I was trying to get the girls to school as early as possible because I wasn't originally supposed to have them last night, so I hadn't made arrangements with my boss to arrive late to work. Plus, with Thursday being my layoff day, I knew Friday would be a catch-up game.
I'd been told Mo needed to wear her sneakers, not her Crocs, because it was Field Day. Well, these days they call it 'Spring Fling' and make everything utterly non-competitive, which is sick and wrong and the subject of another post another day. It's Field Day without meaning and Mo needed sneakers on for it.
So I'm getting dressed and Em is helping Mo get dressed in the interest of saving time. Mo doesn't want to put the shoes & socks on. 'Crocs!' Mo would yell.
I told her, No Crocs, you have to wear sneakers today.
Mo hugged the shoes to her chest, got up and went down the hall, down the stairs to the garage, Em following shouting 'Don't go to the car yet!'
Then the garage door was coming up and Mo was running up the driveway and down the street, Em in hot pursuit.
Me in hot pursuit, too until I caught the look on the face of a passing motorist who slowed to take in the spectacle and realized I was wearing only boxers and an open shirt.
I stopped the pursuit and foolishly pulled my shirt closed as if this made the whole situation any less humiliating. And I had a sudden flash of insight into my high-maintenance daughter's mind. The storm sewer!
I can't prove it in court, but I guarantee you Mo was going to throw her sneakers down the storm drain three doors up because she knows I can't get anything back from there. This is because of other things she has thrown down storm drains, toys she later wants back, but I've explained they are gone forever.
I shouted to Em to just grab the shoes. And she did, and Mo followed her back.
I mentioned I was trying to get them to school early, right? What can I do? I have to put Mo in time out. I have to come up with more than that because she violated so many rules and safety protocols.
When Daddy says stop its God telling you to stop. I'm not meaning this to be blasphemous, this is a line I actually copped from someone much more religious than I expect I can ever be. The rationale was, God entrusted these children to you, your command is God's command.
I translate this as When Daddy says stop you stop right there, freeze, don't take another freakin' step for fear of being blasted to hell right on the spot.
Work, by the way, was as crazy or crazier than I had anticipated. I like to be busy, but I also like for it to be possible to satisfy everyone. Which isn't always possible when you're juggling hot jobs...
So the computer, which is the center of Mo's universe, is gone for the weekend. So are the Crocs she kept asking for all the way to school.
I don't think it sunk in until I picked them up this evening and she went to assume her usual position at the computer in the kitchen and I said, No remember when you ran from me and didn't stop because of the shoes?
I provided alternatives. Legos, TV, a trip to the park after dinner. Then to the Adequate Mall because I needed minutes for my cell phone. Em wanted to visit the chocolate store.
Then we were in Foozle's and Em wouldn't quit trying to cut things short. The more you complain and try to get me out of here, the longer I'll drag my feet, I told her.
I'm a man of my word, we would have been out of there much, much sooner if she hadn't kept trying to pretend she was in charge.
At one point she got so ridiculously out of hand I could only laugh. And in response, she flew of the handle and stormed off into the mall. I didn't pursue, that was what she wanted. Me and Mo waited among books neither of us wanted to peruse for a few minutes and Em came back.
At which point I told her no visit to the chocolate shop, you can't pull that shit any more than your sister can throw her shoes down the storm drain.
Em was livid. But I figure three or four thousand more encounters like this and maybe when I tell her to step off she will just step off instead of trying to go to war with me.
And to put all this in perspective, I capped off this day by learning a guy I want to high school with, not someone I was close to but definitely a friend, just died of Alzheimer's. Rare, very rare (and apparently congenital) version that took his Dad at 34.
Which is to say I don't have a problem in the whole wide world. Let Mo throw Imelda Marcos' shoe collection down the storm sewer, let Em run off to Cleveland in a tantrum (okay, maybe not). It's all just such small beer. Jeff Bower was a great guy, who lived life to the fullest not in spite of the chance he'd also go the way his Dad had, but because of it. He read more books, did more things and studied more subjects deeply back in high school than I probably have to this day.
His funeral is Monday at Southminster Presbyterian (63rd & Roe) at 11:00 a.m. I'll be there.
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