I Tried Not to be Insulted, but Failed Miserably

Today is “Take Your Future to Work Day.” It used to be called “Take Your Daughter to Work Day.” I can only assume that little boys all across the country got pissed so they changed it. My oldest daughter, Sweet Angel, gets to go with daddy for the first time this year. (Feisty Girl hates that she has to wait for the future to be considered the “future” they’re referring to.) Anyway, Sweet Angel could only participate in the afternoon programs because she had a state test this morning. While I put no stock in those stress-inducing, let’s blame the teacher assessments, I tried to be the responsible parent and have her take it anyway. So, a few days ago I made arrangements with my hubby to drop her off at lunch time. I said to him, “Should we all have lunch together or would you prefer it be just the two of you?” (Lunch was not provided, so they had to go out somewhere anyway.) Wonderful Husband appeared ambivalent, so I dropped the subject. I didn’t want to crash their Daddy-Daughter thing. I’m all for individual time with our kids, and I routinely take Sweet Angel and Feisty Girl out separately for our “Mommy-Daughter Nights,” so I get that.

For some reason today though, I brought up again having me and Super Pooper join them for lunch. Well, actually, I know the reasons . . .

1. We have no food in the house. (surprise, surprise)

2. I will be out already with Super Pooper fed and freshly changed. (no small feat)

3. I’ve showered. (need I say more?)

4. I have on matching accessories (rare, very, very rare!)

5. I’m sporting a new hairdo. (okay, it’s up in a barrette as opposed to down, but new to me nonetheless)

6. For work-at-home moms, everyday is Take Your Future to Work Day. (I want to see how the other half lives, and yes, I managed to take my own picture, while holding my baby and writing my blog (Ta Dah!)

7. While I work one day a week as an elementary school counselor, they’d frown on me having my daughter listen in as other kids spill their trials and tribulations. (“Wow . . . what happened next?”)

8. I used to work in the impressive state office plaza where my hubby works. (I used to be somebody! No need to remind me that motherhood is the toughest job I’ll ever love. I know.)

So, on the way to pick up Sweet Angel, I called my hubby and asked, “What do you think about us joining you for lunch? Is it okay if we crash?”

“Sure, uh, I’m in a meeting. What time will you be here?” (Translation: Honey, I gotta go! There’s people in my office!)

Okay, I get that. So I quickly hung up and decided to run it by Sweet Angel. Mind you, I don’t normally ask my husband and daughter’s permission to share a meal with them. But, I was trying to be cool about it if they wanted it to be a Daddy-Daughter thing. At this point, I still wasn’t sure and I was getting hungry.

“What do you think about us joining you for lunch?”

“Uh . . . sure.” Then silence. I can feel the love. I check the rearview mirror to gauge her reaction. She has a weird look on her face.

“Honey, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to see Super Pooper.” Ouch.

I give a hollow laugh and say, “I’ll try not to be insulted.”

I had no sooner said that, when I realized I was insulted. I was amazed by my immediate physical reaction to my feelings being hurt. It felt like one of those fake blood bags they use in the movies when someone is shot, had burst in my belly. It was so guttural. Emotional heartburn.

I promptly turned the DVD player on so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. When we got to my hubby’s office, I called to let him know we’d arrived. He quickly said, “You can join us for lunch. I was just rushed and in a meeting.”

“I know. I’m gonna pass though.” I managed to say this casually, without being passive-aggressive. Bravo!

So, I dropped off Sweet Angel and took pride in the fact that I didn’t resort to using the age old mom tactic . . . the guilt trip. I know she loves me. I also know she didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. Unfortunately though, while I tried not to be insulted, I failed miserably.