In preparation for the new job I've already laid out a good amount of cash. A new laptop. New software. The missing manual for each, because RTFM, right?
But it shook out that I would have three days between jobs. The new gig couldn't start me right after my old one started.
Three days! What would I do with myself? I came up with a laundry list of things I never get to do.
Chief among them was hanging out in a coffee shop and killing time over caffeinated beverages. Not big dreams, but something that seemed an unimaginable luxury.
Having time on my hands.
Any other day, there are projects to do, chores to be done, meals to be made or tedium to endure. But I would have three days to myself.
Well, two actually.
Turned out that my kids were out of school the day after Easter and it makes absolutely no sense for us to pay for day care or have E stay home when I'm unemployed and idle.
I make a day with the kids. That's a different kind of luxury. Most weekends will find E and I passed out on a couch somewhere while the kids glaze over the TV. But a weekday free with nothing on the schedule?
I plan to go to the airport restaurant. Not a generic one, but a local place that I've spent most of my exfil sessions lately. Little e loves the idea - so naturally the Boy hates it. Little e is sure that I'll take her side, but the Boy has been in such a foul humor lately that I decide to humor him. He picks the place - a decent one, too, a former gas station converted into a diner.
Little e screams her disapproval the entire way there.
Eventually, she calms down and we have a more or less pleasant meal. For some reason, the kids get to talking on art, and I remember a trip we took to a local art museum. The kids loved it. And - improbably - they like the idea now.
So we go.
Naturally, the museum is closed that day. So, instead of taking two excited kids to the museum, I end up with two crabby kids complaining about the weather and why they aren't at home.
I persevere and schlep them into a local library that is pretty scenic. It distracts them for about ten minutes and then they want to leave. So I seize on a poster advertising an exhibit on the Civil War. History!
It's on the fourth floor. So, we march up four flights of stairs - kids complaining the whole way - and discover the exhibit consists of six photographs on the wall and a poster.
Great.
With that, the kids announce that they want to go home. I still have two errands to run, but the kids have had it and I'm not in a mood to push it at this point. This is supposed to be a fun day and after lunch we'll try to go out again.
Home. Post lunch I'm trying to get the kids out the door and now the Boy's saying his stomach hurts too much to go out.
Seriously? But I have two things I need to do. The Boy has a science project coming up that needs copper wire and I have to mail something to E's sister. My hope that the Boy's project would inspire him to come along dies when the Boy announces that he hates his science project and doesn't want to do it anymore.
Arrgh.
We're doing this anyway. I drag, push, cajole and otherwise tiger-dad the two kids out to the car and each wails about how they just want to stay home.
But we're doing this. So I hit the post office first. The Boy wants to come with, the girl would rather stay in the car. Should be quick, so I'm good with that.
Soon as I hit the door, I see a line of a dozen people ahead of me. This will not be quick. But we wait, because we're here. The Boy is demonstrably in distress. Leaning and flopping over anything he can find. I am sick, SEE? he says without words - over and over.
We're six people from the counter when one of the three cashiers realizes their cash machine doesn't work. The person they're serving only has a debit card, and there is a great deal of delay while they sort out if this is an issue with each and every card this person has.
But no, it's the machine. I only have a debit card, too. So, three cashiers now drops to two for me and (apparently) most of the people in line.
For no apparent reason, the third cashier up and leaves - so now we have a single cashier for debit transactions.
Right when I'm the next person in line, the last machine goes down, too. I have no cash and this is now a wasted trip, but hey - at least I spent all that time in line hoping, right?
The Boy is flopped over a stack of postal forms, so I stand him upright and lead him out, telling everyone on the way out that the place is now cash only.
Back to the car. The Boy really seems in distress now. I'm wondering if he's about to be ill ('cos, y'know - I'm due, right?).
But we press on to the hardware store where both children announce that they will sit in the car while I run in for the copper wire.
Ah, the family outing. Hardware store is inexplicably free of the old guy, and all I need is three feet of wire. The sign on it imperiously warns that you MUST HAVE ASSISTANCE to cut the wire - so I spend ten minutes waiting behind some dork having a lengthy conversation with the lone old guy as if there is no other human being in the universe than them. And wasn't their story about porch lights just oh-so-riveting?
Gah.
I get my wire and catch a break when I remember that I can get cash back from the hardware checkout. The kids won't have to go to the bank before we go back to the post office.
Still, they complain about returning to the post office, because they're tired of being in the car. But I'm getting this done. So it's happening.
