Where's A Defibrillator When You Need One?

Well. It is not given to many of us to have two heart-stopping experiences almost simultaneously, but there you have it. It's got to happen to somebody. Today it was my turn.

You know that awful feeling you get when you're waiting for your child's schoolbus to drop her off, and you see the other kids get off, and then...the doors close. Your child hasn't gotten off. The little stop sign on the side closes. Your child isn't there. The bus drives away...and you're streaking across your lawn, in pajama bottoms, bad hair, and with a Veggie Tales blanket wrapped around your shoulders, screaming, "WAIT!"

Then there's another awful feeling. While you're standing there, panting loud enough to set all the neighborhood dogs barking, and you realize, "Oh, ****, I was supposed to pick her up today."

That thudding sound you're hearing is my heart hitting the deck.

I ran back into the house - scared the dog half to death because he didn't think I could move that fast and he had trouble getting traction on a hardwood floor - went flying upstairs, yelling as I went, to wake up Sam. He'd been taking a nap, asleep for about an hour. It was nowhere near time for him to get up. Nothing in his experience could ever have prepared him for this crazy woman barging into his nice, warm, quiet sanctuary, hauling him out of bed, running downstairs, and taking him out into the cold without a coat...or shoes. Thank goodness he had socks on. That's something, right? As I'm running out the door, my cell phone rings. Somehow, I knew who it was even before I looked at Caller ID: "Hi, is this Sophie's mom? She's here at school and--" "I know, I know, I know, I'm on my way!" I shouted, throwing the car into reverse.

Thank you, Jesus, we're only five minutes from the school. There's a limited amount of self-berating one can do in only five minutes.

So we got to her school, and I pulled up to the curb. I waited. No Sophie. Don't tell me they're going to make me come in! I groaned. I was really going to have to suffer for making this loopy of a mistake. I envisioned the accusing eyes of the secretaries as I unbuckled my shoeless son in 45-degree weather. Yeah....this was going to be tough. Suck it up. Be a woman. Face the music. Trying to be helpful, Sam put on his best stoned look and started moaning as he clung to me, half-asleep. I went inside, trotted into the office, turned to look for Sophie...and there she sat, tears pouring down her face. The secretaries didn't have to look at me in judgement. Sophie was doing it all for them. Man, what a look. I put Sam down and just held her while she sobbed. Well. That's it. I am a worm. There is a special place in hell for moms who forget their children. (It's called, "The Ride Home", in case you're wondering.) The secretaries cheerfully told her that, see, here was Mom, they wouldn't have let her stay at school all by herself, these things happened, she was OK, and so forth. They told me that they'd given her two pretzels. (I wonder: are carbs good for hysteria?) Sam, of course, perked up and said, "Pretzels?" and that's when they noticed he wasn't wearing shoes, so I gathered both kids and bundled them into the car.

All the way home, all five minutes, I got a blow-by-blow account of the dreadful experience I'd brought about. I sighed. Part of me was thinking about all those kids you hear who get left at malls and gas stations, but I really didn't think that this was the time or place to remind her that this was not nearly so traumatic as she was making it out. I apologized some more. We got home and I had a brief argument with Sam about how his nap wasn't really over, this was all just a dream, he needed to go back upstairs and go back to sleep. Strangely enough, he bought it. Cool. I turned around to say something to Sophie, but she was gone. Gone upstairs into her room.

*sigh*

Some days you're the bug, some days you're the windshield.