Last in the Rat Race

This morning, pulling into the office parking lot (a sketchy paved space just north of our building and south of Noonegivesashitville), I got a call from my brother-in-law. My sister was back in the hospital with what might have been a mini-stroke. That would make #2 on the year – with an appendectomy thrown in for good measure. She’s been through the wringer, to say the least.

Wrapping up our conversation and getting out of the car, he stops to give me one last phone number. I unlock the car, grab a pen, jot it down and head inside with more assurances to keep each other up to date.

The day flies by with really no developments on my sister. I head downstairs with a co-worker for a much-needed beer and some commiseration. Finished, we head outside and I fish for my keys.

Holy shit: I feel nothing.

I root around and listen for the reassuring jingle jangle. Nothing

I look again. Again. Shake. Nothing. Holy crap. It’s now 5:30 and I need to be on my way to get Kate before school closes and they lock her up and charge me a grand to spring her.

Shake shake. Nothing.

With no memory of removing my keys in my office, I stomp off to my car with the dimwitted hope that I locked them in there. (where else could they be?!)

Stepping up to the passenger door, I notice two things:

(1) the door is unlocked
and
(2) my keys are sitting on the passenger seat

Clear as M-Fing day, my keys are sitting there.

What’s that you see there on the seat? Keys? Hm… In a lot where people get their windows smashed in hopes of stealing a cd from the 80’s, my BMW X5 sat there, like a virgin at prom, waiting to be taken. Nothing. No love. And I’m off scott-free.

(Let’s not share this one with MRA.)

First day of Junior Kindergarten and she’s back to school. (this follows last year’s Pre-Kindergarten and will be followed by Senior Kindergarten next year. ridiculous, i know… believe me, i know. pretty soon, they’ll be meeting new parents at the hospital, offering space in their ‘Entry Level First Stage Preliminary Maybe Kindergarten)

Sometimes, she just cracks herself up. (those poor, poor teachers)

The best part about this whole thing – other than the fact that she’s back at a locked-down compound with other crazed maniacs for over 8 hours – is this year’s backpack. In searching for a dino backpack that wasn’t covered in camo, I ran across this little number:

Not sure why the zebra is being shoved into the pic… but you get the idea. Perfectly sized for the kid and a little happy reminder of Paddi at school.

How can you not get a chuckle outa that?

Kate and I took Paddi for a walk Sunday morning. Beautiful day, chatty neighbors, dog pooped and we’re home.

Standing in front of the closed garage, dog’s leash in one hand and full poop bag in the other, I turn to our key pad and RELISH the joy of a key-less walk: no longer locking myself out of the house, we have the 20th century ability to open the garage with a number pad. Welcome to the next level in luxury living, Kel, take a good whiff. Don’t it smell sweet?

The garage lifts up with a soft whir. Paddi starts to walk in as do I, anxious to deposit the bag in the trash cans now neatly tucked inside the garage.

“Mom! Look at this!”

I turn to find Kate enjoying our new garage door, too.

Notice the nice little handles. Makes it look like a carriage door, right? To a kid, it looks just about right. To grab. While it’s moving.

Dog/leash in one hand, poop in the other and I’m standing there frozen in horror as my child is lifted off the ground. WAY OFF. Just about the time any of you would have emptied your hands of WHATEVER WAS IN THEM TO RESCUE THE CHILD, I still stood there… wondering if I could reach the trash can to dump the poop in time and still pull her off. AS IT’S GOING UP. WITH MY CHILD.

She let go.

Her 4 year old brain clicked before mine did and she realized that a two foot drop looks pretty good compared to the 6 inch space that was looming in front of her face.

I smell another Schmommy of the Year award coming my way…

Retailers, in their wisdom, invaded our home with promises of 40% OFF YOUR ENTIRE PURCHASE. So, dutifully, I took the bait – dragging Kate along – and hit the mall Saturday.

After the third store, she was still hanging tough. No whining. At. All.

Store #4 saw the beginning of the end of her patience.

By store #5, she was done, but again, no real whining, just comments that she was “ready to go.”

Walking along, holding hands, I looked down on my little sidekick and said, “You know, Kate, you have really become a good little shopper.”

And I meant it. Up ’til now, we would have been lucky to make it through one store, let alone 5, to my partial satisfaction.

At some point, I noticed her clutching her side. Hand in a fist, she was holding her side awkwardly. (Odd.)

“What’s that in your hand?”

“Nothing.”

Again, her little hand was balled up, so I thought maybe her belly hurt or she had a cramp in her side.

“Does your side hurt?”

“No, I’m fine” and other non-committal answers were tossed my way.

Finally, strapping her into her booster seat, she pulled her fist away from her side, but it was still clenched. Unable to stand it, I pried her fingers open.

Clenched in her fist was a silly little charm from Gap Kids – the last store we had visited.

Furious. Conflicted. Tired. Furious.

I stifled the fleeting thought of “just this one time” and dragged her happy – now scared – ass right back out of the car. From “what were you thinking?” to “we have to take that back!” to “THAT’S STEALING,” I let it flow as we stomped back inside and down the center of the mall, back to the Gap.

This time, I didn’t slow to her pace. You could hear the flap, slap, flap, slap of her shoes as she tried to keep up, half-way between a walk and a run. Silence from the sidekick now. I’m sure onlookers thought me callous by dragging my kid that way. Ooh, but they didn’t know what I knew, did they?

Back into the store. We waited patiently for the nice young clerk and interrupted her as she walked someone to the fitting room.

