Rambling Reflections of a Tough Day.

(Last posting until January 2008).

“Okay. If I get up by seven, shower; and she’s up by 7:40 a.m., we can be out the door by…nine,” I think to myself. “Damn, she’s moving all ready. What time is it? Six fifty-three. It’s going to be a long morning,” I sigh with a smile as I turn over and see Taylor staring at me with hunger in her eyes. Our day has started early; my morning window of opportunity just shrunk by at least 30 minutes. Damn.

My day is comprised of a series of routines: I know, with relative precision, when Taylor usually wakes up, between 7:20 – 7:40 a.m.; I know when she goes down for her nap, between 10 – 10:40; and I can guess with startling accuracy when she’ll wake up from that nap. I also know how I can tire her out a little quicker than she is accustomed to, an outing in the freezing temperatures, bundled in her pink snowsuit, usually does the job; but I still find myself constantly crashing through those windows of opportunity as I try to squeeze in all those weekly “must-does”, which can only be completed during normal business hours, of course.

This morning was no different. As mentioned above, Taylor woke early. By the time she was changed, fed, dressed, changed again, and fed again; and I quickly showered, dressed, started the van, prepared her travel bag and bottles, grabbed a small fleece blanket and a couple of teething toys, and thought about shoveling a cup of coffee down my throat, it was nearly 8:20 a.m. Great; the drive through window at the bank opens at eight and the tire place opens at 8:30 a.m. “Even if,” I think to myself, “we get stuck behind one or two people in line we’ll be one our way home before Taylor begins getting fussy.” I abhor the idea of being in a male-dominated business and being stared at by ignorance. “Heck, maybe I can even stop at the hardware store and pick up that last Christmas gift for my father.”

By 8:40 a.m. I was on my way to the tire place. “Should I stop for a medium coffee with milk at McDonald’s?” I ask myself. I decide to skip the $1.65 Newman coffee in order to be one of the first in line for a set of winter tires. (Yes, I know it’s December, but we just bought the vehicle last week.) I still find it hard to swallow that I’m now one of those drivers of a minivan that frequents drive-thru windows. I never would have imagined….

“Did the dealership tell you about the tires for that vehicle?” Is the smug retort I receive from the glorified cashier at Tire Warehouse.

“No,” I reply. “What, do they not make them anymore?” I jocularly inquire.

“You know, you’re late.”

I pause, probably raise an eyebrow, and wait for his denouement. He doesn’t; so I willingly step into his trap. “I’m humble; and if allowing myself to be the butt of his stupid joke maybe I will get the tires put on the van that much quicker, laugh away idiot,” I think to myself. I ask once again about the tires and what I am late for. He replies that the tires will be expensive, because they are 17-inch tires and “they don’t make very many of them” (whatever the hell that means!), and I should have purchased snow tires at the beginning of the season and not waited until after the third snowstorm.

Annoyed, I tell him, again, that I just purchased the vehicle. He doesn’t catch on– so much for public education! Instead, he tells me for the third (or maybe it’s now the forth time) that I should have purchased snow tires weeks ago.

I’m no longer humble, nor polite. Realizing I have just wasted my morning window of opportunity, I pack up and drive home.

Damn.