Little m Long a

I slipped the guy a ten and he changed it giving me the redemption ticket for my car.  The valet could not have been more convenient — I suppose that’s kind of the point of a valet isn’t it?  The little street was narrow and the curb service was literally steps in front of the restaurant door.  We had come to celebrate Maura’s birthday dinner.  One of the few times recently that we’ve enjoyed dinner together as a family.  All seven of us.  He thanked me and offered a pleasant, “Enjoy your dinner.”

We were meeting Maura’s sister who oddly enough shares the exact birthday as Maura.  OK, so oddly enough isn’t really true.  They are twins after all.  She had arrived before us so we entered the restaurant and headed directly to our table.  The evening thus far the picture of efficiency.

As soon as we got to the table the requests from the kids started pouring in…

I want to sit next to you!

Can I sit next to Uncle Jim?

I want to sit next to Mommy.

It was about this point that Maura remembered that Zander had already laid claim to a spot at her side having made his request before we ever left the house.  Maura surveyed the table and the kids and then asked, “Where’s Zander?”

“He’s right next to you,” I said making note of the hooded figure to her right.  (Zander, for whatever reason, feels that if his shirt or jacket was designed with a hood then you should use it.)

“No, that’s Zia,” Maura replied.

And it was.  Zia had thrown me a curve by wearing her own hoodie for the evening.  A quick look around the room revealed that there was in fact, no Zander among us.

“Umm, I think he’s still in the car.”

“Oh, good lord!”

I rushed back outside to the now empty street.  The valet’s buddy spoke up.  ”He just left to go park your car.”

“Yeah, I know.  I left my kid in the back seat.”

“Dude, you’re shitting me!!”

“Man, I wish I was.”

I suppose in the grand scheme of things it could have been much worse.  Yeah, I know.  It really couldn’t have been.  I had just handed a total stranger the keys to my car — the car that contained my still sleeping child — and let him drive off into the night.

Long story short, the guy had only gone a couple of blocks and Zander was still fast asleep in the back, oblivious to the entire event.  The only information he’ll be able to impart on later trips to the couch is strictly hearsay.  At least for this specific event.

Upon leaving I slipped the valet another five spot for his trouble and hopefully, his discretion.  Somehow, I doubt the latter.

But I guess I deserve that.

“I can’t hear  a word you are saying!  Seriously, we just talked about this!”

The rant was on!  I’ve probably repeated this same rant a thousand times.  Maybe more.  For as long as my kids have been speaking I’ve implored them to enunciate, speak clearly and loudly enough so that I can hear what they are saying.  Speak with authority.  The exercise serves several purposes, or so I’d like to think.

I would like to believe that having them speak clearly will somehow carry over to a time when they are speaking to someone other than me.  That when they speak they won’t be discounted as silly kids with nothing of import to say for they are speaking with authority — people should listen and take them seriously.

Also, when you speak clearly and in a volume sufficient for you listener it gives the impression that you sincerely care about the words that are coming out of your mouth — the listener should care as well.  Mumbling through your statements dropping off the volume well before the sentences have been completed only tells me that whatever it is that you might be saying is of very little importance to you, why should I bother to listen to it?  It’s frustrating!!

And finally, in actuality most importantly — I just can’t hear that well!!  Couple that with the fact that  you’re talking to the back of my head two rows back in a car filled with screaming kids and a blaring radio and I’m essentially deaf.

Speak up, dammit!!

I was just getting warmed up kind of like an old preacher as he bellows from the pulpit on a Sunday morning.  “Can I get a witness??!! Hey–ya!!”

I was cut short.

“Dad!  Dad!!!” Zane yelled from behind me.   “We’re not speaking to you.  Now can you please be quiet so we can go back to our conversation?”

My wife’s got a new gig.  Unfortunately, it requires her to travel quite a bit.  I’m not complaining, it’s all good and it’s been great for the family.  I only bring it up to note that when she’s away (like last night) I sleep with my bedroom door open.  In case I need to hear anything in the middle of the night.  You know, like the pitter-patter of tiny feet that aren’t sleeping.

Prime example — this morning.  In the cloud of disorientation that is the early morning around Casa de Ed I heard footsteps.  Footsteps before the alarm.  Generally, this is not a good thing.  I was also able to determine with my super-spidey-senses that these footsteps were not of the pitter-patter variety.

I thought that Maura might have come home though I quickly realized she’s gone for one more day.  A quick glance at the clock and I knew.

7:11 am.

Grandma!!

Crap!!!

I had forgotten to set the alarm clock.

Again.

Having learned our lessons, neither of us wishing to repeat the past, we talked through the wall and from under the covers.  “Give me ten minutes.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” she replied.

