 He showed me what his version of a pit stop was. Rolling the car
into a cardboard pit stop area, he then turned the car completely
upside down and took all the tires off. Rather than explain how
turning the car upside probably didn't really happen at pit stops, I
watched him put two new tires and two of the old ones right back on
because he had only two extras. The race car didn't really have a
gas tank filling spot to put the gas pump, which I think was a major
design flaw, so he improvised by using the tailpipe. Every tool was
employed in some way.From watching races on TV, he knew that he
had to work quickly. Miniature oil cans and tools flew hither and
yon as he serviced his race car at a frantic pace. Finally, he threw
up his hands as if he had just roped a calf. In his mind he was
victorious in beating his imaginary clock. I applauded as I was
expected to do, but my mind flew to Monday morning.
It was a school morning just like any other. I woke the kids
early enough, but they tend to dally. I suspect the dallying is due
to intense thought about what they could possibly do that would
convince me to keep them home from school.
It isn't until 10 minutes before the bus is scheduled to arrive
that they are ready to accept their fate.
Then things start speeding up. My husband and I are the
self-designated pit crew. One eye on the clock and barking out
orders like drill sergeants, we station ourselves in the foyer,
waiting for the inevitable crisis and ready to deal with anything
that comes our way.
"Don't forget your library book!" He runs to dig it out of his
toy box.
"Do you have P.E. today?" I ask one of them.
"Yes."
"Then you can't wear sandals. Where are your sneakers?" She runs
to find them.
"What's that on your face?" He shrugs. "Go wash it off, quickly!"
[to top of second column]
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 "Have you got your ... lunch money? ... snack? ... science
project? ... permission slip?"
"Mom, I can't find my other sneaker."
"OK, everybody! Listen up! She can't find her sneaker. It looks
like this. You -- look in the kitchen! You, the living room. You,
under your bed. Honey, check outside."
The youngest says, "It might be in the mailbox."
My husband and I look at each other, momentarily shocked.
He makes a sudden decision. "I'll go look in the mailbox!"
"Right." I run to check the bathroom.
"Found it!" someone yells.
"OK, great! Backpacks loaded! Jackets on! Shoes on!"
"Wait a minute. Where do you think you're going?"
"What? What did I forget?"
"Have you looked in the mirror? You look like a couple of weasels
were mating on your head last night ... and one is still in there. I
think it's dead, but don't move until I pull a comb through it."
"Kisses! ... Now get out of here!"
My husband and I watch them run out the door just as the bus
comes around the corner. We shut the door and throw up our hands in
victory and give each other a double high-five. We did it! ...
again.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
Laura Snyder is a nationally syndicated columnist,
author and speaker. You can reach her at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more info. |
