Momedy

I used to be punctual. Almost to a fault, if I had any faults. I would often show up 20 minutes early, which in hindsight I think is just as rude, if not even more so, than showing up 20 minutes late.

Then came the kids. I managed to remain punctual after the first and second, even the third. Actually now that I think of it, I could still show up on time after the fourth, so maybe this is a me problem and not a them problem.

Let’s blame it on the stage of life then, because sometime in the last few years it’s gone from “Oh great, there’s Melissa pulling in and I haven’t even dressed yet” to “Is Melissa just this late, or did she forget and isn’t coming at all?” Spoiler alert — it’s always the latter.

In the last two weeks I have completely forgotten to attend a friend’s birthday bonfire, forgotten not two but three after school activities, and forgotten to pick up my kids. That last one happened last Monday, which was actually Tuesday. But it felt like a Monday and for most of the day I thought it was Monday. My kids asked me to pick them up from school, which I never do, because my youngest still naps. Nap time is holy and everyone knows Thou Shalt Not wake a sleeping preschooler a minute earlier than you need to. But this particular MondayTuesday I was in a good mood, because I’d showered for the first time in a week and I was thinking this is it, this is the day I turn my life back around, and so I said yes.

Of course I forgot to send change-of-going-home-plans notes with the kids, and so I had to call that information into the office late. But that’s my point. I was thinking about it in the morning when I said yes. I was thinking about it midday when I called the office to inform them of the pick up plans. And then I just stopped thinking about it.

Later that afternoon I was standing at my stove making dinner, still not thinking about it, when one of Lottie’s classmates moms called me. Even as I answered the phone I was still not thinking about it. So I answered, genuinely curious what she wanted to talk about. Honestly I thought maybe Lottie had initiated her daughter into her lipstick and beltbag gang at recess and that there would be some sort of drama to work out.

But alas, it was just your typical “hey you forgot your kids at school” social kind of call.

So I jumped into the car. So did the dog. I slammed the door on a McDonalds bag that was trying to escape, and it fluttered in the wind against my door the whole way there. I didn’t even bother putting on real shoes, I was in what would best be described as pajama pants, except that I’ve been known to wear them in public. And slippers. I was in slippers, because I didn’t plan on getting out of the car. So there I was, screeching into the parking lot in pajamas, with last night’s dinner stuck to the side of my car, twenty minutes late. The poor administrative assistant probably wanted to leave but couldn’t because my kids were holding her hostage, and then when I pulled up looking like I did she probably wondered if she should release them to my care.

But it was okay. All was well, because now I was here and we could get on with our day. Until Lottie climbed into the car, that is, and the dog went rocketing OUT of the car.

This wasn’t a casual “I’m going to sniff around this sidewalk right here” kind of escape — she jumped out the door and was gone. Full on sprint, like she’d just heard via the bark chain that there was an all you can eat squirrel buffet at the public pool. Because that’s the direction she was heading.

So I took off after her at a sprint, slippers slapping the pavement, holding up my pants with one hand and my braless chest with the other. I left two kids crying in the running car, while Alex took off with me in pursuit. Evelyn missed the whole thing, because she’d stayed after school for Girls on the Run. Turns out she’d forgotten her running shoes and had to sit out the whole thing anyway, so the fruit really doesn’t fall far.

Anyway, back to the chase at hand, to make the situation even better, the school busses were now pulling out of the parking lot. Penny (the dog) was happily darting in front of each and every one of them, while the students inside were pressed against the windows watching the spectacle unfold.

Somewhere from back by the car I could hear a group of students singing the song “Who let the dogs out,” Alex was screaming hysterically for Penny, and I was desperately trying to keep my pants up, thinking THIS KIND OF SHIT DIDN’T HAPPEN BACK WHEN YOU WERE PUNCTUAL.

We finally caught Penny, after an embarrassing display in which I had to act an awful lot like a dog myself to get her to pay attention to me. I clipped a leash to her (because although I had no bra or shoes I DID have a leash handy, riddle me that) and she pranced proudly back to the car where my youngest two were in the middle of a life experience that we’re just going to add to their future therapy bill.

Despite my shower, I regret to inform you that last MondayTuesday was not the day I turned my life back around. I’ve got high hopes for next week.

In conclusion, since (thank god) there are not pictures that I know of circulating from last MondayTuesday, please enjoy this picture of me and a different dog. This is not the dog that ran away, because my computer is so behind on software updates that any pictures since June of 2024 will not upload on here. This is me and my first dog Pippa, back when I had time to do things like shower and snuggle dogs and read books and wear jeans that buttoned. I won’t lie, I kind of miss those days.