It was the timing that just gets me…
Though I manage to get us dressed, fed, and out of the house by 7:30am on weekdays, it is always a bit tough on Sunday mornings as Religious School doesn’t start until 9:00am. Maybe it’s because it is a much later start time and we start getting involved in other things? Who knows. In any event, yesterday, Beernut’s class had a fieldtrip and he needed to be at shul no later than 8:30am. Experiencing just a hint of self-congratulation, I had just cautiously began to pull the mini-van out of our tract and onto the main street when it came to full and complete stop.
OK, stay calm.
I turned off the engine, counted to five, and restarted it. Because, having had experience, I knew that the AAA guy would ask me if I completed these steps.
It started. And made a really, really awful sound. Whether I threw it in Drive or Reverse, the outcome was the same; nothing.
A deep breath. Beernut was starting to get agitated and showered me with questions, concerns, fears, worries, anxieties. Another deep breath.
And then phone calls:
- AAA — to arrange for a tow
- ZaydeGiraffe — to get Beernut to the shul in time for the bus, Peach to Bubbe for the morning, and Poppyseed to her Religious School class
- PC — to apprise him of the situation as well as suss out what he wanted me to do with the car
- Beernut’s Teacher — to let her know that Beernut was running late
- Beernut’s Teacher (again) — to let her know that Beernut was not going to make the bus
“I have to go poop,” announced Peach.
“Of course you do. Of COURSE you do.”
Now what? My car has stalled. The tow truck is en route. I can’t very well just abandon the car.
“You can just leave me and Beernut here and walk home with Peach.”
“I cannot leave children in a disabled car that is peering out into the street.”
“Then you’ll have to let me take Peach home.”
Take Peach home. Could I entrust my nearly-eight-year-old with the task of sheparding the four-year-old the three blocks to our home?
“Do you know how to get home, Poppyseed?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Do you know how to unlock the front door?”
“Ma-ma! Of course.”
Poppyseed slipped the key into the front pocket of her dress and took her little brother’s hand in her own.
And I let them go.