I "think" I may need to up my allergy meds. Not because of excessive nasal drainage, but the dreary-ness of it all has receded a bit, and I am finding myself about to fly off the handle for ridiculous reasons.
I am bringing crazy back.
So today, I am finishing up a project for Big J and L's teacher, who is preggo and in need of an AWESOME classroom keepsake. Babies love crafts. Oh, and the keepsake is a surprise, so I'm not sure she knows that she needs it. But she does.
Anyway. Flying HIGH off of the success of said keepsake, I headed out for the afternoon carpool run. Here is also where I tell you that I hate deadlines. Or time lines. Or any sort of schedule that requires me to finish something/be somewhere at a specified time. It stresses me the hell out.
I get to Big J and L's school, 5 minutes early. I do this, so that they don't accidentally get on the bus on days when I am picking them up. This is CRUCIAL to me being able to get to G's school on time for her pick-up. And I am sitting there, two cars behind the bus.
The carpool line starts to move, I pull up...and whatdayaknow. Big J and L were loaded on to the bus BEFORE I arrived (5 minutes early) and were now headed to some location in Webster. Freakin A.
So the next 3 minutes are a blur of me trying to figure out where my children are headed, while their teacher is telling me that the bus just left, I can probably catch it! Yes! If I had satellite capabilities/ GPS wired straight into my BRAINS. Totally possible that the iPhone has this technology, I just haven't downloaded the app yet.
I am on The Amazing Race, preschool carpool edition. And I am LOSING.
Not to mention--if a CRAZY lady in a minivan pulls up along side a school bus with children in it, yelling for it to pull over, I'm pretty sure they would call the cops or shoot me on sight (to protect the minors). I saw a movie along these lines once, and if I might be so bold as to draw a comparison, crazy people and buses usually equal a bomb that will detonate if the vehicle does not maintain a speed of 50 mph. Bus drivers and trained to recognize this, I think.
Their teacher continues to try to tell me that the bus is headed for our house. Um, yes. But were there other children on the bus? Because that means it makes at least 2-3 other stops before ours. Which equals something in the range of 30 more minutes until I have them in my possession. And G's carpool line is starting in 12 minutes.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.
A quick call to the bus transport hub and we discover they are on their way to "Some-random-street" in Webster. Great! Where is that?
Five minutes later, we have an exact location. I peel out of the parking lot and book it. Thankfully, this area is on the way toward G's school.
ohmygod. ohmygod. ohmygod.
Five minutes later, almost to the specified intersection, I get a call. Sorry! They are past their first stop and headed toward the next house. On the exact opposite side of the school district!
Son of a motherless goat.
They are indeed on the bus, which pulls up at the same time I do. Only now, I am at least 5 minutes further away than I would have been if I had just headed home and WAITED for them to get dropped off. Without all these shenanigans, I would have bought myself 40 extra minutes to screw around on facebook.
I hate inefficiency. Particularly when it interferes with me being completely inefficient.
All this to say that Mike works 5 minutes away from G's school, and he picked her up and drove toward me. We loaded G into the car at a Mobile-On-The-Run where I promptly demanded a Diet Coke to help me deal.
Because it all ended JUST FINE. But I was panicking as if LIVES were at stake if I didn't make the afternoon carpool. I told you, I do not do well with deadlines. And I say this, because in my SIX months living at the local NICU with my babies who were struggling to live, I never once got my undies in such a bunch that I was on the verge of strangulation. Like I was today.
And this is my argument for why I should be on The Amazing Race, simply for the ratings I would pull in when I lose my freaking mind and bite the fingers off of some airport ticketing agent who screws me out of five minutes.