Mirror

She stares at herself in the mirror, unsmiling. She is not displeased with what she sees, not content, not anything. She continues her morning routine, brushing her teeth, washing her face, tying her hair into her normal ponytail. She even puts on a little make up disguising some persistent old acne scars, souvenirs from a different era. Making one last review of her look for the day she turns off the bathroom light and goes to continue her everyday life. Flicking on the light in her daughter’s bedroom she pulls out a clean school uniform and tickles the girl’s neck. In that sing-song tone she acquired somewhere between conception and labor, she coos to the child to wake up and get ready for school. With a sleepy grunt in reply from the girl, the mother continues along the same route she takes everyday that started at the mirror. Next stop to the boy child, she can hear that he has already begun. Peeping into the room the tot sits on the floor pushing a toy car around in a circle. He looks up and smiles, reaching his arms upwards to her. As is her routine she sweeps him into her arms and covers his cheeks with a bombardment to tiny kisses. Dressing him in a sensible non-descript outfit he is ready for daycare. Carrying him to the kitchen she sits him in a booster at the kitchen table. Her husband peers at this phone, scrolling the news and eating some cold cereal. Hunched forward he glances up, meeting her eyes and delivering his typical morning greeting. Closing the tabs on this phone he notices the time and jumps up from his seat grabbing the blazer on the back to the chair. Circling the table he kisses each child on the top of the head, drops his bowl and spoon into the sink and delivers to his wife his typical everyday peck on the lips before calling out his standard valediction to the family and departing for work. Upbeat morning chatter ensues. Inquiries about homework completion from one direction and predictions about weekend activities from the other. The boy, still with too few words to adequately express himself, soaks in the conversation between mother and daughter. The clock on the wall ticks away the seconds and minutes until it’s time to move on to the next location.

With jackets on and bags in tow the mother ushers her children out the door. The hiss of air brakes heard from down the street prompts the girl to pick up her pace to a jog down to the end of the block. She reaches the corner just as the school bus squeals to a stop in front of her and the other child from the blue house that sits catty corner from their own. Both children bounce up the tall steps of the bus sliding into the bench seat together four windows down from the front. An unspoken hierarchy exists in the seating placement on the school bus that all the typical well-adjusted children adhere to. The little ones at the front right behind the driver, medium sized kids at the middle, and the soon to be junior high kids at the back. Mother waves to the child as the bus disappears around the corner and down the road. Two chirps from the car and the doors are unlocked. The boy’s bottom plops into the car seat, swift muscle memory snaps the clasps with ease despite the wiggles and desperate reaching for a fallen toy. Mother retrieves the lost treasure, closes the back door and settles into the driver’s seat. Clasping her seatbelt, she turns over the ignition. Glancing in the rear-view mirror she smiles sweetly at the tot in the back seat. The daycare is only a few miles down the road. The air outside is crisp but warming as the sun rises higher in the sky. Spring flowers are blooming and tiny petals from flowering trees flutter around the car like delicate pink snowflakes. She pulls into the driveway of a cozy cape cod. Another mother and child exit a car parked on the street in front of the house. The woman looks frazzled, her hair obviously overdue for a wash hangs around her face in oily strings. She jerks a small boy away from a puddle just beyond the curb of the sidewalk. Her hand around his wrist she scolds him for his attempt to soil his clothes and begins to briskly walk towards the door of the house still tightly holding onto the boy, his arm stretched straight above him, so high he is barely able to keep his feet under him walking on tip toes. She doesn’t wait for him to attempt to climb the three stairs up to the door opting to pull him up by the arm to the top step in one swift swing. The other mother is clearly overburdened in some way, it is broadcast through her appearance and demeanor. Observing the small boy’s face, the child, however, appears unfazed happily running into the house. Exiting the car, mother and son greet the other mother with a smile and a common salutation. Unsmiling, the other mother returns a hasty response and rushes to her car, fumbling with her keys before frantically patting her coat pockets in search of something. Turning in a circle and then closing her eyes she pauses and then abruptly peers into the back seat of the car releasing an audible sigh of relief, seeming to have found her lost object. She jumps into the driver’s side and speeds off down the street. Mother hooks a small backpack over the boy’s shoulders, he tips backwards from the added weight. He straightens up and smiles. He glances up to mother for approval, and she shows him an expression conveying happy surprise by his accomplishment. The boy trudges forward, determined to carry the backpack unassisted to the door. Blocking her reach for the doorbell the boy points upward to the button indicating his desire to ring the bell. She gives the boy and backpack a quick boost and his outstretched digit makes contact with the button initiating a series of melodic dings and dongs. The woman who answers the door wears a warm smile. Waving goodbye, the boy disappears into the house excitedly. Heading back to the car she passes yet another mother on her way up to the door. Maintaining a pleasant expression, she nods as she passes. She is back on her way, now heading towards her office job.

