| Wednesday To Do |
| 12:10 - zoo field trip |
| 2pm - Pick up Girl Scout cookies |
| 4:30pm - Moe acting |
| 4:30pm - Chess Group |
| 6:45pm - Rocky youth group |
| 9:25pm - Lunar eclipse |
Argh. If one appointment falls behind schedule, everything falls behind.
It was sooooo difficult to get everybody ready and out the door today. My whole respiratory tract felt like a 30-year-old ventilation system in a dusty, rusty house. And it seemed like NO ONE was in a mood to cooperate.
Lafayette is growing by leaps and bounds. On the up-side, that means a beef-cake economy, which means more goods and services, more money, and a happier community. On the down-side, that means the monstrous traffic is just going to get WORSE, which means more road rage and more traffic fatalities, which will tend to take away a little of that hard-earned community happiness.
And this is relevant, because it took twelve years to get across town to Rocky’s art class. When you’re running late, the city knows it, and you hit every. single. red light. The slowest drivers know it, so they pull in front of…who else? you. And the highway construction crews know it, so they close off one vital lane and remove the crucial exit sign you’re looking for–you know, the last exit before you have to drive clear to the next town in order to double-back. Add another 15 minutes you don’t have.
So Rocky was about 15 minutes late for his art class. “No problem,” I thought. “Just take it in stride. There are plenty more appointments today to be on time for. We can do it.”
We grabbed some McD’s and took lunch to the park. Unfortunately, we also had Piko-dog with us, who is alpha male, territorial, and unsocialized, so I had to keep him on a short leash and pray no little kids thought he was cute enough to come pet on him.
Halfway through, I realized I had to make an urgent bathroom run. This shouldn’t be a problem, except I don’t trust the girls with Piko, and they had to go pretty bad, too, so I sent them on ahead of me while I waited with the dog, beseeching them, “Make it quick. I gotta go, too.”
I should’ve known better. By the time they made it back, we had less than 10 minutes to make it back to art to get Rocky, who had to be to the library meeting as Prissy had to be at voice–in 10 minutes. I think I might’ve cried as we left behind the lonely public restroom I never got to visit.
Prissy was late to voice. Rocky was late to his meeting. As he scrambled out of the van, papers and art supplies spilling out onto the sidewalk, I told him firmly and directly, “Five ‘o-clock, Son. Precisely five ‘o-clock.”
“Wow. With your voice like that, you sound like a mob boss or something: ‘Five ‘o-clock–Precisely five ‘o-clock.’”
I waited at the library entrance at precisely five ‘o-clock. No Rocky. Five minutes later, no Rocky.
I kept thinking about Prissy, who was probably panicking at the music conservatory, wondering if we’d abandoned her or forgot to pick her up. I kept sending Rocky telepathic messages, “Come to the van…come to the van….” It didn’t work.
Finally, I sent Bunny in to get him, and of course, he felt rotten about forgetting. By then, it had been 15 minutes since we were due to pick Priss up.
I know I didn’t set a good driving example. We were late, I was mad…pushing the speed limit on back roads, avoiding the traffic lights and college campus so I could get there sooner, and Rocky all apologies.
So we get to the music building and…where in the world is Priss? She has explicit instructions to wait just inside the doors to watch for us. She wasn’t there.
I sent Rocky in to look for her. Five minutes went by when I noticed a group of kids climbing a tree on the side of the building–among them, Priss.
“Where’s Rocky?” she said.
“Hopping” mad. That’s how mad I was. “Hopping” mad. Really. I think it might’ve made me feel a whole lot better if I got out of the van, clenched my fists, and jumped up and down screaming for a few minutes. Like the little troll under the bridge. Or Rumpelstiltskin. “He’s-inside-looking-for-you! I-told-you-to-wait-inside! Go-get-your-brother! Squeak-is-going-to-be-late-for-ballet! Hurry-up!”
Off Priss went, and ten seconds later, who should appear? Rocky. Without Priss.
“Where’s Priss?”
“Inside looking for you.” By then, I gave up. Who cares if we’re late for the rest of our lives? I don’t. I could be in bed right now. “Go get her.”
We finally pulled into traffic at 5:20–just in time to join the thickest clot of rush hour. Twenty minutes to get back across town for Squeak’s ballet class.
Did we make it? Yeah, we did. On time.
Maybe that’s how it works? You stop trying, stop striving to be on time, and miraculously, you are.
—
Spent a total of 5.5 hours behind the wheel today. Again, in pajamas, hanky in my lap, hot coffee within reach.
I reason it could be worse. The van AC/heater could go out. Starbuck’s could go out of business. Lafayette could close down all the major arteries through town. It’s really not so bad. Not like driving in Houston–45 to 610 to 59 to 288, in the loop, out of the loop, second exit, under the overpass, pay the toll…. No, I’m thankful. May not sound like it, but I am.
It was just another stressful day, and tomorrow will be more of the same.
If I could take a day all to myself, I’d wait for a really warm Sunday. I’d drive out to Biloxi (because it’s closer than Destin, and I’ve heard the water is close to blue-green, and not Galveston-brown), and I’d find a deserted beach.