Oh, wow, what a horrible start to the week I had this morning.
It started at 2:30am, when my husband woke me up to say, “your daughter is yelling for you.”
Of course. My daughter. No way he could get up.
So, I race up the stairs, and and my mind is racing through the possibilities with dread. I’m repeating in my head please don’t let it be puke.
I get up to her room, and say, “what is it?!”
“My brother wants you.”
Oh. I go into his room. “What’s wrong?”
“I need pants.”
We had returned from Lake Tahoe late last night, and I had put him in a pull up, but neglected to put pants on the boy, which evidently was a big problem at 2:30am. As I’m putting pants on him, he says, “you forgot to cuddle with me.”
“I don’t cuddle with anyone in the middle of the night,” I tell him. Tears ensue. I’m now cuddling at 2:35 am, waiting for my adrenaline to go back down.
So, back to bed, and then the real morning started. My daughter was supposed to go to daycamp at her school, and according to the calendar I had, it was bike day. So, on top of everything I had to do on a Monday morning, I was digging out a bike rack, getting out her bike and helmet, and making sure she was wearing shorts under the long skirt she insisted on wearing.
I drove her to school, glancing often at the clock, as I was cutting it very close for my first meeting. I walk into the school, and there are janitors cleaning the floor of the room where the daycamp usually is. I ask them where the daycamp is, and they give me blank looks.
Lovely. So, I call the daycamp number, and the owner says, “oh, we never have camp the week before school starts. They have to clean the school.”
Of course they do. Not sure how I missed this detail when I made her childcare plans this summer.
I decided to just take her to work and then figure out what I was doing, going through a laundry list of possibilities in my head. Then, a little voice from the backseat said, “can’t I just go to my old school?”
My child is brilliant. She had gone to her old private kindergarten for a month this summer, and they have all of her shot records and all the forms filled out, and they love her there. Perfect! I called them up, and they said to bring her on over. Except for that pesky meeting.
So, she sat at my desk doing a First Grade workbook while I talked for 1.5 hours to a guy in London. She was an angel. Thank God.
After the meeting, I packed her up to take her to school. The first light I hit unexpectedly turned yellow, and I started to gun it, but then noticed the police car stopped at the intersection. Hence, I slammed on the brakes and came to a screaching stop (key to later in the story).
Heart racing, I finished the drop off at school, and returned to my car, and my phone is nowhere in sight.
*sigh* I’ll just use the find my phone app when I get back to my computer.
Except when I logged onto my computer, I find out that my phone stopped synching its location with my computer a month ago. I then retrace my steps in the office, to the bathroom, and tear apart my car… It is gone. I am ready to hit hard alcohol by this point in my morning.
I did one last search of the car, and found the phone, wedged under the floor mat, as it had been a projectile during my brake screaching moment.
Phew. So, things are a bit back to normal. My daughter’s bike is stashed under a stairwell at my office, and I’m ready to get her back in school with BUS service. Oh, how I miss bus service.
But I’m also thankful that she proved to have better problem solving skills than her frazzeled mother this morning.
