Trailer Park Heart
Page 10
It was only the middle of September, but I knew I had to start putting away a little bit every paycheck, so I would have something extra if Jamie suddenly asked me to purchase all the treat bag paraphernalia or juice boxes for the entire school.
“You look tired, baby,” Mom commented. “Hard day at work?”
“Just a hard day.” I sighed and slid onto the stool beside her.
“Don’t you hate how many of those there are?” she asked, her eyes glittering with mischief. “This grown-up thing is for the birds.”
“Amen.”
Max returned with the cuss jar. “Two dollars, Grammy.”
“Two dollars?” she gasped.
He grinned at her. “The F word is five! You’re getting a bargain.”
We laughed at my crazy, smart, ridiculous kid. He’d been the one to decide the varying degrees of fines. On one hand, I knew I should be a better mom and protect him from all these words to begin with. On the other, I knew it was more important to raise him the right way than to always put him in the right situations. I couldn’t possibly control every single thing he’s exposed to during our lifetimes. But I could help him become the best man possible. I could teach him through the hard and awkward and awful situations and help him become kind and honest, loyal and giving.
Or, at least that’s what I hoped to do.
“I guess I am.” My mom laughed.
“What about homework, little man?” I asked him after he’d collected my mom’s money.
He made a frustrated sound. “Maybe, I don’t know.”
Pulling out his folder, I dove into the after-school mom responsibilities I knew so well. It was weird that Jamie had invited us over for a playdate. But it was even weirder that Levi Cole was coming back.
What did he want here?
How long was he going to stay?
Not that it mattered to me. I planned to ignore him, remember?
Easy.
3
Blast From the Past
Friday morning was my one morning to sleep a little later. I still had to take Max to school in the morning, but I didn’t start work until afterward. Rosie needed me to work the supper shift, since it was our busiest night of the week.
It felt good getting up at seven in the morning instead of four-thirty. Plus, I relished the days I got to drop off Max. Usually he rode the bus and my mom saw him out the door. Or kicked him out the door. One or the other.
Thankfully, Max was incredibly responsible. At only six, he knew how to get up with his alarm, get dressed, brush his teeth, manage his breakfast and gather his school things. He didn’t need my mom for much, except maybe tying his shoes.
I had been the same way as a kid. She wasn’t and still isn’t exactly the most maternal creature alive.
My heart clenched despite my resolve that this was good for my son. It wasn’t a bad thing to learn responsibility or how to take care of yourself. It had worked out for me.
Okay, it had mostly worked out for me… if you overlooked the whole teen pregnancy speedbump.
Still, I knew the majority of moms from Max’s first grade class stayed home. They drove their kids in every morning or at the very least walked them to the bus. They shared breakfast with them and kissed them goodbye. They made their lunches and packed sweet little notes inside. And then they spent their days drinking mimosas and having their pool boys stretch them after yoga while they waited for their children to come home from school.
Okay, I made up that last part. I didn’t know anyone in Clark City with a pool boy. But I’d worked a full-time job since the day I graduated high school and my imagination sometimes got the better of me.
What I wouldn’t give for a careless day to do as I pleased while I waited for Max to come home. Plus, the flexible bank account to not worry about how much I worked.
“Will you walk me inside, Mommy?” he asked as we pulled up to the unloading zone in front of his brick school building. Taking his request serious, I pulled through to the parking lot and found a spot close to the crosswalk.
I turned around and grinned at him. “Is it because I look so beautiful this morning?” In a rare morning of having extra time, I had gone above and beyond to look put together—or at least like I put effort into my looks. With my usual routine, I found it difficult to care what I looked like while I was getting ready in the pitch-black middle of the night. But Friday mornings were more laid back. I had time for a cup of coffee before I put on a bra. That seemed to make all the difference.
Besides that, the entire town seemed to eat supper at Rosie’s on Friday nights. It was the pre-football game tradition. I found that eyeliner helped when I had to do battle with some of this town’s biggest snobs.
He smiled back. “You always look beautiful.”
The guilty fist around my heart loosened. He always knew just what to say and when to say it. How did he do that? I swear, God had made him extra thoughtful just because He knew how badly I needed some genuine affection in my life.
