Overcommitted

I don’t know what it is about me and the word “yes.” Somebody asks me to do something and rather than say, “You know, I’m a bit busy this month,” I smile and say, “Yes, of course, I can do it, no problem at all.” Sure. No problem if I didn’t have a job, a side business, a husband and two kids. With birthday parties to attend. And little league games to play. And ice skating recitals to perform in. Did I mention gymnastics, astronomy, cooking and tennis? Oh, and that dentist appointment I have to keep putting off because we don’t have time to get there since my daughter may miss a tennis lesson that I inadvertently scheduled before consulting with my mental calendar. Yes, I have a mental calendar. I do not write things down in a datebook, or a MomAgenda or in my Outlook express calendar or my BlackBerry for that matter. I keep all the dates right in my head. And lately, I’ve been off my game. It kind of feels like I’ve turned on the auto pilot switch in my brain and am now suffering from acute amnesia – like the time I wrote the wrong date on my son’s birthday invitation to one of his friends and the poor kid missed the shindig, or the other time one of the moms at pre-school told me that I signed her son’s birthday card: To Sam, Happy 5th Birthday, Your friend, Beth So this weekend, in my haste to get my kids to all their activities, I inadvertently remembered that I had committed myself to selling books and t-shirts at a crafts fair. It seemed simple enough. I was going to take my daughter with me while my husband took my son to a party and my little sales girl and I would man the table and hawk some wares. Wrong. We missed a minor addition to the schedule. Another birthday party. My daughter completely forgot she had a gymnastics extravaganza that afternoon so instead of accompanying me on an entrepreneurial adventure, at 10 am, we all hopped into the car and raced to Party City where we picked up a Darth Vader costume for my son (he was attending a Star Wars bash), hit Kaybee Toys for a gift for my daughter’s friend; had no time to wrap the gift so we bought tissue paper and a bag with a tiny card attached to it and this time I made sure to sign it “Love Becca.” We then hopped back in the car and went back to the house so I could get ready for my event and I “Jewish Star” promised I’d be back in time to watch my son’s baseball game. I also arranged for my daughter to get picked up by my friend, so everyone would get to where they wanted to go and my husband wouldn’t lose his mind. I felt the sniffles coming on, but I ignored the flu symptoms and went to grab my inventory and shove it in my trunk. But then I noticed that I had left the carpet samples I was supposed to return to the store three weeks ago in our mud room so I hastily grabbed those clumsy boards too and attempted to carry them to the car when SLAM!!! The carpet samples landed right on my toe and I started gushing blood. My husband, who was pretty annoyed that I had overscheduled the day and left him in to deal with all the kids’ appointments, finally did feel sorry for me when I let out a loud shriek and broke into tears. As I sat in the kitchen nursing my bloody foot, he fished out a Barbie band aid from the kitchen cabinet and gingerly wrapped it around my toe. And then, I kissed everyone goodbye and we went our separate ways. My family - to a birthday marathon, and me, to a shopping tent that included scores of men who winced or looked confused when they saw the name of my book (Peeing in Peace) or women who felt that my t-shirts were cute (“I Need a Playdate”) but rather pricey ($25) - have they not been to those upscale boutiques where they charge 50 bucks for a flimsy tee and don’t even bat an eye?!? And then there were others who were ready to spend some cash and bought my stuff – enabling me to pretty much make up the cost of what I spent to purchase the table for the event in the first place. I never did say I was a good business woman…writer yes, money maker, no. And then the clock struck 4pm. Tick tock, time to wrap things up. My son’s game was starting and I had to run like the wind. A very nice man in a golf cart helped me transport my things back to my car – in hindsight, for the amount of items I sold, I could have fit everything in an Ann Taylor Loft shopping bag rather than schlepping two oversized suitcases, a broken carton and a very large sign to the event. I then hopped in my Jetta and battled traffic as I attempted to zip over to the baseball field. I got to the bleachers just in time to watch my son staring into space on or around third base. He smiled at me and waved hello and asked his dad if he could come over and give me a hug, but since Daddy is the assistant coach, he told him he had to stay put. I parked my buns on the top row and noticed there was a bit of a nip in the air. Did I mention I didn’t have a jacket? And that my nose was running? Meanwhile, my daughter was lying nearby in a chaise lounge with her friend sifting through her goody bag for decent candy and yelled “Mommy, I found your favorite – Double Bubble…catch!” I savored my treat for about a minute and a half until it lost its flavor, then shuddered for a few minutes until a nice burly man next to me let me borrow his denim shirt to keep warm. At that point, I would’ve put on my son’s size 4T jacket since the chills were really setting in. After sitting out in the cold for what seemed like an eternity, the game ended (my munchkin got two hits) and our good friend, the coach, took our kids over to his place for a play date. I left the field to return my overpriced carpet samples and apologized profusely to the store owner and said I’d be back to place an order…not. The kids then came home and ate dinner, our babysitter arrived and we got the chance to have a night out on the town. Only problem, my nose was totally stuffed, I was feeling feverish and all I wanted to do was take a shot of Nyquil. So what’s the moral of this story? If you overcommit, you’ll feel like ****. You fill in the blank. Now I’m off to blow my nose.

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