So… the kids were in a joint choir production tonight– their district divides up into two parts, and each part has a joint choir performance on a separate night.
It’s pretty impressive– high schools, middle schools, and grade schools all give separate performances and then join together for one song.
We really enjoyed last year’s performance, when Squish was in choir, and this year, both of them are in different choirs so we were looking forward to seeing them both.
And therein lay the problem.
So, the mishegas went like this:
ZB: You need to get us there by 6:30 because the performance is at 7.
Me: Easy, as long as it’s the same place it was last year. It is, right?
ZB: I think so.
Squish: *is silent* *has no handouts* *assumes all adults know everything*
So, Mate and the kids and I leave at 6:15, and arrive at last year’s place at 6:25. It is empty.
Me: Uh oh.
Mate: Uh oh.
Both of us, in stereo: Is this where you guys rehearsed? Let me check my phone!
ZB: This isn’t it.
Squish: It was some other place.
Me: What day is it?
Mate: Was it on Arcade?
Me: Wait–no. Seriously, what day is it? Are you guys San Juan Sings East or San Juan Sings West?
Mate: East.
ZoomBoy: No, West.
Me: Okay, so we’re at Arcade and not Sunrise.
— a brief geographical lesson here. According to Google maps, Arcade is 25 minutes away at this point, and Sunrise is maybe five. Keep this in mind…
Fifteen minutes later as we screech to a halt at a stoplight pretty close to our destination, ZoomBoy says, “It wasn’t this far away from the school.”
Mate and I: SHIT!!!
Me (finally looking at my calendar): Oh holy rockets, it’s the 21st which makes you guys San Juan Sings East and we need to be BACK on Sunrise in 20 minutes.
Mate: It wasn’t your fault.
Me: I asked him.
Mate: It wasn’t your fault.
Me: I asked, East or West.
Mate: He corrected you.
Me: I never know the date. Ever.
Now, uh, keep in mind that this conversation is happening while Mate follows Google Maps or Siri or whoever BACK ACROSS TOWN to a place that is supposedly 25 minutes away.
We make it in 15.
The kids get out of the car and run to find their classes with 8 minutes to spare.
Mate and I barely manage to miss picking up the “Fucked up parents of the year” award by eight lousy minutes.
The kids make it to choir fairly untraumatized, but as penance for our lack of foresight, Mate and I end up with the parental seats of shame.
And Mate and I were, once again, reminded, that parenting is never the walk in the park you think you’re taking, even when you’re taking a walk in the park.
Oh…
And for your Chicken/Big T update…
Chicken called me today freaking out. She’d spun a 180 in the middle of an intersection when she hit the gas just right. Mate came from work and I came from home, and we met her at IHOP (where she’d parked.) Her dad took her car–just to make sure it was safe–and she got to drive his for a day. and I took her inside for chicken and waffles and heard the saga of how there was no goddamned coffee because her brother drank all of the creamer. We discussed ways to change this behavior without strangling him (because they are brother and sister, the strangling is an option most roommates don’t explore) and she calmed down enough to drive to work.
She texted me when she got there–apparently she almost got hit by lightning as she was driving her father’s car.
Yup.
Parenthood. That walk in the park is never guaranteed.