“I’ll walk you in, baby,” I told him. “But you need to tell me why.”
He shrugged as he pulled on his backpack and prepared to jump out of the car. “I just like spending time with you.”
I forgot about feeling guilty that I couldn’t do this more often and melted into a sticky pile of motherhood goo. How was this sweet, adorable little boy mine?
Thinking back on my childhood, I knew my mother loved me. She’d even say it occasionally. Plus, she had worked so hard to give me a normal life, er, as normal as was possible. It wasn’t like I grew up unloved. I just… didn’t receive the kind of affection I knew other moms gave—that I gave now that I was a mom.
“There isn’t another reason?” I was hyper aware of how cruel kids could be. Poor Max had to put up with the helicopter mom inside of me that wanted to protect him from any kind of bullying.
Once upon a time, I swore my kids would grow up differently than me, that they’d never be trailer trash. But life hadn’t gone as planned and this was our reality.
I also looked at the world differently now. When I was a child, I had been painfully ashamed of my home. And my mom. Now, as an adult, with some perspective, I realized that our home didn’t define who we were. Just because we lived in a double wide that had seen better days, didn’t mean we were trash.
It would never mean that we were trash.
I was a hardworking single mom. I was quiet and sometimes shy and sometimes sassy. I was Ruby Maxine Dawson. I was not, nor would I ever be, trailer trash.
And the same was true for Max. He was kind and gentle, super smart and incredibly active. He was not trailer trash. He would never be trailer trash.
Meanwhile, fuck the haters.
Still, my mommy instincts flexed their cut biceps and poison-tipped talons. If someone was giving my kid a hard time, mama bear was about to roar. And then maim. And then probably figure out a good place to hide a body.
“Um, is because I love you a reason?” He batted his long eyelashes over the greenest eyes I had ever seen. Eyes that rivaled his father’s. His glasses did nothing to hide their vividness. If anything, the glass magnified just how very green they were—like freshly mowed grass in the summertime or pine trees after a good rain. I blinked, and his dad was right there, alive and in person. I blinked again, and it was Max and me, just like always.
“That’s my favorite reason,” I told him.
We hopped out of the car and walked hand in hand into the school building. A few other parents escorted their kids along with us, most of them kindergartners still struggling with the beginning of the school year.
“You look tired, baby,” Mom commented. “Hard day at work?”
“Just a hard day.” I sighed and slid onto the stool beside her.
“Don’t you hate how many of those there are?” she asked, her eyes glittering with mischief. “This grown-up thing is for the birds.”
“Amen.”
Max returned with the cuss jar. “Two dollars, Grammy.”
“Two dollars?” she gasped.
He grinned at her. “The F word is five! You’re getting a bargain.”
We laughed at my crazy, smart, ridiculous kid. He’d been the one to decide the varying degrees of fines. On one hand, I knew I should be a better mom and protect him from all these words to begin with. On the other, I knew it was more important to raise him the right way than to always put him in the right situations. I couldn’t possibly control every single thing he’s exposed to during our lifetimes. But I could help him become the best man possible. I could teach him through the hard and awkward and awful situations and help him become kind and honest, loyal and giving.
Or, at least that’s what I hoped to do.
“I guess I am.” My mom laughed.
“What about homework, little man?” I asked him after he’d collected my mom’s money.
He made a frustrated sound. “Maybe, I don’t know.”
Pulling out his folder, I dove into the after-school mom responsibilities I knew so well. It was weird that Jamie had invited us over for a playdate. But it was even weirder that Levi Cole was coming back.
What did he want here?
How long was he going to stay?
Not that it mattered to me. I planned to ignore him, remember?
Easy.
3
Blast From the Past
Friday morning was my one morning to sleep a little later. I still had to take Max to school in the morning, but I didn’t start work until afterward. Rosie needed me to work the supper shift, since it was our busiest night of the week.
It felt good getting up at seven in the morning instead of four-thirty. Plus, I relished the days I got to drop off Max. Usually he rode the bus and my mom saw him out the door. Or kicked him out the door. One or the other.
Thankfully, Max was incredibly responsible. At only six, he knew how to get up with his alarm, get dressed, brush his teeth, manage his breakfast and gather his school things. He didn’t need my mom for much, except maybe tying his shoes.