I woke the kids with an apology and a sense of urgency.  “Get up, kids and pee on the runway!  There’s a sea plane coming in!”  In what seemed the same motion I tossed uniforms, bananas and book bags at them funneling their sleepy bodies toward the door.  I’m not sure Zia had on shoes.

Zoë looked back as she stepped outside and stated, almost asking, “I love you, Dad?”

It took nine minutes.

They may have even made it to school on time.

Albeit without lunches.

The phone rang about 12:45.  This is not particularly significant for our phone typically rings throughout the course of the day.  It’s but one of the many ways that we keep in touch with the world around us.  So the phone ringing at 12:45 caused little reaction in me other than the immediate thought that I should answer it.

A quick glance at the caller id told me it was my mother-in-law.  Again, no significant reaction.  I talk to my mother-in-law on a daily basis.  I figured that she was probably calling to let me know she would be bringing the kids home from school.  In fact, I may have uttered a tiny, “Sweet!” just before I answered.

“Hey, Ed.  Where are the twins?”

“They’re right here with me.  Eating lunch.  Why?”

“Weren’t they supposed to start school today?”

“No.  They start on Friday.  They may start on Thursday but the teacher said she would call if that’s the case.”

“Well, I just talked to their teacher and she’s looking for them.”

“Why?!”

“She said she e-mailed you.  Said they could start today and be here all week.”

“Great.”

So it seems that I forgot to send the twins to school.

On their first day!!

So on a hugely monumental milestone in the lives of my kids, a day they have been anticipating since the last day of preschool in May, a day they have anticipated even more because their older brother and sisters have been going to school for two weeks, on the first day of school —–

I forgot to send them.

Nice!

That Parent of the Year contest is pretty much a landslide in my favor.

There’s something uplifting about watching a hippie hi-five strangers.  You can’t help but smile, maybe even laugh out loud.  I suppose the end is achieved, at least in their minds, good karma spreads.

Karmic Hi-Five

We went to ComFest yesterday.  Set up camp under a nice shady tree and chilled with about 10 or 12 thousand other people looking to do the same.  About 30 yards from us a small band of merry parked themselves by the sidewalk, a main corridor to all places Fest, and simply hi-fived every single person that passed them by.  For over 2 hours!  It was one of the coolest things I saw all day.

As ComFest stories go, that would have been a sufficient one to bring back with us.  The take-home message being that being good to other people is a good thing to do.  It makes them happy.

The story, however,  will forever pale in comparison to the reason we will always remember this year’s ComFest.

The Andy Shaw Band was performing on the Gazebo Stage in a pretty decent time slot.  We had hung around to see them as my wife is related — cousin?, uncle? — something like that.  Anyway, towards the end of the set Maura and her sister took Zoë and Zane down to the stage for a closer look.  I hung back with my brother-in-law and the rest of my brood.

When the set finished (about 2 songs later) Maura and the kids made their way back to our little camp and Zoë and Zane began regaling us with terms like cool and awesome.  Somewhere in the distance over the PA we heard, maybe a bit muffled, “We’ve got a little boy named Sam and he’s looking for his mommy.  Can Maura please return to the stage.”

I looked at Maura and said, “they just called your name.”  I hadn’t really caught the beginning of the message and thought that maybe her cousin was calling her back to the stage to talk.

Maura responded, “Not me.  Some other idiot has lost their kid.  Mine are all accounted for.  Zoë… Zane… Zella… Zia… —–WHERE’S ZANDER!!!”

The message on the PA repeated quite more clearly this time, “Could Maura please return to the stage to get ZANDER.”

Holy crap, I lost my son!!!!

He literally must have followed Maura to the stage when they left earlier because I never noticed him gone.  I counted Zella and Zia several times but never missed Zander.

I quickly ran through the crowds to the stage where Zander was stood in the middle of about 12 volunteers with the biggest grin I have ever seen on his face, clearly enjoying the attention he was receiving.  He waved and pointed at me when he saw me and simply said, “hey Dad.”

He was mum on how and when he had actually slipped away revealing only that he was looking for mom.  I’d like to say I was panic stricken and frantic, sick at the thought of my child having vanished during those minutes he was missing.  I’d like to, but the sad reality is that I hadn’t even realized he was gone.  (Those points for Parent of the Year keep piling up, people and I think with this one I’ve clearly outdistanced myself from the rest of the pack.)

As I made my way back through the crowds another announcement was made on the PA.  “It’s OK everyone, Zander’s dad got him.”  I waved as the crowd cheered.

I thought back to earlier in the afternoon, to a hi-five from a hippie and how grateful I now was for the good karma he had spread my way.

Thanks, Man. I Needed That!