Wednesday, February 2, 2011

But I Digress

My mom has called me her absent-minded professor since I was a kid. I never really enjoyed that nickname and can’t remember my dad using it until this week. He seemed a tad annoyed at the time. Earlier, I had quickly handed over a bag of supplies at grandkid drop-off. Grandma was at work, and I was running late. My dad called when I was still racing to class because I had handed over a bag of reusable shopping bags – not the arsenal of kid supplies I had intended. Sorry to leave you with nothing, but I can't help you now.

My dad’s all about exercising his grandkids. He’s even procuring used bikes for them to use at his house (once he teaches them how to ride those things). I did remember to drop off the scooters, but apparently, Violet fell and skinned her knee on Grandpa’s watch in her Barbie-in-a-Fashion-Fairy-Tale costume dress. She needed pants, not reusable grocery bags, for basic knee protection.

While I was teaching that day, standing by the dry-erase board, I suddenly wondered where I had placed the spousal support check I had received that morning. I thought I had thrown it in my laptop bag, but it wasn’t there. During my riveting lecture, I casually strolled over to my purse and ransacked it. No check. Uh oh.

At grandkid pickup, my brother reminded the kids to go to the bathroom before we got in the car. Oh yeah . . . listen to your uncle. Violet refused, and I let it slide. Of course, we were on the hill when Violet came on to a true emergency. There was the worst moaning you ever heard with bouts of crying, panting and grunting. It made our trip home so unnecessarily stressful because there was no place to stop. I wouldn’t let it go, NEXT TIME YOUR MAMA TELLS YOU TO YOU GO POTTY, YOU GO POTTY! Daisy chimed in with sincere shouts of encouragement for her sister to HOLD IT . . . HOOOOLD IT. Sometimes, I get annoyed with the moms who make such a big deal about children having to do stuff like Go Potty! before leaving the house . . . chill out, Bindy. However, the live-and-let-live approach doesn’t always work out so well.

After 25 minutes of misery, Violet was grave yet triumphant in her dryness as she ran into her dad's house on a quick stop. And when we got home, I got the kids up to the apartment. Returning to the car to grab the rest of our belongings, I noticed a rectangular piece of paper in a muddy puddle. So, I slipped off my reading spectacles and stepped away from the podium . . . hmm, what do we have here? Yeah, it was my spousal check. Soaking wet with tire treads but still there after eight hours. Score!



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