During naptime, I call Nitro Swim School to discuss an issue with Bunder’s swim lessons. I hear a message about a high volume of calls and the woman recording the message suggests stopping in the swim school, which I imagine doing with my troupe of toddlers. (Trust me, two toddlers totally makes a troupe).
“How would I keep them out of the water while I visit with the staff?” I wonder. “No doubt they can’t answer the phone, because they’re dealing with all the people they encouraged to drop by.”
I hang up and try again a few minutes later. I hear the same recording. I hang up and try again. This process continues for almost an hour. Finally, I reach someone. Politely, I explain my request. She says she has to check with so and so, and then she’ll call me right back.
She calls back to explain why Nitro is denying my request and gives me the number of the manager of Bunder’s classes. I call that number and reach a recording. I leave a message. A few hours later, the manager calls back, but I miss the call. (Naptime has ended, and I’m dealing with my screaming troupe).
When I finally settle the kids, I call the manager and get her voicemail. I leave a message. I check the volume of my phone and place it on the island in the kitchen hoping to hear it over the noise of our household. A couple hours later, she calls back. I hear it, and answer on the second ring.
She starts talking at length about all sorts of unnecessary details. I try to listen patiently waiting for my turn to speak. She takes a brief pause, and I jump at the chance to share my side. She interrupts me to continue her long, stream of babble.
Kiki cries in the living room. I try to observe Bunder and Kiki without getting too close to the crying. The woman on the phone continues talking. Kiki cries louder. I realize my time is limited – very limited. I interrupt the woman cutting right to the point.
“Oh, I didn’t realize that,” she says obviously caught off guard.
“Well, if you would just give me a chance to talk,” I think.
“It still doesn’t change my decision,” she says.
Both kids cry. I end the phone call abruptly.
I look up the number to Emler Swim School. Someone answers immediately. I explain the situation, and the man on the phone is aghast. He’s never heard of such! I gather all the pertinent information to enroll Bunder in their swim school.
Suddenly, it occurs to me.
I’m THAT mom.
You know THAT mom– the assertive, won’t take no for an answer, wants the best for her child, won’t settle for anything less mom.
I didn’t think I’d be THAT mom. When Bunder baked inside me, and I sat in his nursery imagining myself as a mother, I didn’t think I’d be like that. I thought I’d be a laid-back, go with the flow mom.
It occurs to me that a laid-back mom might have quit after a few missed calls or a couple failed attempts. Maybe being THAT mom isn’t the worst thing in the world. After all, Bunder’s taking the best swim lessons and loving them!