“Excuse me? Can we bother you for a minute?” as I stopped her. “Kate, what do you have to say?”

She handed the charm back to the girl, “I’m sorry.” It was said quietly and I’m not sure eye contact was made.

I prompted her then, “What else do you want to say?” We had rehearsed this part in between my earlier rants.

“I’ll never do it again.”

A little bewildered, the clerk accepted the charm and said, “ok.”

We turned and headed out, one as equally embarrassed as the other.

The coup de grace? A security guard strolled by as we left the store.

“See that police man? He’s on the lookout for kids like you.”

“Hm, you probably shouldn’t use your teeth to twist the nozzle on the new bottle of Super Glue.”

Try listening to it. Next time.

We just returned from our annual trek to Eagle Hurst Ranch. It’s everything Missouri has to offer – hills (Ozarks), streams (Huzzah), and heat (100 most days). Throw in a pool, A/C, and family-style meals and you’ve got it covered. My side of the family has been going there for over 20 years – parents, kids, grandkids…

While the place is packed with things to do, with this week’s weather, we had two options: swim in the stream, swim in the pool. I think a couple of my nephews discovered a third option – sleeping in the A/C of their cabin, but what fun is that?

We spent our mornings in the stream – my sister, niece, brother-in-law, Kate and at least one nephew. Catching up and catching bait. Tony reeled them in and Kate inspected each one. This one she ‘caught’ just after Tony released it.

You don’t get that at the country club!

Mindy, my fearless co-worker is good for more than a couple of laughs throughout the day… mostly in the form of teasing/torturing the young associate she works for and sending poignant SomeECards.

A mother of two, she has her own mess at home. Today, it took the shape of her son, Myles.

The following was sent to Mindy by her mom – who watches the kids during the day.

********
Myles: “I’m learning how to spell words for kindergarten.”

Me: That’s great; what words do you know?

Myles: “Well, I know one. P-O-O-P spells poop!”

Me: Do you know how to spell any other words?

Myles: “No, I don’t.”

Last night started typically: dinner, water the grass, laundry and walk the dog. On that latter point, though, I took Kate with me as MRA was out of town.

We wandered our usual route, short and sweet through the cul-de-sac one street over. As it happens, it’s a pretty tight crew on that street and you can often find them sitting around the ’sac, chatting over a cocktail or glass of wine. So civilized.

One of the homeowners has a daughter around Kate’s age – she was there, the only child, playing with a ball. We stopped to say hello and let the girls play. I was invited to sit and have a drink, but no… “We need to get home and get the kid bathed and to bed. Dragging her out of bed for camp isn’t my idea of a good time.” It was only 7:30, but these things take time in our house. (Kate runs about 30 minutes behind the rest of the world.)

We finished our walk and headed home.

Home for five minutes and the power went out. It could have been the fact that it was the second day with temps over 100, but who knows. I lit some candles and ran Kate’s bath. She was sufficiently intrigued but standing firm, “I’m not taking a bath with the power out.”

Standing there, I just couldn’t make the connection between our lack of power and her reluctance to get clean. Seemed like a convenient excuse, but staring in the face of a brewing battle, I threw in the towel.

“Do you want to go back out and play with Viviane [our little neighbor in the cul-de-sac] some more?” Duh! Who’d turn that down?

We packed a water for Kate, a cocktail for me and headed back out.

For the next hour or so, the girls played and I got to know the neighbors better. It was a little slice of Mayberry.

Gradually, everyone wandered home and Kate and I were left with Viviane and her mom (another Katie). She’s a talker and I can hold my own. A little more wine and we were traveling from topic to topic, enjoying the evening and the fact that our only children had taken on the duty of entertaining each other. It was still blazing hot, the girls were sweaty (remember that elusive bath?) and actually admitting THEY WERE TIRED. wow.

At one point, we made it over to Big Girl Katie’s house – I think to see their dog one last time – and we chatted for another 20 minutes – chatting over the estate sale finds from the house next door, looking at the plaster work on their basement remodel and finally exchanging phone numbers so the girls can play and we can provide each other with an hour or so, here and there, of Mommy Time.

It’s now 10:00 pm. TEN O’CLOCK and we’re just heading home. The lights are back on and the bath is now cool. Got her clean, to bed and off to sleep. MRA’s flight finally arrived and he was home by 1:00 am. Storms woke Kate up at 3:00. I caught the alarm before it went off at 5:30 and slept in.

By 8:00, I finally dragged Kate out of bed. Literally.

I didn’t run this morning. The dog got a half-assed walk. Kate was late to camp. I was late to work.

None of it matters.

It was worth it. THAT is what summer is all about and I’m cheating us out of it.

The world can wait. I need to stop occasionally and cut out the “must do’s,” “should do’s,” and ignore the damn clock.

This post started with “I should know better” and my intent was that I should have known better than to screw up our schedule and go back outside last night. Now I realize it’s “I SHOULD KNOW BETTER” – I should know to relax. To slow down. To enjoy the detours. To experience the summer, not just get through it and get on to the next thing.

We need to remember to ENJOY the time we have.

Period.

1. Don’t trust MRA’s choice in movies.

2. The Big Lebowski = not kid-friendly. not even close.

3. Kids like to learn new things and apply them immediately.

4. My child is a quick study: while I took maybe 12 years to learn to use the F*bomb properly, Kate has proven to be a quick study at 4.

“What in the F***?”

Why it’s a Brockumbrella, of course!