Momnesia

Look, Can I Just Start This Whole Day Over?

Okay, first, a crazy man calls me. See my earlier post.

THEN, the new digital audio recorder deletes every file on itself. I don't know exactly what happened, but they're gone. I have my notes, but still... it's a lot that is completely gone.

Finally, I left the office to pick up Emmie. I'm looking forward to having her throw herself into my arms, like she does every day. The construction is bad, but due to some NASCAR-inspired driving, I make it in a very speedy 14 minutes.

D.O.T. Social Science Experiment:












First, merge left.












Then, 100 yards later, merge right.

She launches herself at the door the second she sees me. I am rejuvenated.

"Her cubby is down the hall now," her teacher says. "In the T-3 room."
WHAT?! She's ... she's NOT three. Not yet. I feel slightly panicky, like I might hyperventilate. Children age, stupid, I tell myself. You knew this would happens. It's nothing new. So I calm myself and trot with Emmie down the hall to her new room.

"Do you like your new room?" I ask.
"Yeah!" she says, pointing to the blackboard across the room. "Ders words and... more words!"
She does like words. I can't imagine where she gets that from. Anyway. We put on her jacket and I pick up my keys. She takes off running down the hallway, but doesn't turn into the lobby. She goes down to the end of the hall, and touches the fire door.
"Emmie..." I call. "Let's go!"
She pushes the door open a crack. Oh, no.
"Emmie! Don't you-" She is gone. Jesus! Right into the parking lot!
I take off at a dead run, immediately trip on some child's Polly Pocket, lose my balance, flail to get it back, and throw myself through the door at top speed. There she stands, where she has stopped mid-run, as though suddenly finding herself on an alien planet. It's a playground fenced in with 10-foot privacy fencing. Thank god.
"EMMIE!" I roar, and she flinches. I feel bad for freaking her out, but that was so not cool. "What is the rule?!"
In a small voice she says, "I donnoe."
"No! Go! Outside! Without! Mommy! Daddy!"
"I sowwy."
"Timout! Sit!"
I put my back against the fence while she sits forlornly on the sand. After 45 seconds, I'm freezing.
"Okay, let's go back inside."
"Okay!" she says, as we walk back to the door. "I so sowwy, mama. I no run away!"
"Alright, thank you, sweetie. Let's just go."
Ka-Chunk! Meh. The door is locked.
We'll just go out the gate.
Ka-Chink! Meh. The gate is padlocked.
(sigh)
"Wassaa madder?" Emmie asks.
"It's all locked," I say. "Let's cut through the other gates."
All of the green space around the property is divided into age-appropriate playgrounds. There are five age groups plus an after-school program. Six gates. I knock on doors and windows as we pass thorugh. No answer. When we get to the last wall, there is no gate. What the-? Oh, we passed it. Crap. It's padlocked. Now what?
I look at Emmie, thoroughly irritated. But she looks so cold.
"How do you feel, Emmie?"
"I so chillies, mama!"
I take off my sweater and wrap it around her, rolling up the sleeves, folding the middle over and cinching it tight with the belt to keep it from dragging.
She looks like a dink-dink from "Spaceballs."
I laugh, and she laughs. But I'm so cold. Grrr.
I pound on doors. There are about 10 of them. No one answers, and I don't hear anyone inside. Finally, after being trapped out here for about 25 minutes, and at the last door, the director opens it. She's obviously surprised to see me.
"I was just about to lock up!" she exclaims.
"Glad we caught you," I said, teeth chattering.
"Loot! I wear mommy sweater!" Emmie shrieks, spinning proudly.

That warms the cockles of my heart.
But the rest of my cockles are freezing.