One of those days
Really, it started yesterday afternoon when no one delivered C back from day camp. All the carpooling had pretty much been arranged by email before I was added to the cc list, so I thought, from some vague discussions I'd overhead, that he might be at the municipal pool with some friends, as he had been on Tuesday. Cue me driving over to the pool. Nope. So maybe he just got delivered late. Drive home. Nope. I suddenly thought, maybe the email I sent confirming that I was driving all the kids to camp thursday morning had really said I was picking them up thursday afternoon. Nope, they weren't still at camp, although one of the teachers commented that they'd been picked up late. Home again, to see the light flashing on the answering machine (did I mention there's apparently no cell service at the camp, even though it's the regional high school?)
Two messages from C, neither of them saying where he was or what number he was at (although that was OK, because he was with somebody, at least.) Caller ID gave me the number, which I called, and exchanged profuse mutual apologies with the parent who had indeed interpreted my message to mean she was off the hook for pickup. Oh, and she mentioned that she had dropped C off at an empty house, was he OK? At which point I did actually hear a small voice calling "Hello? Dad?" from the other end of the house.
So for decompression we decide to go into town and have sushi. Parking in front of the library there's a crunching noise and the tire pressure light goes on. Yep, left rear seems to be soft. But that's the one that had a leak before, so I think little of it. We eat yummy sushi, talk about Scratch and Doctor Who and suchlike, then walk back to the car. Then we walk the mile back home uphill.
This morning I get C off in the carpool and trot back downtown with a bike pump in tow (did I mention that while I was looking for C a friend came by to borrow my compressor) on the off chance I could pump the flat up enough to drive it to the tire place. A big old bearded local in farm clothes watches me from across the street, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know," I say, "but if it works it's faster than putting on the spare." It doesn't. So I put on the spare, chatting with acquaintances walking to work in between jumps on the tire iron.
Walk back downtown from the tire place. Runaround from the people who sold us tire damage coverage. Meeting with marketing person who works in the next office about rebranding myself. Text from J saying she's stuck in traffic near Baton Rouge and might miss her flight back. Call to tire place confirms that the hole in the tire (piece of slate) is too big to repair. Sudden realization that not only don't I have a car to get to C's last-day-of-camp presentation stuff, I don't have a car to get him home. Send out email to carpoolers.
Eat lunch, get ride, watch C showing off his e-waste video game, look at similar games by a lot of other kids, including a couple who were in one of the Scratch courses J and I took (a small tear of pride). Get ride home. Relax for a while, then realize there's almost no unfrozen food in the house. Too bad.
While we're eating dinner, text from J who is boarding her second leg in Atlanta. C and I finish up, then settle down to watch Tom Baker and Elizabeth Sladen do battle with robot mummies.
And I wonder that I don't get anything done.
Two messages from C, neither of them saying where he was or what number he was at (although that was OK, because he was with somebody, at least.) Caller ID gave me the number, which I called, and exchanged profuse mutual apologies with the parent who had indeed interpreted my message to mean she was off the hook for pickup. Oh, and she mentioned that she had dropped C off at an empty house, was he OK? At which point I did actually hear a small voice calling "Hello? Dad?" from the other end of the house.
So for decompression we decide to go into town and have sushi. Parking in front of the library there's a crunching noise and the tire pressure light goes on. Yep, left rear seems to be soft. But that's the one that had a leak before, so I think little of it. We eat yummy sushi, talk about Scratch and Doctor Who and suchlike, then walk back to the car. Then we walk the mile back home uphill.
This morning I get C off in the carpool and trot back downtown with a bike pump in tow (did I mention that while I was looking for C a friend came by to borrow my compressor) on the off chance I could pump the flat up enough to drive it to the tire place. A big old bearded local in farm clothes watches me from across the street, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know," I say, "but if it works it's faster than putting on the spare." It doesn't. So I put on the spare, chatting with acquaintances walking to work in between jumps on the tire iron.
Walk back downtown from the tire place. Runaround from the people who sold us tire damage coverage. Meeting with marketing person who works in the next office about rebranding myself. Text from J saying she's stuck in traffic near Baton Rouge and might miss her flight back. Call to tire place confirms that the hole in the tire (piece of slate) is too big to repair. Sudden realization that not only don't I have a car to get to C's last-day-of-camp presentation stuff, I don't have a car to get him home. Send out email to carpoolers.
Eat lunch, get ride, watch C showing off his e-waste video game, look at similar games by a lot of other kids, including a couple who were in one of the Scratch courses J and I took (a small tear of pride). Get ride home. Relax for a while, then realize there's almost no unfrozen food in the house. Too bad.
While we're eating dinner, text from J who is boarding her second leg in Atlanta. C and I finish up, then settle down to watch Tom Baker and Elizabeth Sladen do battle with robot mummies.
And I wonder that I don't get anything done.