Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Late For Work

I LIKE getting to work at least fifteen minutes before everything starts to spin up to speed. Back when it was just me, every day I was there a half hour early. But now that I take my daughter to school, I usually slide in at the last second, unless something goes wrong. Then my timetable is toast.

Nearly every day, it's one thing or another. One of the toughest jobs is to pry my daughter away from the flat iron to make her hair notoriously perfect in the morning. Not to mention how much explosive it takes prior to that just to roust her out of her overnight nest.

This morning was no different; we left the house after seven. Of course, the optimal time for leaving to get me to work a few minutes early is on or before 6:56 a.m. Almost never happens. Unless she has to go to tutoring or the early swim practice. Early swim practice commences at 0600. Tutoring at least by 0645. When she takes off for early class, I am free to get to work on time. It almost makes me giddy.

Today, being the garden variety c’mon-let’s-go-you’re-going-to-make-me-late-AGAIN-Daddy-leave-me
. The tensions eased a bit as we got on the road and looked at the beautiful fog and mist swirling along the fields and open spaces between the neighborhoods. The park beside the college looked like a watercolor.

All was well when, in a sudden blush of remembrance, she remembered that she left her orange wristband. Why was that a big deal? It was the “ticket” that allowed her to wear jeans this day and she was already dressed in denim. She got it for perfect attendance last week. It has her name on it and today’s date and everything.


Right then, I resigned myself to going back home, retrieving the permit, bringing it back, and then slithering into the office a half-hour late.

All because I didn't happen to have a school uniform to fit her there in the car, shame on me for my lack of preparedness. The things we do for our kids. When I finally arrived with the wristband, my girl was contrite and thankful. That helped.

Thus is the lot of dads; you get the chicken necks and backs, burnt pancakes and the run-back-home-to-get-something task.


Anonymous said...

Children are such a joy aren't they? I remember doing some of those kinds of things myself. I have to say that you are a very good Dad and you make me laugh when I read your Blog. I remember when we were stationed at Ft. Bliss, TX and I would come home my children would come bursting out of the door yelling, "Daddy's home, Daddy's home." I used to have to stop them from running down the driveway and into the street where I used to have to park. We had a little driveway and two cars. But I loved that time in my life when my children thought I was the greatest thing in the world.

I really miss that now. ;(

A Real Man

aA said...

thanx, Real Man! the first eye roll is the beginning of the end, ain't it?

good comment!

AggieDes said...

Haha Katie and that straightener, there's no separating them...

aA said...

ahem, miss aggie, i remember having the same conversations several years ago with another girl of mine...

invigilator_tex said...

Uber Papa,
My offspring have just launched into this world of hurried commitments and chauffeurs. At first I was a bit bewildered, but I’m now starting to hit my groove. Or at least I think I am. Remember, I too am a Geezer (albeit one who decided to procreate late in life). If I were a salmon I’d be upside-down, gasping my last breaths and turning a deep shade of….well …SALMON!

In the near future I may have to request consultation from you, oh master, on the finer points of bambino motivation. Better yet, soon after the first pimple, cracked voice or ten-thousandth hissy fit I may sign them up for a summer of Sergeant Geezer's boot camp.

I can pay, but bear in mind I am a humble public servant.

P.S. If you’re in the market for cookie dough, wrapping paper, popcorn or knickknacks, give me a call. I’ve suddenly found myself in the selling-for-the-sake-of-selling phase of this adventure too.

Anonymous said...

The toddler must say no in order to find out who she is. The adolescent says no to assert who she is not.
Louise J. Kaplan

Sis said...

I hate my hair! ;)

baby sis said...

I just can't wait to stall you like that!I'm counting down!........2 more years!!!!

Howlsatmoon said...

aa...Thanks for the comment over at Howls. Looks as though we're kinda on the same path in different time zones.

I shall bookmark you and bother you with my whimsey to be sure.

Three Girls! Aaagh, the water bill alone......