6:40am, and I'm barely moving.
Waking up after 6:30am is generally a bad thing in our house. E's aiming to be out the door just past 7. I'm supposed to be in the car at half past with both kids fed, dressed, and ready for school.
In the past this has
not gone so well. But we've gotten better - and had settled into a routine.
Then came
kindergarten. Now the boy goes one place and the girl goes somewhere else. Dropping off the boy adds a good deal of time since there's the need to bring little e along as we: get out of the car, walk into school, sign him in, walk back to the car, and buckle back in.
Ten or fifteen minutes, usually. This can be accounted for. However, the X factors are legion - and it only takes one to screw you.
The first one is getting the kids awake. Yesterday the boy popped awake and was dressed in 5 minutes. I think he was keen on walking to school - I crushed his dream by telling him we'd drive anyway. This morning he's in no hurry to be moving.
My general tactic has been to play one kid off on the other. I ask one to help me wake up the other and let the sibling's instinct for cruelty kick in. Today I start with little e and take her to the boy.
No dice. He's not moving, she's not moving - so I aggrivate both of them until their eyes open. Ten minutes later, I have the boy half dressed and little e with her clothes picked out.
Shower for 8 minutes. It cost $300 - but we finally have hot water, so I'm tempted to linger. But no sense in running late.
I have a 9 o'clock meeting - easy to make - but no sense tempting fate. E takes off. I get dressed and start the breakfast thing. Rule one is to get the kids in their shoes and ready to go before we eat something. They get ready while I'm getting food. Otherwise - after breakfast, I just get to sit and wait for them.
English muffins all 'round with milk - I'll get coffee at day care. I'm looking at the clock, somehow it's managed to be 7:35. No biggie. Out the door.
Little e sounds off "My tummy hurts." This is her way of telling me she needs a bathroom break.
Sigh. Okay, back in the house, settle down and wait.
And wait.
Urgency is not something you can force on little e. You're there for the duration. You can assist, you can suggest - but overstep and you'll just make things worse.
The boy's out wandering around in the yard - I notice that I've managed to leave the garage door open all night.
Sigh. Turns out little e needs a new set of clothes, so upstairs search/sift/select - and we're back to getting dressed.
Once again, rushing + little e = not happening. The boy has managed to buckle himself in (by himself) but getting all the slack he needed has thrown the seatbelt into rachet mode. It's tight against his neck because (naturally) the shoulder ring has moved up. Rachet mode makes the belt impossible to adjust - so I need to unbuckle the boy and start over. This undoes his accomplishment and generally upsets him. I ignore it, he's got to deal.
Out the door and the dash clock prounounces sentence on us: 7:58.
Dammit. I'll still make the meeting - I just won't have much prep time
And we're off. To the boy's school. Before we leave the car, we're in trouble. The boy is cold and wants to put on his sweatshirt - while standing - in our car. This does not go well and there are many false starts.
And then we're out - the drop off is marginal. Sign in - the boy wants to scuzz my hair, he does and we go.
Little e is always trailing behind me on these things, but leaving her alone in the car is a non-starter. Mercifully, she asks to be carried to the car. I haul.
8:08
We're en route to daycare, and this means I am sure to be late for work. No sense freaking out about it. Late by 10 or late by twenty is not worth a traffic accident.
I'm pulling up to daycare and have the option of driveway or street.
Street: Pros - cannot be parked in
Cons - street traffic that could kill you while you are unloading your little girl.
Driveway: Pros - safety + proximity to front door
Cons - chance that you will get parked in by another parent.
I'm so late - I opt for safety. It's 8:30 and odds are all the kids are here already. Plus, there's two car widths of room and I'm the only one here. It'd take two cars to block me in - and all the parents know better than to do that.
Driveway, then. Park, out the door. Little e announces that she has taken off her shoes -and can I please help her put them on?
Sigh. Yes, of course.
I'm carrying her in, because now I need every minute. Little e announces she must walk.
As previously mentioned, speed is not her thing.
I open the door and am holding the glass door open for her. Little e has this thing where she stands in the doorway for an interminable amount of time. She's doing it today. I'm holding two doors open for her and she's not moving.
I urge her to speed up. Repeatedly. Finally, she takes two steps in. I let the glass door close and step in.
And the wailing starts.
Unbeknownst to me, little e was holding onto the doorframe with her left hand. Her little left hand just got wholloped by the closing glass door.
