Yesterday morning, not unlike most, was about getting ready. No matter what I did, it seemed that getting out the door in the morning was a challenge not unlike a scavenger hunt. I had a mental list of what we (Iz and I) needed to do; however, it always seemed to end up with one of us being peeved with the other.
I had my own list which comprised: Drag myself out of bed, take Monty out, feed dog, feed cats, drink at least one cup of coffee (a very necessary task because the list does not go beyond “feed cats” without it), put cold pack in Iz’s lunch, put Iz’s lunch in backpack, fill up Iz’s water bottle, put Iz’s water bottle in backpack, shower, make myself look awake on outside while still sleeping on the inside, and then leave the house without forgetting anything.
Iz had her list which comprised: Wake up, walk downstairs in a half-asleep zombie state, curl up on sofa, turn on TV, and subsequently ignore any dictated tasks from Mommy.
Of course, there were agreed-upon tasks in her list, though Iz would probably argue that she had not signed any legal paper committing to said tasks, so these tasks were null and void and not mutually agreed upon. These tasks were picking out clothes, getting dressed, eating breakfast, brushing her hair, brushing her teeth, putting her socks on, and locating one pair of sneakers amongst the rubble on the floor of her room. Every morning, it seemed that these tasks failed to reappear on Iz’s list previously mentioned above. I often wondered if Iz’s list was kept in the Bermuda Triangle portion of her frontal lobe and on purpose.
Upon entering the kitchen, I saw Iz curled up on the couch. I said authoritatively, “You need to get dressed and brush your hair.” She said, without moving her head away from the TV screen to look at me, “Okay.”
There are usually three responses to my request for Iz action; they are the following:
“Okay,” – This means “I hear you, and I may or may not decide to do this when I do or don’t feel like it.”
“Okaaaaaay!” – This means “You don’t have to ask me again!” or “This is, like, the bazillionth time you’ve asked me!”
“Yes, Momma.” – This means “I’m going to do exactly what you say, because you asked me four times and the fifth time you got really grumpy and threatened to take away everything from me except the clothes on my back.”
I went upstairs to continue getting ready. When I came downstairs 5 minutes later, Iz hadn’t moved. I said a bit perturbed, "I asked you to get dressed and brush your hair, Iz.” Just then, I knew the morning was going to involve a few “Isabelle Georges!” and a “Period!” or two.
Iz turned to look at me, and she said, “Okaaaaaay!” She headed upstairs. Each of her steps was intentionally stomped and a comment on how unbelievable she thought I was for not letting her leave the house in her nightgown with a tangled mess of knots on the side of her head.
I followed her upstairs. It wasn’t to watch over her, because I didn’t have the time or the patience to do that most days, hours, or minutes of my life. I always felt my children should be able to handle certain responsibilities by a certain age; today, seven was certainly that age.
I went in the bathroom to dry my hair. I clicked the blow dryer on and began to lose some of the morning’s activity or inactivity thus far in the whir of my blow dryer. When I clicked the blow dryer off, I saw Iz around the corner of the bathroom door with her Hello Kitty calendar in hand. She handed it to me and asked, as if there was nothing better in the world to be doing at the moment, “Mommy, can you change this to July and put it back up?”
Still in my hair dryer coma, I said, “Sure,” and I followed her into her room. As I followed her, I noticed that she was still in her night gown. As I drove the calendar’s thumbtack back into the window frame, I said, “Isabelle Georges, get dressed now!”
She scrunched her face up, sighed, and said, “Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!” I repeated the task once again and said, “Please get dressed and then go downstairs and brush your hair.” She said, “I wiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllll.” (I forgot to mention that “Okaaaaaay!” and "“I wiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllll” are interchangable.)
I turned around and went downstairs. As I heard her comment again down the stairs, I plopped a chocolate muffin on a plate. She walked by me and into the family room; of course, she was carrying her clothes with her and still not dressed.
She put her clothes on the couch and began to change. I handed her the muffin, and I went off to do something else. When I came back she had eaten her muffin, but then I looked at her hair, and I asked, “Did you brush your hair?”
Of course, Iz knew that she was about to enter the Uncompleted Task Land of No Return. She defensively stated with the emphasis on Mom, “Well, Mom, I don’t know where my brush is.” I walked over to her desk, picked up her brush, and I said, “Here! Now brush your hair! Also, please put on your socks and find your sneakers.”
I went off again to pack my bag and her backpack. I knew that I was going to forget something today, or remember something I’d rather forget like how busy I was going to be at work. As Liam walked by, I thought about tossing him in my bag, because I sensed it was going to be a ‘I need a fuzzy kitty to kiss, pat, and hold” kind of day.
When I arrived back in the family room, Iz was sitting there on the couch dressed and with knot-free hair. I saw the naked feet, and I said, “Iz, socks and sneakers!” She said, “Well, I-I-I….” I said, “Do it NOW, please!” (You feel like less of an evil shrew if you continue to say "Please," I think.)
I tried hard not to raise my voice. I’m sure that I was loudly stern but on the verge of being a screaming psycho. And, is there any Mom out there who doesn’t reflect on this kind of interaction with her child and upon reflection picture herself like this?
Iz got her socks on finally, though she announced, “I can’t find my sneakers.” I love it when she says this; well, I don’t really love it. I just know how to properly interpret it; it means, “I didn’t feel like looking for my sneakers, so will you?”
