Even When I'm Not Late...

Jonah goes to preschool on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 12:30. Scratch that. Preschool starts at 12:30. Jonah usually gets there at 12:40. At 12:30 we are frantically looking for the other shoe and swiping a rag at his Spagetti-O'd face as he runs by. We find the shoe (Or coat, or Show-and-Tell bag, or communication envelope, or whatever it happens to be that is making us late on that particular day), and dash to the car for the 4 block drive to preschool. All of you who have ever lived in an urban setting need to close your mouth now- I know you would NEVER drive 4 blocks, but we are LATE.

On Friday at 12:15 I turned to Jonah and said, "How about we try something new today? How about not being late?"

He replied, "What, you mean leave right now?"

"Uh, yeah."

So we got both shoes, a coat and whatever else we needed and got in the car for our four block drive. I drove through the drop off lane and to the class room door at 12:29 and waited for the teacher to open the door and greet Jonah.

The door did not open.

And then I noticed there were no lights on in the class room.

And then I remembered that Friday was the day that the afternoon preschool was combined with the morning preschool for a field trip to the fire department.

D'OH!

Even when I'm not late, I'm late!

Ruining The Track Record

I have 5 kids.
I have been to the E.R.
I've been with a baby in tow when my 10 year old fell head first off the half wall onto the stairs below.
I've been in the middle of the night when the same child had a croup attack badly enough to make us call the neighbor and head out in the snow.
I've made appointments to have various items removed from facial orifices.
I've had an infant taken from the doctor's office to the Critical Care unit for pneumonia and RSV.
I've left church for stitches at the walk in clinic.
I've forgone stitches for butterflies.
But NEVER in my mommy career had I needed to call 911- until Tuesday.
Hello. My name is Gina. I'm a bad mom.
Hi Gina.

We have a prune tree. It's a nice tree. The prunes are really yummy, and we have been snacking on them for weeks. The kids have been moving higher and higher into the tree in their quest for the purple-black goodness. See:

But look again:

That's about 15 feet up. He's about 3 feet tall. He is 4 times over his head and more than twice over mine. And I mentioned the kids climb this tree. I do not. As nice and plummy as it is, it will not support me. I also couldn't find a ladder tall enough to get him down. Somehow he has gotten all the way out to the end of the branches- wearing his "new" camo rubber boots- that are 3 sizes too big for him and afford very little hold on the tree branch. Needless to say, he was not getting back. Enter 911.

I have mentioned I live in a small town, right? See this guy? Our families hang out. We barbecue. His wife does my hair. They go rafting with us. Um, yeah. "Hi, Officer Brian."

Luckily, the day before at preschool, they had a fire safety talk and had met a fire man. The fire man said that when a fire man comes to get you you go right to them. Good thing, because he knew exactly what to do.

It was all fun and games until he was safely on the ground.

Blew my track record right out of the water.