Both kids want to wait in the car this time. Little e offers to read Encyclopedia Brown to the Boy. The Boy tells her to shut up - because he knows all the stories already.
I run in and spend half of forever in line behind a stream of people - each of whom needs, REALLY needs to hear a detailed explanation of why the registers aren't accepting credit or debit cards today.
But I get the package paid for and we're done. And I can't get them home fast enough.
*******
That was my first day off.
Second day's morning was soaked up by a visit to the diabetic nurse. I'm behind on my check ins with her. Should have had an appointment last year and didn't. There's a certain amount of reproach in this meeting but I don't care.
About a week ago I was working out with the Penguin and I clearly overdid it. Became dizzy, unable to think and had to sit down. I briefly passed out and came to as the Penguin propped me up.
So I was happy to be at an appointment for once. I wanted answers. The previous week, I had a stress EKG and it came back normal - so I'm wondering if there is something that the diabetic experts could tell me about why I got all screwed up.
When I was all fally-downy at the gym, I assumed I was having a Low- the boogeyman of diabetics. Blood sugar drops below 70 and suddenly your brain decides to start short circuiting. But I tested my levels at the gym and I was high - over 140. So I didn't know what the hell.
The diabetic nurse had no answers for me, though. Everyone's different, she says. She bounces a few questions off me about what else might have contributed to my dizzy spell - but nothing sticks.
She tells me my historical levels are looking good and that I'm doing well in other aspects. She'll schedule a follow up with me for six months and - thanks for checking in.
Day and a half of my three days gone.
The afternoon I've already posted about - how great it was to kick back and play cafe poser - and how the murphy's law tried to screw me.
But day two's afternoon was beyond great.
I want more of that.
*******
Day three starts with the Boy piling into me at three in the morning. He does this most mornings, but usually right before it's time to wake up for the day. But three in the morning means I've got hours of potential sleep and I want them. Having a small person knee me in the back drops my odds something fierce - so I bail out and sleep in his bed.
Musical beds is a thing in our house - having apnea means I should move my CPAP machine to the boy's room to truly sleep - but I'm too tired and crabby to think straight.
Morning rolls around and I'm hoarse from snoring (no CPAP) and I'm groggy as hell. E goes to shower and I loll in bed until I hear the Boy moving around. He's coming up the stairs, having gone down to look for breakfast and struck out - no parents - so he's back in our bed.
And it's time to get up - dammit. I'm up and fumbling downstairs - E's going to work and the kids are going to school and the least I can be is useful.
I'll get a day of cafe sitting and prepping for my new job - I need to get some paperwork in and get a haircut. What will I do with the other free time? Whoo hoo!
But the Boy is complaining that he is sick. He doesn't have a fever, but he's lolling around like he's dying. He has a way of dramatizing it to the point of parody.
I'm determined to get him moving. I push, pull threaten and berate to the point where it's clear I'm doing this for my benefit.
E's giving me the look - and it's then I know day three is on the ropes.
The Boy is inconsolable that he's too sick for school and for going over to his friend's house later. He's really upset that his dad isn't listening to him. "I want to stay home!"
Day three of leisure is done. I give in and tell him to stay on the couch. I'll sit with you.
As E and little e are heading out, the Boy's irritation with me makes him reverse course. Now he's insisting on going to school. Now he's angry that I won't let him go. "You never listen to me!"
But I am listening. The Boy needs someone to pay attention to him. Now. He's had it up to here with the day and it's past time that somebody noticed.
I let him lean on me and put my arm on his shoulder and just sit with him until he calms down. We fire up a Mythbusters and he tucks under a blanket and relaxes. The boy feels like crap, and he finally feels that his dad notices. His relief is almost audible.
If this was a movie, we'd have a bonding moment that changes the way we think of each other forever, but mostly we just hung out together. I'm out of practice - and it'll be slow work to get our conversations back to conversing instead of "chew with your mouth closed" or "go get dressed."
But it was a good day, nonetheless.
*******
E felt bad that the day off came to this and offered to do the evening with the kids. I went out to eat all excited about lounging around like yesterday - but so far everything has been pantomime.
Not much point in pretending I'm a cafe denizen when I'm not. All the baked goods in this cafe would spike my glucose to the stratosphere. I've translated the essential PC shortcut keys to Mac - and I'm not going to learn Unix in a day. I'm not writing the next great American screenplay on my laptop and my ego can't enduring taking out the Missing Mac manual and reading that next to my spiffy new toy.
So what am I doing in a cafe alone at night, sans family?
I'm writing about how I should be at home.
So I'm going home.
'Night all
