June 21, 2007

Confessions from the Carpool

Cirque du Soleil Mom’s Way

By Shana McLean Moore
Times Columnist

The metaphor of moms as jugglers is tried and true.

We spend our days tossing beanbags around and around like an empty Ferris wheel beckoning riders. It’s a spectacle that leaves the young and the elderly in awe—for the youngsters have not yet managed such a load themselves, and the grandparents have repressed the fact that they once did.

“Did you see the way she kept her kids and her husband up in the air even when the house beanbag fell on her head? Amazing!”

“Oh my gosh, someone just tossed her a part-time job! Can she keep it all going?”

Because we moms are masters of our many crafts, the answer is usually a confident Duh—at least until the calendar announces the arrival of May Madness and Holy Jumpin’ June. Then, all of a sudden, our homemade beanbags morph into steel-edged swords that, just like our kids, insist on bringing a friend, and we must graduate from carnival novelty act to a Cirque du Soleil touring group. And we’re usually even polite enough to pretend we’re not scared to death that we’ll lose a finger, an arm, or the entire frontal lobe of our moneymaker in the process.

By volunteering to help with the baseball team party, the dance recital, musical performance, open house, talent show, Gold Rush Day and art show, all while managing the usual homework, chores and, in many cases, even a paying job, we’re not just playing with fire—it’s being thrown into our rotation of swords. And some brain cells are, in fact, singed or severed in the process.

As I rushed around town two weeks ago, getting errands done between a conference call for work and talent show rehearsals and dance class for my daughter, I stopped to re-fuel my personal tank at Starbucks. Since I was even shorter on cash than I was time, I whipped out my credit card to pay for my latte. Ashamed to charge a measly $3, I decided to re-load my depleted Starbucks card at the same. Then, the perky barista returned the gift card to me while I stared at my wallet in a panic. There was an empty spot where my almighty Master Card normally rests!

Now, for those of you who have regained your mental faculties now that school is out for the summer, it is obvious that said barista was still finishing my transaction and, therefore, still had my credit card. I, on the other hand, stood in front of her with two dropped swords poking out of my head like bunny ears. And a look of panic like Mr. McGregor was about to crown me with a shovel. Yes, at that moment, Miss Peter Rabbit’s only thoughts were: %&*$ Where was I when I last used this credit card? How many days has it been missing? Has the thief already bought a new car with it?

Before I could console myself that my card balance would ensure that he’d be driving nothing grander than a 1985 Yugo, the clerk handed me my credit card and managed to suppress any curiosity as to why I was so surprised to see it.

The experience made me discover a disturbing pattern. During last year’s May Madness, I made the mistake of driving to my daughter’s school instead of walking. I wish I could say this was only an environmental mistake. Because I am so used to walking, I ended up walking home, forgetting entirely that my car was at the school. This, I realize, is not entirely out of the range of normal behavior. When I approached my driveway and discovered it missing, however, that Silly-Me light-bulb moment went totally dark. So dark, in fact, that I was convinced that my minivan had been stolen. Thank God the good folks in charge of the PG&E of my synapses brought back the power before I could call the police, file a report, and have to answer the kind officer’s questions:

“Uh, ma’am, we found your minivan parked two blocks away in the school parking lot. Is there anything else we can do for you today? Help you find your meds, perhaps, or remove those flaming spears from your brain?”

Shana McLean Moore lives in Almaden Valley and is the co-author of “Femail: A Comic Collision in Cyberspace” and the author of “Caffeinated Ponderings on Life, Laughter & Lattes.” For more information visit Moore’s Web site at www.caffeinatedponderings.com.