him.  I raced over to the train station area, and he was nowhere to be seen.  My heart was pounding as I spun around in a circle looking for him and yelling his name at a decibel that makes it clear I grew up in the Northeast.  (I did.)  He was gone, I tell you, gone.  And older lady caught my frazzled eye and pointed towards the toy store, another one of his favorite hangouts.  I charged in --the Saminator nowhere to be seen.  

Fueled by momentum and adrenaline, I sprinted to the train tables in back, and there he was focused on playing with trains without a care in the world.  When I asked him what had happened, he said, "Sam Macky needed to play with the trains!"  Oh he did, did he?  Now I didn't like him either, not one bit.  After making him look me in the eye and telling him not to run off because it's dangerous, I just played it cool.  It was fine and dandy until he was tired of the toy store and wanted to ride the train -- badly.

"No," I said, "I already tried to take you on the train, and you ran away from me."  Seeing that I meant business, Sam started to sob --not just cry --a brokenhearted sob as I carried him out to the car.   Neither Daddy Mac nor I had ever refused to take him on the train before, especially when it was riding in circles all around us ringing its tinkling little bell.  Oh, what a Mean Mommy.  Oh, what a scene.  Oh, what a day.  I just didn't like it, any of it.  I don't think it liked me either.

LibbY