Tonight I swung by the high school at 6:12 to pick up Ethan and hurried on to drop Allyson at the church for choir practice. There was just enough time, I thought, congratulating myself on getting the cabbage rolls in the oven, feeding Allyson her own dinner (leftover pink pancakes and an egg and an avocado, her choice), and even getting the kitchen clean--all in under two hours.
By the time I'd checked her in and hastily helped her into her uniform T-shirt, it was 6:30 straight up. Whew!
|Eph 6:11 - Put on the full armor of God...|
"The kids are already lined up on stage," the lady at check-in informed us. "She's just in time."
But she wasn't just in time; the music was already starting, and she had to find an adult volunteer to help her find her place on the stage.
I frowned in annoyance on my way back to the car. If we were supposed to be here earlier than 6:30, why hadn't they told us?
When I told Bill the whole story over dinner, he said they usually want the kids checked in a few minutes before the rehearsal start time. "Maybe you'd better set the microwave timer to remind you when it's time to pick her up," he suggested.
I set the timer for 45 minutes. When it went off, Bill surprised me by going after Allyson himself. To celebrate, I decided to whip up some blueberry mini-donuts. They would be hot off the donut maker when Allyson got back.
|My Latest Toy, Not Counting the Tortilla Press I Just Bought Off e-Bay|
I'd scarcely ground the pastry flour when the phone rang. I wedged the phone against my shoulder as I chopped each little blueberry in half.
"Are you coming for Allyson soon?" a woman asked. "She's okay, but she's starting to get anxious."
I glanced at the clock: 8:24. "Wh- Doesn't the practice end at eight-thirty?"
"Oh noo," I groaned. It was all coming together now. "So did the practice start at six?"
"Yes, it was from six to eight."
"I thought it was six-thirty to eight-thirty. I'm so sorry!"
She assured me it was okay, and I assured her Bill would be there any moment. Poor little girl! She hates to be late, and she hates to be the last one picked up. I cringed at the knowledge that Bill would have to deal with my mistake. How embarrassing!
"Well, that was embarrassing," Bill said 15 minutes later.
"Mmm! Blueberry donuts?" Allyson said, snatching one off the cooling rack. She didn't look too traumatized, I noted.
|Aren't They Cute?|
"Well, last rehearsal we got there 30 minutes early," I said. "If you average the two, we're doing fine." (For the record, the mixup on the prior week wasn't my fault. Allyson had misunderstood an announcement about the older kids getting there a half hour early.)
"I don't know why I can't seem to get it right," I said. "I looked at the sheet just yesterday, and I could have sworn it said six-thirty."
Bill dug it out of the pile on the counter top. "Nope, six to eight."
It's not like this is a rare occurrence. For example, I'm constantly leaving things out of recipes; I've ruined numerous batches of bread by leaving out the salt or even the yeast. And then there was the cheese grater incident just last night. I was frantically searching the kitchen, accusing Bill of moving it.
"Check the dishwasher," he said.
"We were out of cheese for days. There's no reason for it to be in the dishwasher," I said. But I checked anyway. No sign of it.
"I really, really need the cheese grater," I said, hoping Bill would peel himself off the couch and help me find it.
Allyson came instead. "What are you looking for?" she asked. "Something for the cheese?"
"The cheese grater," I said, dodging around her to check the cabinets over the stove.
"Isn't that the grater in your hand?" she asked.
Sure enough, there was the grater, in the same hand with the block of cheese, the handle looped around my pinkie.
"Oh my gosh, you're right! How could I have missed that?"
I waited for the ribbing, but all was silent on the couch. Bill was out. I blushed anyway.
Does this happen to anyone else? Am I normal?