You know those days that start out routinely, and then one little thing in the schedule goes awry?
Every email, every phone call, every errand – sacrificed on the lunatic alter of What-Else-Could-Move-At-A-Snail’s-Pace.
Ah, but there was the amusement of the unanticipated detour which yielded an entertaining conversation with an older gentleman. His smile was infectious, and he had quite a lot to say about magazine covers in the 1940s. Then there were the delights of waiting while ordering a (prom) corsage. And waiting. And waiting. But the surrounding lilies and roses certainly smelled delicious.
Now about my mid-morning eggs. And my schedule. You know – places to go, people to see?
At last – I pulled into my driveway – hungry for a breather, looking forward to eggs and spinach salad, ready for a small measure of quiet and calm to gather my forces, knowing the typical day requires rocking and rolling into evening.
And the cell rings. It’s the Kid. My services are requested, again.
I ought to have predicted it. Today was the oral exam for Senior IB Art, preceded by a week of hauling paintings and architectural models to school, and apparently, now requiring the reverse, and post haste.
So how many mothers does it take to screw in a light bulb?
I have no idea. But I can only guess – one – with a sturdy ladder and the cell phone in the OFF position.
So how many mothers does it take to caravan a year’s worth of art and architectural models?
An armada would be useful, but it seems the correct answer again is one – with a tank of gas, and clearly, missing her marbles.
And lest this irritation of a real life ramble be entirely a waste of your time to scan – I offer up my son’s recipe for the Best Omelette on the Planet, accompanied by a fine Food Network Spinach Salad.
© D A Wolf