If Only I Were Better at This

If only I were better at this, I wouldn’t be outside in sweatpants and high heels cleaning puke off my front porch with a snow shovel.

If only I were better at this, I would actually get up in the morning when the alarm goes off and not make love to the snooze button until it’s much too late for me to do anything except run around like a crazed banshee screeching orders and reminders and throwing hair brushes and socks and homework folders at my children.

If only I were better at this, I would have realized that my kid was laying on the kitchen floor this morning because he was sick, and not because he was a total jerk.

If only I were better at this, I wouldn’t have dressed for work and packed everyone up and herded them outside and stepped out the door after them into a pile of puke that could have made it neatly into the toilet had I not made him go outside in the first place.

If only I were better at this, I wouldn’t have to email work again at the last minute and tell them I need to stay home and then secretly wonder if they always assume I am lying and am really just hungover from a weekend bender.

If only I were better at this, a weekend bender would not at all sound appealing.

If only I were better at this, I wouldn’t have waited until I read that there was a winter storm warning before deciding that yup, I better do something about that puke pile before it freezes there and we have to skate through it every morning until spring.

If only I were better at this, I would have found the inner strength to get my boots before I went outside and not just grab the the high heels from this morning because they were closer and didn’t involve going upstairs.

If only I were better at this, there would be no part of me that likes it just a little bit when my baby is sick and I have put on my cozies and snuggle up to him on the couch to feed him little sips of red Gatorade and listen for the subtle queues of when exactly to offer the puke bucket.

And if only I was better at this, I would take my time outside and clean the puke out of in between the porch boards instead of hurrying back inside to him.

But I’m not better at this.

Thank God.



Liz Petrone is a writer, blogger, teller of stories, believer in truth, and mama to four. She shares her stories on lizpetrone.com and all over the Internet, and recently finished a sloppy first draft of her first book.