Show Stopper

 

She wants to do color guard but doesn't know how to twirl a flag.  I'll support any healthy hobby that doesn't require me to be Julie, the cruise director, and provide entertainment every waking moment.  Love the child dearly but she was born with an Energizer battery and no "OFF" button.

The high school is holding workshops every Thursday at 4:00.  Even though she's only 13, she really, really, really wants to learn how to be on color guard then dance with all the props on football fields.  I'm not a tragic figure but in order for her to make these practices I am going to need to leave work a little early and break a few traffic laws.  She called me at 3:10 just to remind me to leave early so she could get to the gym and be one of the lucky to secure a flag.  I can't leave too early or it will raise eyebrows so I have it timed with little room for error.

I cut off conversations mid-sentence, leave my computer running, run in the hall (big no-no in a school), rush to daycare and carry the boy to pee as quickly as he can, pull him through the doors and put the van in DRIVE before he is properly seatbelted.

She calls again to see where I am.  I assure her, I am on my way.  I then break a few laws and the sound barrier.  In construction.  21 minutes later I screech to a halt in the driveway and honk the horn.

She's. Not.  Home.

She went out to play and didn't watch the clock.  I tracked her down and pushed her in the van, drove her to the school, drove home and collapsed.

I know.  I'm caring more than she is and epitomize the term helicopter mom.  Whatever.

The older teenager approaches me.  She wants to go hangout with her friends.  I know her homework is finished.  I know her room is not clean.  I don't care.  "Just be home by 5:20 to watch your brother.  I'm going to a Nia class with my dance friends."  She'll be here, she assures me.

5:20.

5:25.

5:30.

5:35.  Now I am feeling a little bit like a tragic figure.  I don't want to go running around the neighborhood to hunt her down.  I'd specifically asked Scott to pick up her sister from the high school so I could go to this class.  I finally remember that we're in the age of cell phones and call her.  I'm mad.  She's sullen.  She comes home.

She has to stay after school and she'll call me when she's finished.  Okay, I call to her as she hurries out the door.  School ends and my dad comes over.  We're having a wonderful visit and she calls to tell me to pick her up.  You betcha, I tell her.  I'll be there in a half hour.  I'm talking to Papa.

She rants.  She raves.  She tirades.  I hand the telephone to her sister while I finish my visit with my dad.

I'm wondering if I have my own apologies to make to my mother.  I'll call her as soon as my children give me permission to leave the house on my own accord.

I'll let you know.