Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Another Installment in the Bad Mother Saga

Get ready. This one ends with a lot of blood, 8 stitches, and a heaping amount of guilt. Pass the kleenex please.

I’m notorious for hitting the snooze button. It’s part of my morning routine. When the alarm goes off, that is. Our current clock is very unpredictable. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Pat swears it’s a “user issue,” meaning I don’t know what I’m doing. I disagree. I’ve successfully set many alarms in the past 25 years, and I can figure out hotel alarm clocks in mere seconds. I don’t think it’s a “user issue,” my dear.

But I won’t drag you guys into our little spat.

This particular morning, last Friday to be exact, I awoke to silence…40 minutes past the scheduled alarm time. Piece of crap.

Anyway…I hustled out of bed and ran to Savannah’s room yelling for her to get up and get dressed while I threw something together for breakfast. I got ready for work while she ate and we were out the door in less than 30 minutes. I was really impressed with ourselves, and hopeful that we might make it to her school on time.

Alas, we pulled into the parking lot a couple minutes past the school’s start time. And there was that Nazi…errr…lady, affectionately (?) called “The Yanker,” locking up the door. She’s called The Yanker because she can sometimes literally yank your kid out of the car if she thinks they’re taking too long. She’s out there rain or shine, hot or cold. Someone’s gotta get that carpool line under control, dammit. I call her the Nazi because she refuses to cut these kids any slack. We’re two minutes late, dang it. Let my kid in the door instead of wrapping it in chains and snapping the padlock shut with brute force. I can just see her giving her best Hulk Hogan move each morning after a good yanking session.

Instead of letting my daughter through the doors, she turns and grunts, “Go down to the office!”


OK, I’m not that passive. It’s more like, “Damn *&^% $*&^ *&^!”

So we drive down a few feet where another tardy person is parked. I calm myself, give my kid my usual, “Bye. Have a good day. I love you.” Normally, I would sit and wait for her to get in the back doors that lead to the office, but this other tardy person was having difficulties with letting her kid go and was parked right in the line of sight, so I drove off.

On my way to work I ran an errand, stopped for donuts (which I got busted with later), and ever so slowly made my way into the office because I just didn’t want to be there. After eating a bowl of cereal, because I felt I needed something semi-healthy before scarfing fried fat, I listened to my work voicemail that had been blinking at me since I walked in…30 minutes before.

The first call was the school, “Mrs. Boyack, please call the school as soon as you get in.”

The next call was Pat, “Yvonne, why is your cell phone off? I’ve been trying to call you. Savannah fell at school. I’m taking her to the ER. Turn on your phone!”

Savannah had tripped on the school steps just outside the door and bashed her head on the iron rail…AS I WAS DRIVING OUT OF THE PARKING LOT.

How did she trip?
She was running because she was late.

Why was she late?
Because the school has a Wrestler Nazi for a guard AND the word is her mother has alarm clock user issues.

Why did it take an hour for anyone to reach said mother?
It only stands to reason…it’s because the school has a Wrestler Nazi for a guard AND her mother never turned on her cell phone.

When I arrived at the ER I was overcome with guilt as I heard the story and saw my girl lying on the bed with blood stains on her shirt and shoes. Pat said she had been covered in blood but the school receptionist had cleaned her up before they left for the hospital. I meekly handed over the previously referred to donuts. "Sorry about your head, sweetie. Here's some chocolate."

Such a brave girl. They said she handled herself so maturely. Never cried or whimpered. She just sat calmly as they tried to reach me and waited for her dad. She then talked with the doctor as he put her forehead back together with 8 stitches. It probably didn’t hurt that he was really nice and very good-looking.

Yes, Pat, I noticed.

Later Savannah went with me to the office to gather some work to do over the weekend (I have maternity leave approaching fast and lots to do to take off without worry). On the way my guilt drove us to Sprinkles of Beverly Hills where I bought my freshly sewn kid the BEST CHOCOLATE MARSHMELLOW CUPCAKE EVER! I treated myself to a red velvet cupcake. I mean, it was there, we were there…what are you going to do? Let it sit there for the person in line behind you?

All weekend I showered Savannah with hugs and kisses (and treats). I must have had a sad look on my face whenever I looked at her stitches. She would say, “Mom, it’s not your fault.” She knew I was struggling with the fact she was running because she was late.

I now have a new ritual when I drop Savannah off at school. As I drive away, after flipping the Wrestler Nazi the bird, I turn on my cell phone.


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