Carpool

There may be a darn good reason why some moms drink wine concealed in a Starbucks venti cup.

Carpool.

Long before the Hot Urologist and I were engaged or married, he asked me to help him out of a jam one morning and run the pool to school. I happily agreed to pick up his two dear elementary school-aged children and chauffeur them to their place of education.  Easy. Done. Hero.

And yet…

I arrived at the front door at 6:50 AM sharp. The Hot Urologist thanked me profusely and then took off to save the world from kidney stones. I was expecting to find two fresh faced angels seated at the breakfast table. Instead, I located two small zombies poking angrily at egg scramble and complaining that their grapes had “gone nasty” during the night. The younger child had not slept well. The older child reasoned that this was because she is a “stupid dummy.” The logic was hard to follow. He then asked the “stupid dummy” to shut up. Repeatedly.

Alrighty then.

I coaxed the lethargic duo into forward motion by asking them to prepare their backpacks. The packs were so large and laden, it was unclear whether they held school supplies or tactical gear for a mission in Afghanistan.

Around 7:20 AM, we discovered that the older child could not locate his shoes. Our team of three proceeded to ransack the house in search of the missing footwear. We devastated the living room, kitchen, dining room, laundry room, and the older child’s bedroom all to no avail.  I was about to call the police to report bandits when he remembered that he left his shoes in dad’s car.  This was excellent news, except for the fact that Dad left for work 30 minutes ago and is now unreachable in the operating room.

I suggested wearing any other pair of shoes.  There are none. This child is growing so rapidly that this moment in time finds us with only one pair of sneakers that fit. Sadly, this is the same pair currently in the backseat of Dad’s car now parked in the hospital deck across town. 

For reasons I can’t explain, I raced to the garage and began tearing through sporting equipment bags looking for any alternative footwear.  I found some old baseball cleats, a pair of water shoes, and a single flip flop.  None of which are dress code legal, but it’s after 7:40 AM and we haven’t made it inside the car.

I threw the two children, the baseball cleats, the backpacks, and the single flip flop (for back-up?) into the car and peeled out of the driveway.  The shoeless child seemed blithely unconcerned with our time sensitive situation. Far more pressing than the fact that he was about to attend 5th grade in a pair of ill-fitting baseball cleats, was his determination to engage his sister in a spirited dialogue about “who is stupider.” During the 15-minute drive to school, there was an overuse of the following terms:  dumb, idiot, stupid, and poop face. My asking them to talk nicely to each other was met with more fervent accusations of idiocy.

I turned on the satellite radio and tuned to the 80’s station to dull the noise.  Both children were dissatisfied with the musical genre and demanded that I play, “Gummy Bear.”  I was not familiar with this song.  I was unsuccessful in finding a station currently playing “Gummy Bear” or something called the “chicken nuggets song.”

I attempted to engage them in conversation about their school activities. This went nowhere. We pulled into the drop off line at 7:56 AM. I told the shoeless child to strap on the cleats. My only other option was to send him in barefoot, and that seemed worse.  Just then, the Hot Urologist called. He had discovered the sneakers and left them on a bench in front of the school. I spied the shoe bag dead ahead.

Crisis averted.

The two children exited the car dragging their gear. I can’t vouch for positive attitudes, but both were wearing shoes as I watched them disappear behind the red double doors.

Wow.

Can y’all please tell me which Starbucks sells the wine venti?