Parking in her usual area of the lot she pauses to check her face in the mirror before gathering the items she will take inside with her. Her face looks as expected but she still puts on another coat of gloss to her lips making little change to her appearance. Striding confidently towards the entrance to the building she greets coworkers on the way in. Pausing in the vestibule she retrieves the work ID she will wear clipped to the lapel of her jacket. Finding it she continues her path to the security checkpoint. With a wave of the badge over the small black box on the counter a soft ding sounds and the green light flashes granting her access to the building. As in other areas of her life she shoulders much responsibility here. Settling in at her desk she gives her computer mouse a nudge and the screen illuminates revealing her email inbox that she had left open from the previous workday. 138 new emails this morning. She deletes a series of announcements and newsletter emails before opening messages needing a personal response. Half of these emails are requesting updates on projects she is managing, and the other half are pleas for help from coworkers stuck in one area or another. They know she has the answers. She concisely answers each email effortlessly, work can progress now that she has provided a missing key here and decisive action there. As soon as she signs off on the last email, she begins to receive the ‘thanks, you’re a life saver!’ and the cc’s to the teams after her directions saying, ‘see below and proceed as instructed’. After a morning of directing traffic both at home and at work, it’s time for lunch. The rest of the day proceeds as expected.

The second half of the day mirrors the first. Leaving work, she retraces her steps back to the daycare. Parking in the same spot she had in the morning she also arrives just after the disheveled woman from the morning. The screen door to the house flings open and the woman's child escapes into the yard crashing face first into her legs and flops down onto the grass. The mother runs out behind him screaming for him to return to her side. Stopping just in front of mother they meet eyes. She apologizes glancing over mothers’ appearance admiringly. Mother assures her it’s not a problem and that it happens to everyone, maybe not her but surely other people. The woman introduces herself as Mia. Returning the introduction mother shares her name with the woman. After a few quick sentences Mia is off again down the road with her son. Mother proceeds on her daily path collecting her child and heading in the direction of home. Unloading the boy and the items accompanying him they walk together to the door of the house. Moments later the front door opens again, and daughter is home from school as well. After some time flopped on the sofa father enters from work. Dropping his satchel and extending his arms out to his sides he trumpets his arrival with a silly quote and sweeps the children from the sofa into a squeeze. Rounding the corner into the kitchen he greets mother with a sweet peck on the lips and a warm smile. Dinner ensues. Around the table the family eats and chats pleasantly. Mother is pleased to see both children cleaning their plates without coercion. Clearing the table mother instructs father to usher the children upstairs to bathe, she then moves to the kitchen to load the dishwasher and wipe down the counters. At the completion of this task daughter is out of the shower and clothed for bed. Mother scoops up the boy and heads to the bathroom. Peeling off his clothes from the day he escapes her arms and zip down the hall initiating a naked chase. She lets him run to the end of the hall before catching him and swinging him up into her arms. She takes the opportunity to blow a raspberry on his bare belly. She runs some warm water into the tub and helps the tot in. She soaps up a washcloth and gently scrubs all the nooks and crannies. Although no longer an infant he still retains a few soft rolls around the neck and thighs, creases perfect for trapping moisture and causing skin irritation. She rinses him then dries him, slathers him with lotion and adds a little baby powder to the creases for good measure. Dressed for bed she reads him a story and turns out the light, he doesn’t protest. Closing the door halfway she moves to the next room, daughter sits on her bed scribbling in a journal which she quickly slams shut as she becomes aware of her mother’s presence. With a raised eyebrow and a glance towards the book, mother enquires as to this evening’s topic. Shifting uncomfortably, daughter makes an attempt at nonchalance commenting that its nothing of interest. Pausing and searching daughter’s eyes she casually drops the subject leaning in for a good night kiss. Daughter visibly relaxes reclining against the pile of pillows that fill the top half of the twin sized bed.

Continuing down the hall mother walks past the bed where father sits up watching television into the en suite bathroom. Stripping her clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor she faces the mirror inspecting her nude figure. Her body looks as she expected it to, seeing it evokes no emotion. Tucking her hair under a shower cap she steps into a warm shower and washes off the routine of the day. Toweling off she then moisturizes and dresses for bed. Walking around to her side of the bed she slides into the sheets. Husband stretches his arm across her waist and snuggles up to her face. He kisses her cheek, and then brushes the end of his nose playfully against it as well. Her focus will shift now to the next family member requesting her attention.