A Tale of Woe: In Which I Am Horrid and We All Laugh About It
I was mean today.
After a painfully, excruciatingly slow day, Gabe asked if I could take Scoob to his Karate class at 4:45, and he would pick him up. Which was fine, because it only required that I leave about 15 minutes early. Gabe was very specific – I must get him there on time or he will not get his perfect attendance badge. And well, you know me. If it has “perfect” in the title, I want it. I was determined that he not be late! As the clock approached 4, I kept an eye on the minute hand, scurrying to finish a few small things before I had to begin spaz-wrangling the boys away from whatever scintillating activity they were currently involved with and convince them to head for the car.
Scoob flipped out when he saw me, yelled when I urged him to hurry, and Scrappy meanwhile was singing at the top of his longs about having to go to the bathroom. I’m sure we could be heard by the people shopping at Valley Fair. I try to maintain calm, sweetly exhorting them to get their backpacks together, and please wait until you are in the car to unpack everything and show me the tiny little bit of hidden origami you have at the bottom of your backpack.
Because, as I mentioned, we are in a bit of hurry. And mama is not going to be anything close to imperfect! No siree!
Now, Scooby is supposed to get some daily medication at 3pm and as always, I check to make sure he’d received it. No, he says.
At that point my hair burst into flames and I don’t remember much else. I stationed one kid on the stairs with the remainder of his lunch to keep him busy and darted back to the school office where I’m certain that I was appallingly rude to the bewildered secretaries as I informed them scathingly that Scoob did not receive his meds, and how could they forget?! What if this were heart medication and it was a life or death situation?! My unrighteous indignation would have made the Dowager Countess tremble.
I returned to find the boys, sherpa sweatshirts, backpacks, lunch boxes, coats, and a couple of stray shoes while they trip blissfully unencumbered to the car.
After several arguments over who is going to get into which side and “why does he get to unlock the doors, it’s my turn,” we are all in, we are all buckled, and I’m certain that we have about five minutes left before we have to be at the dojo for his 4:45 class..
I put the key in the ignition. I glance fearfully at the clock.
It reads 3:34pm.
(Cue several seconds of total gobsmacked silence. And crickets.)
I am, it seems, an entire hour early.
After mentally raging for a few minutes, I decided to schlep us all home and make some lemonade out of my lemony mess. I got dinner staged, dishwasher loaded, laundry in, plants watered, and back in the car to drop the boy off promptly at 4:40pm.
This morning I crawled on my hands and knees over to Joanne to apologize for my horrid behavior the day before. Graciously, she laughed, I laughed, and here we are, one day older, maybe a tiny bit wiser, and certainly a great deal grayer about the temples.