Whoopsie-Daisy!

Owing to the fact that I woke up way too early yesterday morning and couldn't go back to sleep, I had lots of time to get ready for the day in a leisurely way, considering it was a Monday. I calmly took my time getting Sophie out the door to her bus stop. I effortlessly floated upstairs to wake up Sam and get him started on his day. I had breakfast ready for him and I didn't have to rip open a box to get it...I had an outfit picked out without flinging clothes all over his room. It was...so...elegantly simple and unhurried. I felt very Zen as I came downstairs to get my purse and Sam's backpack as we were getting ready to leave for preschool. "Ah," I thought, "This is how organized people live. I could get used to this." So I found Sam's backpack and I realized I hadn't looked in it over the weekend to make sure there wasn't anything important in it that I should read, you know, before we got to school (like, "Please bring 2 dozen brownies to class Monday" or other commands like that). I pulled out a sheet of paper and began to read: "Please remember that Monday is our field trip to the Koger Center to watch a production of 'Charlotte's Web'. If your child is riding our bus, be at preschool at 8:30. If you are driving your child to the Koger Center yourself, please meet us at the Koger Center in the lobby at 9:15. Also, please remember to have your child wear his or her red preschool T-shirt for easy identification." I looked at my watch. It was 8:40. I had 35 minutes to change Sam's shirt, run out the door, fight traffic going into the city at rush hour, find a parking space in the garage, and hustle Little Man into the lobby. Holy freaking cow. "SAM!!!" I bellowed. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Thinking he was in trouble, he stopped whatever he was doing and burst into tears. "NOW!" I yelled. I ripped off his Buzz Lightyear shirt, for which he'd lobbied hard that morning, in one upward motion, grabbed his red shirt, and pulled it down over his head in a downward motion. Whoosh up, whoosh down. Shame about those ears. I picked him up and ran downstairs, grabbing purse and jacket on the way out.


I took a back road that was thankfully straight and got us quite a ways before we had to hit serious traffic. Sam, who is familiar with the way to school, immediately noticed that we were going in a different direction. He gave lots of personal comments freely about this deviation. Then he noticed that we were traveling in the same direction as church. "Mom, we're going to church." "No, Sam, it's the same way but we're not going to church." "But Mom, this is the way to church." "Yes, Sam [gritting teeth], but we're not going to church." He fell silent. And then...ROAD CONSTRUCTION. Detour, detour! I frantically wove my way around orange barrels, cones, and giant potholes, trying to find the way out of this god-foresaken maze, while Sam intoned "we're lost, lost, lost" from the back seat. I finally made my way out, seriously running a red light whose yellow light had gone out long ago. But I made it. We were on our way. I found the Koger Center, went the wrong way to park, hauled the car around, found the parking garage, went up three flights, found a space, grabbed Sam, ran up three stinkin' flights of stairs, wheezing the whole way, and got into the lobby...at 9:15. On the nose.

Well, hallelujah. Now I could sit and quietly gasp to death while the group got its act together. Just as I crawled my way to a bench, someone decided to move our group. Like red-shirted sheep, we went up TWO MORE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS. I was ready to die. Sam was waving at friends like a born politician, just having a ball. He wasn't even breathing hard. There were a huge number of schools on this field trip and the place was packed with red shirts, blue shirts, green shirts, yellow shirts, uniforms of all colors and patterns, black-hooded nuns, soccer moms, teachers holding signs, etc. Utter madness. Zen felt a very long time ago. We finally made it into the auditorium and found our seats. And then the show got started. I don't mean the play. I mean watching all these little kids trying to sit in auditorium seats. They just weren't quite heavy enough to keep the seats down, and you haven't lived until you've seen 800 children get eaten alive by their auditorium seats. There was panic galore as the kids would pull down their seats, sit down, lean back, and then get violently folded in half as the seats slammed shut like giant Venus Flytraps. Legs were waving and flying everywhere. It was so funny. You'd see some girl's pink bow at the top of the seat and arms and legs waving madly on the sides, while screams and crying were muffled by the cushion. I was laughing fit to be tied. So sue me. It was a stress-reliever after the insanity of the last 35 minutes. Sam thought it was a blast, after he got over the first-time shock. I had to put my purse in his lap to hold him down. Even then, if he wiggled absentmindedly or forgot to hang on, SLAM would go the seat and I'd have to rescue him.

The play was a huge hit, the kids enjoyed it tremendously, but for me the highlight was the Amazing Theater Seats. I'll never forget it. And that was the most exciting thing in my life yesterday. Dare I try for more tomorrow? Stay tuned...