Page 11 of Power Forward

Being undercaffeinated and up against the clock is not a good mix.

“Where did you have them last?” I ask, folding a set of pajamas, but before I can quiz Ryan more on the whereabouts of his gloves, Isabela snatches the pajamas out of my hand and tosses them onto the floor.

“No, not them,” she scolds and jumps off the bed.

I’m startled by her outburst, unable to do anything except stand there, wide-eyed, while she grabs another set out of her chest of drawers and hands them over with a sweet smile. Like she didn’t turn into a wet gremlin a few seconds ago. “These, Daddy. Pink unicorns.”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” I say absentmindedly and stuff them into the bag. She’s been throwing more temper tantrums recently. I don’t know if she’s having big feelings about being back at preschool and the hockey season starting again, but I’ve definitely been noticing more behavioral challenges than normal, and I’m not quite sure how to handle them.

When I look up again, she’s taken her socks off and has started to pull various toys out of her toy box, scattering them across the floor.

My mom’s going to flip when she sees the state of the house.

With a sigh, I squeeze my temples with my thumb and middle finger. I try to keep my voice as calm as possible. “Peanut, I need you to put your socks back on and put your toys away. Gigi is going to be here in less than twenty minutes, and you know Gigi doesn’t like the house being in a mess.”

The sound of rubber balls bouncing against the wall snaps my attention back to the hallway, and I’m unable to stop the loud groan escaping me. Ryan’s dragged his pop-up goalie net into the hallway and is using his mini stick to hit rubber balls into it.

Why do my kids make things ten times harder than they need to be?

“Ryan, that needs to go back into your room. Now. Wedon’t have time for that. Where did you have your gloves last? They haven’t grown legs and climbed out of your bag, so they have to be somewhere.”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, then continues to fire the balls at the net.

Tension crawls up the back of my neck, and I turn to face the window. I squeeze my eyes shut before taking a deep, steadying breath. It’s always a stressful time whenever I need to go on the road, even more so today because I’m exhausted and in desperate need of a coffee.

It’s not the kids’ fault I’m an unorganized mess. There’s no excuse for it. I’ve known about this road trip for a while. I’ve had plenty of time to get their bags packed and ready for my mom to pick them up, so I have no one else but myself to blame for falling asleep on the couch after opening a bottle of wine last night instead of packing my own bag.

Hello, failure as a parent, it’s me.

It’s only the first week of October, and I already feel like I’m burning the candle at both ends. But the fool that I am, I’m too proud—okay, maybe more like too stubborn—to ask for more help than I’m already getting.

The regular season is now underway, meaning my parents are pretty much taking care of the kids for me. Most mornings, I can take them to school and occasionally pick them up if it’s not a game day, but usually, it comes down to my mom and dad. Isabela is now in preschool for longer hours, and Ryan has moved up into a mites hockey team and trains multiple times a week after school. It’s been a case of finding the right balance.

Something I’ve failed to do so far.

I don’t want to ask my parents for even more help.They’ve already done the school run and hockey practice years with me and my sister. This is supposed to be their retirement. A time to relax and take it easy. Not picking up the pieces of my life after me.

I spend the next twenty minutes frantically packing both their bags, and by the time my mom walks through the door, I’m flustered and impatient as the coffee machine slowly whirls to life.

Her gaze bounces around the open-plan kitchen/family room, jaw gradually dropping open. There’s stuff everywhere. Clothes, toys, colored markers, and pieces of paper. You name it, it’s probably on the floor or the couch or the countertop. I’m grateful my housekeeper is coming while I’m gone, but it doesn’t mean I don’t feel like an ass for leaving it in this mess. I make a mental note to leave her some extra cash on the side.

“Wow, Jackson. I thought I’d taught you to be a lot cleaner than this.” My mom picks up a plate with a half-eaten slice of toast.

Glowering, I take the plate from her and discard the food into the trash before putting it in the dishwasher and slamming the door closed.

“Now is not the time to be commenting on my housekeeping skills, Mom,” I say between clenched teeth.

She holds both hands up in submission. “Hey, no need to be snappy. What do you need me to do?” She flicks her wrist to look at her watch, then eyes my disheveled state with furrowed brows. “Don’t you need to leave soon?”

“Yes, I do, but I haven’t showered, or had a coffee yet, or packed my own bag.”

Sighing, she walks into the kitchen and pats my hip withthe back of her hand, motioning for me to move out of the way. “Go get in the shower and sort your bag out. I’ll make you a large cup of coffee and deal with the kids.”

And like they’ve been summoned, they come running down the stairs like a herd of elephants, shouting, “Gigi!” and launching themselves at my mom.

Not needing to be told twice, I disappear up the stairs without a word and into my en suite. I strip out of my plaid pajama pants and T-shirt and step under the warm spray.

As much as I love my kids and wouldn’t change them for the world, I’m looking forward to this road trip. But the relieved feeling is soon replaced with guilt because what parent looks forward to a night or so away from their children?

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