It's one of those mornings - both kids are whiny, unhappy, hard to rouse. Emily's nose is running and she just wants to be held. She had a cold and ear infection last week. Yesterday, she finished a round of antibiotics. The cold is old, so technically she can go to daycare. The rule is that you have to keep your kids home for the first three days of a new cold. So the question is, "Is this a new cold or does it still count as her old one?" I swallow my feelings of guilt and give her half a teaspoon of Sudafed.
      Yesterday was one of those ridiculous marathon days. I dropped the kids off at nine in the morning and picked them up at three. Between Justin's aikido lesson, a trip to the grocery store, and an evening out visiting friends (all of which were fun in and of themselves), we didn't get home till 9:30 at night. No wonder they're tired and out of sorts, reluctant to go to school.
      I, on the other hand, am self-employed, and am counting on this day to work. I have so many projects backed up that I feel like I'll never get out from under. I've missed so many days of work lately-sickness (mine and the kids'), two weeks of school vacations, a big family holiday. I'm feeling scared about money: I'm not bringing any in right now, yet I'm writing checks left and right. If I don't work, nothing gets generated: no new work, no money. The pressure and anxiety have been building up in me for weeks. Right now it feels like a giant weight is pressing steadily down on my chest.
      Justin is sitting under the kitchen table with half a bagel, whining: "I just need to stay home. I just need to be at home." He sounds desperate and miserable. Emily sneezes over her scrambled eggs and a giant wad of mucus comes out. I know I should keep her home, but I push that thought away and instead, maneuver both kids into shoes, sweatshirt, and then the car.
      We drive to Justin's school first. There's a chair for visiting parents right inside the door. I sit there for a quick goodbye, as is our habit. Justin, in a very uncharacteristic move, climbs into my lap, presses his long lean torso against me, leans his cheek against my face and sinks into my body. Then he whispers in my ear, "I don't want to be at school today. I wasn't home all day yesterday. I just want to be at home."
      Guilt! I wish I could take him home today, but I need to work. I have to work. The clock is ticking and I feel the tightness in my chest closing in. Justin's teacher comes over and gently tries to extricate him from my lap. I tell her, "It's okay. I'll give him five more minutes." He snuggles back down, showing no indication that he'll ever leave my lap willingly.
      Emily stands beside us, waiting for her turn to be dropped off. Her nose is still running and her eyes are at half-mast. I know she shouldn't go to school, but I can't let myself think that way. I harden myself, caught between two impossible options.
      Finally, Justin's teacher comes back and offers Justin the special treat of "going down to the lower yard," to visit the older class he'll be joining in the fall. Reluctantly, he says goodbye. I stand up to go, suddenly hating my life and the choices I am forced to make.

      Emily and I drive to her school, just three minutes away. When we pull into the familiar parking lot, she starts crying, "I don't want to go to school!" Torn, I drive around the loop that circles her school three times, tormenting myself with self-hating thoughts and indecision. Finally, I pull in to the parking lot and park the car. I take her out of the carseat and carry her into her classroom. She wraps her body around me and then sags. Her teachers greet her warmly and she barely acknowledges them. And this is a kid who usually wakes up bright and happy and loves school.
      As soon as I see the vibrant energy of the other kids, it's clear to me that Emily can't stay here. I tell Emily's caregiver about Emily's long day and late night and tell her I'm going to take Emily home. I feel stuck, embarrassed, and freaked out about missing another day of work, but it's obvious I can't leave Emily here.
      I carry her to the car, drive back to Justin's school, find him down in the lower yard and give him the option of joining us at home. He lights up and goes off to find his lunch. An hour-and-a-half after we left in the morning, we find ourselves back in the car, heading for home.

      This incident made me think long and hard about my life-about the choices I've made, the pressures I face, the crazy culture in which I live. Although part of me wants to view this event as evidence of my own personal failure (the fact that I'd prioritize work over taking care of a sick child), the rest of me knows that thousands of parents face this same dilemma every day. And most of them don't have the option I did-of turning around and heading home.