I said, ‘Iz-pause-go-pause-look-pause-in-pause-your-pause-room!!!!” and she replied, “Yes, Momma.” When she calls me “Momma,” I know she has realized that my patience had worn thin. While I think I have a lot of patience with my kids, I think I’m generally an impatient person with myself most of all.
After several loud thuds and crashes in her room, she came back downstairs with a pair of sneakers. After removing all the knots in the laces, I put them on her feet and tied them. We were ready to leave the house, though about 30 minutes behind schedule.
I drove to her camp. On the way there, I asked, “You don’t have a field trip today, do you?” Iz replied, “I don’t think so.”
We got out of the car, and I walked her into the building. I hung up her backpack and gave her a kiss good-bye. A strange feeling came over me; I felt that I had forgotten something and I needed to kiss Liam right about then.
I went down the stairs, and there it was staring me in the face. It was the camp schedule I forgot to check this morning. And, Iz had swimming lessons, and her bathing suit and towel were at home.
I ran back upstairs and opened the door. I asked the teacher, “Does she have swimming lessons today?” in hopes that perhaps it was a different group. The teacher said, “Yes. We have extra towels.” I said, “Thanks, but I need to go home and come back with her suit.”
Peeved, I drove all the way home. I wasn’t peeved at Iz, though I would mark her “Task Handling” this morning as “Needs Improvement.” I was mad that I forgot to check the schedule.
The drive from camp to my house seemed to take forever. I began to think that I’d be late for work and had so much to do. Each half mile felt like 50 miles.
When I got home, I raced around the house to find her suit and towel. I ran down the hallway toward the front door to leave. Just then Liam sauntered down the stairs and said, “Hey, you look like you could use a hug.” I said, "Thanks, Liam, but I’ve got no time!"
After dropping Iz’s suit off, I headed to work now almost an hour behind schedule. Being a contract employee, I usually worked a 9-hour day so I could take an hour to run at lunch; as I drove to work, I saw my lunch hour begin to fade. To make matters worse, I realized I had no money for lunch and would have to stop on the way to work.
As I drove, I got more and more frazzled mostly with myself. I looked at the clock. When I saw it was only 9am, I had an epiphany in a black 2000 Toyota Rav4. A little voice said, “This is ridiculous. Snap out of it! Stuff happens! You’re a contract employee. You’ll run, and you’ll only work 7 hours today. Who cares?”
Apparently, up until 8:59am, I did; however, I’m glad that my little voice started speaking to me. If anyone can tell you to take a chill pill, it should be yourself after all. At 9:01am, I found the patience I needed to cope with myself and the rest of the world.
When I parked my car in supermarket parking lot, I thought boldly, “I just might mosey around the market while I’m here. Maybe I’ll even pick up some sushi for lunch. Who cares?” When I entered the supermarket, I glanced to the right toward the ATM machine; much to my surprise, I saw a man in black hovering over it.
No, Will Smith hadn’t stopped by Donelan’s on his way to Los Angeles to make a “fast cash” withdrawal; the ATM machine was being serviced. Had it been 8:59am, I might have thought, “Oh, jeez, another delay!” but since it was only 9:10am, I leaned up against the shopping carriages and stood there. I thought, "Kewl. I've never seen an ATM machine being serviced."
The man in black turned around. Before I could even smile and say ‘Hi,” he said, “It’ll be just a minute!” I said, “No problem. I’m not in a hurry,” and then my little voice added “anymore.” He rolled up the paper receipts, put them in a bag, and then he said, “You know, people like you are rare.”
Surprised by what he might say next, I looked down at what I was wearing. I thought to myself, “I guess a 48-year-old woman wearing a yellow Hello Kitty shirt might be considered rare.” He said, “Most people don’t have patience like you.”
After the morning I had, I wanted to laugh out loud. I didn’t tell him that “patience” was about 10 minutes old for me now. He said, “People expect you to be ghost. They ask me why I don’t service the machines at 2 in the morning.” I said, “I hope you say, because I’m sleeping like you are!” He laughed; he liked that one.
He said, “Some people are so mad that they stand here asking me when I’m going to be done over and over. Sometimes people have even grabbed me by the shoulders.” Obviously, servicing ATM machines was a more dangerous occupation than I first thought. I envisioned my own scenario.
“Hey, Sonny Boy, I need $20 now, so I can buy cat food, kitty litter, and litter box deodorizer!!!!! Mr. Stripe, Fuzzy Face, and Cat Benetar can't wait forever!”
Did he get a lot of that? I then noticed that he was armed with a gun. Hopefully, he’d never have to use it, especially on those crazy cat ladies, one of which I was destined to become.
He went on to tell me his story, which I didn’t mind at all. I now had all the time in the world. I always did; however, I just never knew it until 9am this morning.
He used to repair ATMs full-time. He retired and then he got bored. (I will never be retired and bored. I will be retired and biking!) So, he went to back part-time, and then they asked him to service a few more ATMs and then a few more and now he was back to full-time.
After slamming down the lid, he then said, “Okay. You can use it now.” He began to put away his tools, and I withdrew $60. He picked up his tool bag and said, “Have a nice weekend.” I said, “You, too!”
Life is about the long people encounters, but sometimes it’s about the short people encounters, too. These are the brief exchanges with a friendly stranger that often seem to magically reinforce in a Twilight Zone sort of way a new feeling for you. Patience was not my virtue until the man in black said it was. ♥
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