I had been the same way as a kid. She wasn’t and still isn’t exactly the most maternal creature alive.
My heart clenched despite my resolve that this was good for my son. It wasn’t a bad thing to learn responsibility or how to take care of yourself. It had worked out for me.
Okay, it had mostly worked out for me… if you overlooked the whole teen pregnancy speedbump.
Still, I knew the majority of moms from Max’s first grade class stayed home. They drove their kids in every morning or at the very least walked them to the bus. They shared breakfast with them and kissed them goodbye. They made their lunches and packed sweet little notes inside. And then they spent their days drinking mimosas and having their pool boys stretch them after yoga while they waited for their children to come home from school.
Okay, I made up that last part. I didn’t know anyone in Clark City with a pool boy. But I’d worked a full-time job since the day I graduated high school and my imagination sometimes got the better of me.
What I wouldn’t give for a careless day to do as I pleased while I waited for Max to come home. Plus, the flexible bank account to not worry about how much I worked.
“Will you walk me inside, Mommy?” he asked as we pulled up to the unloading zone in front of his brick school building. Taking his request serious, I pulled through to the parking lot and found a spot close to the crosswalk.
I turned around and grinned at him. “Is it because I look so beautiful this morning?” In a rare morning of having extra time, I had gone above and beyond to look put together—or at least like I put effort into my looks. With my usual routine, I found it difficult to care what I looked like while I was getting ready in the pitch-black middle of the night. But Friday mornings were more laid back. I had time for a cup of coffee before I put on a bra. That seemed to make all the difference.
Besides that, the entire town seemed to eat supper at Rosie’s on Friday nights. It was the pre-football game tradition. I found that eyeliner helped when I had to do battle with some of this town’s biggest snobs.
He smiled back. “You always look beautiful.”
The guilty fist around my heart loosened. He always knew just what to say and when to say it. How did he do that? I swear, God had made him extra thoughtful just because He knew how badly I needed some genuine affection in my life.
“I’ll walk you in, baby,” I told him. “But you need to tell me why.”
He shrugged as he pulled on his backpack and prepared to jump out of the car. “I just like spending time with you.”
I forgot about feeling guilty that I couldn’t do this more often and melted into a sticky pile of motherhood goo. How was this sweet, adorable little boy mine?
Thinking back on my childhood, I knew my mother loved me. She’d even say it occasionally. Plus, she had worked so hard to give me a normal life, er, as normal as was possible. It wasn’t like I grew up unloved. I just… didn’t receive the kind of affection I knew other moms gave—that I gave now that I was a mom.
“There isn’t another reason?” I was hyper aware of how cruel kids could be. Poor Max had to put up with the helicopter mom inside of me that wanted to protect him from any kind of bullying.
Once upon a time, I swore my kids would grow up differently than me, that they’d never be trailer trash. But life hadn’t gone as planned and this was our reality.
I also looked at the world differently now. When I was a child, I had been painfully ashamed of my home. And my mom. Now, as an adult, with some perspective, I realized that our home didn’t define who we were. Just because we lived in a double wide that had seen better days, didn’t mean we were trash.
It would never mean that we were trash.
I was a hardworking single mom. I was quiet and sometimes shy and sometimes sassy. I was Ruby Maxine Dawson. I was not, nor would I ever be, trailer trash.
And the same was true for Max. He was kind and gentle, super smart and incredibly active. He was not trailer trash. He would never be trailer trash.
Meanwhile, fuck the haters.
Still, my mommy instincts flexed their cut biceps and poison-tipped talons. If someone was giving my kid a hard time, mama bear was about to roar. And then maim. And then probably figure out a good place to hide a body.
“Um, is because I love you a reason?” He batted his long eyelashes over the greenest eyes I had ever seen. Eyes that rivaled his father’s. His glasses did nothing to hide their vividness. If anything, the glass magnified just how very green they were—like freshly mowed grass in the summertime or pine trees after a good rain. I blinked, and his dad was right there, alive and in person. I blinked again, and it was Max and me, just like always.
“That’s my favorite reason,” I told him.
We hopped out of the car and walked hand in hand into the school building. A few other parents escorted their kids along with us, most of them kindergartners still struggling with the beginning of the school year.
