Freaky Tuesday

Last Tuesday was Freaky Friday. You know, the movie where the mom and the daughter switch bodies and roles (back when Lindsay Lohan had a career)? That happened with Abby and me. I have to admit I've seen it coming. Along with all her impressive qualities, Abby also is a control freak bossy enjoys being in charge. Just ask her brother. She routinely hounds bitches at instructs suggests ways for him to get his shit together improve the way he does things, even something as trivial as refilling water bottles.

Signs that Abby's need to run the household control things was getting a bit out of hand occurred a couple weeks ago when she informed me, after my directive, that she would not bring in the garbage cans from the street because, "That's Ian's job. He's the boy." There are two problems with that statement:

1. Assigning gender roles is not appropriate for the girl who wants to be the first female president of the United States.
2. I'm the mom and I'm pretty sure that I'm supposed to be in control around here, not her.

When I explained this, she pointed out that Ian should do it because, "It's the only exercise he gets." Clearly I need to watch what I say around her.

But let me set the stage for Freaky Tuesday. Here's a brief summary of events leading up to our official role reversal: 

1. Sunday night, our usual routine. Abby goes to bed. I tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.
2. Monday morning, I decide on the spur of the moment that I'm going to visit my parents that evening. I pack an overnight bag so I can leave directly from work. 
3. Abby is still asleep when I leave for work.
4. I spend Monday night at my parent's house. Talk to Abby briefly on the phone.
5. I spend most of Tuesday with my parents. When I arrive home around 5:00 p.m., Abby is at soccer practice. 
6. I leave home at 6:20 p.m. for a meeting at church.
7. Abby arrives home from soccer around 6:45 p.m. that evening.
8. I call Abby from church around 8:00 p.m. to tell her my meeting is over but that I need to get together briefly with a couple of people. I will be home in about an hour. 

And that's when the switch occurs:

Abby:  [Heavy sigh] You're never home anymore. I haven't seen you in forever.  

Mom: [Guilt ridden; realizing it's been almost 48 hours] You're right. I'm sorry. I'll come home now.

Abby: Nooo, it's okay. Go ahead.

Mom:  No, really. I'm coming home.

Abby: (Laying on thick layers of guilt) Noooo. Just do what you have to do.

Mom: Are you sure?

Abby: Yes. I'll see you when you get home.

I have a confession to make. The part I left out of my conversation with Abby was that I was going to "meet with a couple people" at Iron Hill Brewery. For a beer. Now granted, they were from my church committee, and we were possibly probably going to discuss church stuff, but still... It hit me that I had become the teenager, out with my friends, while Abby had become the mom, complaining about never seeing her daughter anymore and laying on the guilt big time.

While a large part of me enjoys the mere thought of being the kid again and thus having no grown-up responsibilities, I'm pretty sure that some day very soon, Abby and I will swap roles again. And I'll be waiting in vain to spend time with my daughter because she's too busy with her friends.