Crazy Mornings

Late again, but my fault. When will I learn that I cannot cook in the mornings even if I start right at 7? It just doesn’t work out. Buy bygones. So we were heading out the door and I picked up the keys next to my purse, except they weren’t my keys. NOOOOO!!! I knew this wasn’t a good sign. I looked around the house for my keys, but I knew what happened. My mom picked up mine and hadn’t noticed that she had them.

Since her job likes to change phone numbers faster than Kim Kardashian changes husbands, I had no idea what her work number currently was. So I decided to try her cell phone, which of course I heard buzzing two rings into my call. No work number, no cell number, no way to reach her except to go to her job. I called my boss and explained the situation, then I went aside with the kids. I knew what we would do. Our neighbor, Mr. Howard, could give us a ride. I looked down the driveway for his car - - nothing. I went to the top of the driveway, to peer through the fence to see if he had parked in the back - - nothing. Of all the times for retired Mr. Howard not to be home, this wasn’t one of them.

“We could walk to school, Mommy,” Jory offered up as a solution.

He was right. I busted out with the double stroller. The girls happily got in it, then off we went. Mr. Howard would for sure be home by the time we walked the eleven blocks down and two blocks over to get to their girls’ school. Other than Jory racing with the stroller once, losing control of it, and it going off the curb into the street, our journey was uneventful. Longer than I thought, but still okay. We used the front door to the school which we’ve never used before.

“Car problems?” Mrs. Wilson, the girls’ teacher asked.

I nodded. I explained the situation to her.

“Do you want to borrow my car?” she offered. “You’re a good driver.”

I politely refused and Jory and I went on our way. If Mr. Howard wasn’t home I reasoned, we could catch the bus to Oma’s job and back. But then I thought, well let’s check out Mrs. Wilson’s car. Let’s see if it is automatic or a stick. It was automatic. I realized I was letting my pride get in the way, so we went in through the backdoor and told her if her offer stood still. She said, yes. She grabbed her keys, then proceeded to clean out her car. Once that was done, she handed me the key, showed me the quirks of her car, and told me to avoid potholes because one of her tires had a bubble in it.

We backed out slowly. Mrs. Wilson drives a BMW coupe. I drove slowly down the alley to the street. I prayed, please God no accidents in this car, please see us safely there and back. It was strange to be so low to the ground after my years of driving the mini-van. The things we become accustomed to without realizing it. We continued our slow drive down Crenshaw, quickly switching stations when I realized her jazz station was playing Christmas music. Last I looked I hadn’t had any turkey so no Christmas music for us.

We got to my mom’s job, parked and when I saw that no one was near the backdoor (where are these government workers I pay to employ?), I got Jory out of the car, locked it up, and we went around the front with the public. I told the security guard who I was and asked him if he could get my mom. As I suspected, she was surprised to see me and hadn’t noticed that she had the wrong set of keys. We did a quick exchange and Jory and I were on our way driving slower than my grandma, and she’s been dead over 20 years.

I thanked Mrs. Wilson, gave her her key back, grabbed the double stroller, and Jory and I headed out the door, after giving the girls more kisses and hugs and Mrs. Wilson showing off her former student to the newbies. The walk back was quicker and Jory didn’t lose control of the stroller. Or as he clarified, it’s easier for him to push without the girls in it.

We got home, broke down the stroller, put it back in the van, locked up the house, and then we were on our way. Who knew I could have taken my time when I was cooking this morning…..