Guilt. It’s a dirty five-letter word.
As a mom, it kind of comes with the territory, right? As I read somewhere, it’s like PMS – we all get it from time to time. I’m a sucker for a good guilt trip; really, it doesn’t take much. I feel guilty about pulling up annoying You Tube videos for the kiddos to watch so I can take a shower. I feel guilty about switching Mimi to store-brand diapers. I feel guilty when Buddy asks me to play Uno and I tell him no, I’m too busy. I feel guilty for raising my voice when the kiddos push my buttons after a long day.
But today was different. Today I felt guilty about Raven.
Most weekday mornings, Raven usually lurks around, watching me run around in a frenzy as I pack up backpacks, grab a gigantic mug of coffee and throw frozen pancakes or mini-muffins in the microwave in a rush to feed the kiddos a fast but hardly nutritious breakfast.
She’s no fool; she knows the routine and knows that she can’t come with us, yet she still hopes. You can see it in her eyes. You can see it when she watches me walk out the garage door with my coffee and keys with a hopeful expression, and then there’s that sudden realization that nope, it’s just another long day home alone like the day before. And the day before that. Then she’ll give me one last, forlorn look before she sulks away.
It’s terrible to say, but most mornings I try to ignore her during that dash out the door because I feel so bad – so guilty – that she’s stuck home alone for nine hours a day, four days a week. I feel guilty that we had to stop sending her to doggie daycare a few days a week because it became prohibitively expensive. Denial is often the only way I can drive away from the house and not feel like the worst pet owner ever.
Like most dogs, Raven knows the word CAR, so I try to be very careful not to use that word around her. I don’t want to give her false hope if she’s not actually coming with us. But I slipped today.
Buddy was in his playroom, completely ignoring me as I told him over and over again that it was time to go because – shocker – we were running late. Finally, I used my “mean mommy” voice and told him to get in the car right now. As soon as the word escaped my lips, I knew what I had done and I looked over at Raven. The girl looked like she had won the lottery, with her tail wagging and an excited gleam in her eyes. And I felt so guilty.
Raven was at our heels as I grabbed all the various backpacks and lunchboxes and work bags and gym bags, picked Mimi up and ushered them into the car. And then she started whining. Loudly. Repeatedly. Which she hardly ever does.
When I shut the kitchen door, she gave me this heartbreaking look that clearly said, “Mommy, you said CAR! I thought I was coming with you!”
I could hear her whining as I shut the door. As we pulled down the driveway, she appeared in the dining room window, her two front paws perched on the windowsill as she watched us drive away. I am thankful the car window was up because I am sure we would have heard her sorrowful cries, but I still got a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach. Oh, the guilt.
I know I’m being slightly ridiculous. Yes, this is a dog. And who knows, maybe Raven has a rockin’ party every day with her doggie friends when we’re gone? Maybe she likes to be alone with her thoughts? (must chase squirrel). Maybe I’m being presumptive that she gets lonely without us there? Trust me, I know how noisy the house can be when the kiddos are going at full speed. Maybe she enjoys the peace and quiet. I know I would.
In all honesty, my guess is that she sleeps most of the day.
Hmmm, instead of feeling guilty, maybe I should be jealous?
In the meantime, I’ll probably do what most moms do and try to ease my guilt by overcompensating – although in this case, rather than ice cream or cartoons or playing Angry Birds on Mommy’s iPhone, it will be a night of tummy rubs, kisses and tasty Milkbones.
We love you, girl.
Auntie Jeanne says
You made me cry and laugh at the end. I love that dog.
Auntie Jeanne