She's inconsolable - and I take her downstairs. It's not a bad hit, a scrape - but certainly more than she should be expected to suck up. I do my best to cheer her up and get her to focus on putting on her slippers.
It doesn't work for about 5 minutes. I get her into her classroom and chat up her teacher. Little e's teacher is an ace when it comes to cheering up small kids - and kids always react better to people other than their parents anyway. Little e's teacher takes lead and I back her up for awhile. We make small talk about some visitor who's supposed to be arriving today. Somebody who was supposed to show up earlier in the week and hadn't. They were late today, so little e's teacher is unsure if they'll show up at all.
I chat until I can see little's e's doing better - and bolt for the door. It's almost 8:40. It'll take me seventeen minutes to get to my desk. I will have
no prep - and I don't even know what building my meeting is in.
On the way out - I run into a confused-looking stranger: the student teacher. I direct her down the proper stairs and step out the front door.
Naturally, there are two new cars behind mine in the driveway. The one directly behind mine is unfamiliar. It's
right behind mine - because the student teacher doesn't know better than to do that.
The other car is a parent - they're on a cell call so it takes awhile to get their attention - but they move as soon as they see what's up. I gyrate my car back and forth to get around Student Teacher-mobile.
It's 8:44.
At this point, I
am screwed. I call a co-worker and ask them to check my calendar in Outlook. Parking at the wrong end of Corpworld could cost me another ten minutes. My meeting's on the floor above my desk - solid.
I start thinking of the gate - the
turnstile - and then I suddenly remember I don't have my badge.
Son. Of. A. -I'm jolted out of that thought when the car in front of me suddenly stops dead. They're turning left without a signal.
Nice.
I weave around them and almost plow into another car - also at a dead stop, but inexplicably in the middle of open road.
What the...?Ducks. They've stopped for a column of ducks crossing the road. The ducks are in no hurry.
I am. I literally scream into my windshield "What the F--??!!"
Either as a result of this, or by pure coincidence, the ducks immediately take flight and we're moving again. I hit my parking ramp at 8:57. I have two security doors to clear and no badge.
The great thing is - you can only request badgeless access at the security desk -
which is behind the first security door.
I need to draft someone - and this late, the parking lot is a ghost town. I'm on level two and there's nobody, so I go down hoping I can draft someone on the ground level.
Score. Some clueless corp type is approaching the outer door. They're 20 yards ahead of me, so I bolt. Screw decorum. I could spend ten minutes out here wating for another person or more just walking to the public entrance.
I draft - and I'm in. The turnstile is door number two and is, predictably, still not working. Instead of the cheerful guard of the past few days - I get Dour Belligerent Guy.
I walk right up to him. "I forgot my badge. What do I do?"
Now, I know what to do - but I have to wait until DBG does his part. I have my ID and credentials out and ready.
This man - whose job it is to grant access to the building, who surely has to expect a certain number of people will arrive sans badge, who indeed is at the only work station where they perform this service - has not bothered to fire up the program on his laptop that will authenticate me.
So he boots it up.
And I wait
And he enters his log in criteria
And I wait
And he navigates through a maze of menu options
And I wait
And then he looks at my ID and verifies that I work there.
Then he tells me to go and get a visitor pass from the desk.
I glance to my right at the unstaffed desk that is fully eight feet from where I am standing.
"Over there?"
"Yes."
It suddenly occurs to DBG that he's asking me to speak to people who are not there. Rather than take on added responsibility and get the pass for me - he opts to phone it in.
Literally. He calls in on his radio and asks persons unknown if they can "come down to the desk" and process a visitor badge for me.
Mercifully, the persons unknown appear to have neither the knowledge how nor the inclanation to do any such thing.
DBG is irritated - surely somebody can take care of this for him. Persons unknown tell him to just let me in. DBG makes me swear an oath that I will seek out my supervisor and get my spare badge before walking around the complex.
I swear, knowing full well my supervisor is not in today and that I have no idea if anyone else would even be able to open whatever (presumably locked) container that holds my spare.
I leg it straight to my meeting, sans prep, sans laptop and sans even paper or pen because (of course) the nearest workroom has been de-stocked due to the recent budget cuts.
With almost no understanding of the meetings purpose, a smile and a cup of coffee - I walk into my meeting.
It's 9:07
Geronimo!