Blood Letting

What I needed in the morning was everything to go smoothly. I had fasting blood work scheduled right after I dropped off my daughter for school, and I just needed everybody to do what they were supposed to do so I could make my 8 o’clock appointment. Was it too much to ask for a little cooperation from my family?

Why, yes, it was. I am generally a morning person. I bound out of bed and get ready for the day on the first alarm. I dance around and sing a little while I make breakfast and brush my daughter’s hair. I take care of all those last minute details like ice packs for lunchboxes and water bottles and jackets and back packs and cat treats. And most days, I do it with a smile and without caffeine. Yes, that’s right; I am not even a coffee drinking morning person. I am a full-fledged up and at ‘em kind of gal. Without breakfast, though, I turn into Linda Blair in “The Exorcist” alarmingly quickly.

7:00: I got my kids up and while they got dressed, I rushed downstairs to make breakfast and do all those morning things, including packing a breakfast for me to take along with me so I could eat after I had my blood drawn. I put out an assortment of cereal, poured juice, dispensed vitamins, and even remembered spoons and napkins. My daughters, S and E, stumbled down the stairs about ten minutes later than usual and commenced pouring and eating cereal. I pointed out to them that I had an appointment and that I needed them to try to hurry or at least to cooperate. E was in her own world, having just received a cell phone as a birthday gift a few days before. Apparently texting begins prior to  eating breakfast in the tween world, and so she was deep in conversation involving letters and symbols but no substance. S decided  that she was still hungry and needed more cereal. I reminded her again that I had to be at the doctor’s office, poured her another half bowl of cereal, and rushed upstairs to make myself presentable.

7:20: I brushed my teeth and put on makeup and scrunched my hair, all while waiting for S to come upstairs and finish getting ready. She took her time selecting shoes and brushing her teeth, and then she had an emergency dump, which meant we now had two minutes to get out of the house in order for me to make my appointment. I was glad I was only going for blood work and not a blood pressure check, as I was pretty close to stroke level by that point. Finally, after she pooped and washed her hands and brushed her teeth and cleaned her face and put on lotion and washed her hands again, S met me downstairs with her back pack and lunch box.

7:37: We got in the car and I backed it out of the garage. The rain hit the top of the car, each ping of a raindrop another second ticking away. “Great,” I muttered. “Rain.” Rain wasn’t the problem; the problem was that rain made all the overprotective moms drive their kids that normally walk to school, creating a clusterfuck of epic proportions in the car drop off line. The traffic was backed up half the way to school, and as we poked along, I kept muttering under my breath like a crazy street person.

7:47: I could see the turn lane for the school from where I was stuck in traffic. All the cars had converged in front of the school and no one was moving. My appointment was in thirteen minutes, and the office was a good seven interstate miles away.

“Sorry, Mama,” my daughter S said from the back seat.

“I know it’s not a big deal, but if I am late they might not see me. Plus, I am hungry. Plus, I told you we absolutely positively had to leave on time. And we didn’t, and it’s raining, and look at this traffic.” I looked at her in the rear view mirror and saw her little brown eyes get all watery. “It’s okay, S. I’ll figure something out. Oh, look, they didn’t chain off the parking lot,” I said, swinging left and quickly finding a space.

Every morning, in an effort to discourage parents from parking and walking their children into the school building, they block off the parking lot with a big yellow chain. Except that morning. We hopped out of the car and hustled our way to the sidewalk that crosses the car drop off lane in front of the school. And right while we stood there, waiting for the safety patrol to signal us to walk, the coach ran across the street and hooked up the yellow chain. “Someone forgot to do their job,” he said in his gravelly voice.

It is not appropriate to scream “Motherfuck!” in the elementary school parking lot. I only thought it.

Sarah scurried across the driveway, turning her doe eyes to me one more time and mouthing the words “I’m sorry.” I backed out of my space, saw the line of cars waiting for the chain to be removed, and then did something I rarely do: I broke the rules. I drove my car the wrong way out of the parking lot, darted across oncoming traffic, and through the narrow lane that goes in a different direction so I could bypass the wait. I turned onto the main road quickly, and sped away towards the interstate.

8:15: I signed in at the doctor’s office. My appointment was at 8:00. I was fifteen minutes late for my blood work and a full hour after my normal breakfast time. The man working the front office, and yes, my doctor’s office does have a male front office worker, looked at me and then at the clock and then at his schedule. He didn’t say a word, and neither did I.

Later that afternoon when S got home from school, she asked if they still took my blood at the office. I told her yes because I pretended my appointment was fifteen minutes later than it actually was. She wanted to know how I got out of the parking lot at school. I told her I went the wrong way instead of waiting at the chain. And she looked at me like I had three heads.

I justified lying and breaking rules to my nine year old, two things she didn’t need to learn from me. I should have taught her to not sweat the small stuff, but I haven’t learned that myself yet.