The Compromise

1. Fraggle Snaggle

There are tells to an unraveling day. A chewed up Fraggle Rock DVD is my tell.

Oh sweet cupcakes, why? Of all the disc's to put in his mouth, why this one? I knew, I knew, the player would choke on this atrocity, this poor plastic disc now fit for nothing but a table coaster. Except that wouldn't happen. This disc must vanish by way of the late great Sesame Street Sing Along and Barney's Playhouse. Why my son must chew on his favorite DVDs is a mystery of the universe. Isaac catches the moment of panic in my eye. Because this kid misses nothing when I need him to.

"Movie please."

Cringe. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry." I'm using the soothing voice, the rescue operator voice, talking him off the ledge. "The Fraggles won't play anymore." Shit, shit, shit. "Can you pick a new movie?"

Isaac shoves the case at me, his lower lip quivering.

The bread pops out of the toaster. His attention shifts, temporarily distracted. I'm a domestic shiva, hooking on a bra through my blouse, while shoving my feet into my pumps. There's a stuffed duck tucked under one arm. I haven't touched a hair brush. Was there still one in my purse? Fifteen mins to make Isaac breakfast to go, finish dressing for work, and load us up in the car if I'm going to hit up the daycare on time before work. My phone beeps a reminder. Okay, make that five minutes behind schedule; not good, it's a slippery slope to another tardy I can't afford. I can't remember how many I've accumulated and my boss is an uncompromising ass.

"Movie please." Isaac whines and I freeze. Distraction is a no go. We are back to square one. The muscles in my shoulders are already tight. I think they've been tight for two years since his pediatrician looked me in the eye and dropped a live grenade in my lap.

It's time for full out evasion.

"We need to get going, sweet. Get your shoes, please." Half an eye stays on Isaac as I scrape butter and jam onto his toast and slap them together. He's shuffling toward his room. I look away, cleaning up the kitchen, and slurping down the rest of my cold coffee. Still no Isaac by the time I've put the jelly back in the fridge. "Isaac, come on baby, we need to go!"

The house is quiet. I look up and find my purse tipped over.

"Shit!" Sprinting in heels is perilous enough, but the living room is mine field. I nearly twist my ankle on a 'kiss me' elmo and slam my hip against the door frame to Isaac's room. My eyes take it in before my brain registers it and snap shut. I count in my head, digging deep for my rapidly evaporating patience. By ten I trust myself enough to look, but the sight isn't any better.

Coral red lipstick cakes the wall, the bed frame, the TV screen, and a great deal of Isaac's face. The sight is crushing and I debate tossing him in the car as is and handing him off to the ladies at the daycare with a package of baby wipes. That will go over well. My throat tightens. I need to move, to snatch away the lipstick, to clean him up. The toast will be cold. I'll need to remake it.

The phone beeps again.

Here it is, revenge of the Fraggles.

A fat tear splashes my blouse, a spreading stain of wet on one shoulder then the other.

"God dammit Isaac," I sob. The words are out before I can stop them. I want to snatch them out of the air and take them back. I smack the door frame in frustration, hard enough my palm throbs. Isaac throws down the evidence, and dives into his closet. Hiding from me, scared of mean mommy, and my heart squeezes painfully. I dissolve, pressing my burning face into my arm for a short hard cry. I give myself the count of five and breath out, wiping my eyes hard.

"Come here, baby, let's clean you up." I pick up the stub of Coral Red, tossing it in the trash. Never liked that color anyway. Time to convert to chapstick. Isaac creeps out, head down. He won't look at me. There's lipstick in his hair. I peel off his stained clothes, and dump him in the tub with the water running while I make the phone call I'm dreading.

"Morrison Co, this is Vanessa speaking. How can I help you?"

Thank you for small miracles. Between the two people to answer the phone, Vanessa is perpetually in my corner. "Hey, V, can you let Peter know I'm running late?"

"Yeah, that construction on the bridge is terrible. I'll let him know hun," says Vanessa, not missing a beat. Next is the daycare. I've landed a reprieve but it's laundry day. Of course. The tear stained blouse was my last clean one and the bulk of Isaac's clothes are piled in a corner of my bedroom.

Waxy lipstick is the devil. Why did I still freaking have it in my purse and not locked under the sink? When was the last time I cleaned out my purse? Thirty minutes later, I've found a mismatched outfit for a faintly pink Isaac, blow dried the blouse, and gotten us out of the apartment. Just a locked door away from finally hitting the road.

Isaac chooses that moment to bolt for the stairs.

"Isaac, wait for me! Isaac!" I can hear the sharp panic in my voice as I dart after him, dropping my keys. "Isaac!"

He vanishes around the corner. The stairs are right there and Isaac always takes them too fast. The panic digs a little deeper. "ISAAC!"

"Hey, whoa little man! Where's your momma?" That is a male voice I do not recognize, a deep one.

A small part of me cringes, but I'm running too late to be properly embarrassed. I snatch up my keys and dart around the corner to find Deep Voice blocking Isaac from charging down the stairs. I can't look at him, focusing on Isaac as I try to ignore the still visible stains on my blouse, my hair that never got a brushing, and a dozen other flaws I am now hyper aware of as I snatch up my kid.

"Sorry, thanks for stopping him," I say, trying to look Isaac in the face rather than Deep Voice.

"No problem. Kids can be a handful first thing in the morning," says Deep Voice, and my resolve falters. I give him a sideways glance. Of course he's stupid hot. Dark hair, dark eyes, sun kissed and I swear to god he smells like a cinnamon toaster strudel. I groan inwardly, and bury my face in Isaac's freshly washed hair. Deep Voice must be here visiting one of the four grad students that live down the hall. There, see, it doesn't matter that I look like the Trash Heap incarnate, straight out of the Fraggle Universe. Ah, how my mind circles around to proper priorities. I realize I've been standing there long enough for an awkward pause and I clear my throat.

"They certainly can," I managed. After that brilliant statement it's time to make a fashionable exit, stage left. "Well, have a great day." My smile is more of a grimace but Deep Voice looks bemused.

If there is any mercy in the universe I'll never see him again.

I pick up Isaac, carting us both down the stairs. He wriggles in my arms but I manage to get us both to the car. I'm so late, traffic is scarce. I make it to the daycare in record time, where they promptly tell me I will still be charged for the full day, despite the missing time. I knew this. Why did they feel the need to rub it in my face? This place eats up nearly half my paycheck, even with state aid. I smile/ grimace and nod. I try to kiss Isaac goodbye, but he's still ignoring me, still hung up on Fraggle Rock. I found that DVD used at Goodwill for three dollars, a perfect score, but I'm never that lucky twice. Maybe I can swing by Best Buy and buy him a whole season of Fraggles. I have to find something because he won't forget about the DVD, and he won't let me forget about it either.

My fingers are tight on the steering wheel the rest of the drive to work. I'm an hour late. I'm bracing myself for Peter's lecture, for another black mark on my record, but when I walk in the door, my boss barely glances in my direction. I frown, wondering if this day hasn't completely gone to the pits. Vanessa is on the phone with a customer but she catches my eye and my stomach drops. I know even as I sit at my desk we've gone full sinkhole, but I attempt to log on. My password is blocked.

Peter sets a box on my desk.

"Pack up your things. Your last check will be mailed to you."