Lemony Snicket

As a mom, you are given this uncanny talent to read faces… even when you can’t see them. You know, like when you’re only looking at the back of your kid’s head, but you know if he’s smiling or if she’s sticking out her tongue. It’s got a lot to do with body language, and moms have the ability to interpret it pretty well.

Well, let’s just start right from the beginning of my morning… my series of unfortunate events, you might say.

N left the house for work this morning. It was a little after 5. I know this because as I was slumbering away in precious sleep, there was knocking at the front door— persistent knocking. He had locked himself out of the house but didn’t have everything he needed to take with him (evidently his house key!). I went downstairs and let him in. As I was getting back into bed, I noted the time on the clock: still time to rack in some more sleep minutes. It was all good. I hadn’t been in a deep sleep or anything, since T had just been up eating his breakfast not long before that. So really then, things actually seemed to start out okay. It definitely wasn’t one of those I-forgot-to-set-my-alarm mornings or even one of those I-set-my-alarm-but-forgot-to-turn-it-on mornings. I got up, had time to get dressed and to get my brain awake. (Though I do have a lot of sinus congestion right now, so I am a little noggin foggy!)

As we headed out the door to go to school (the kids were already outside, and I was on my way out with the baby, about to close the door), I realized I didn’t have my keys.

(I guess I should mention that maybe 15 seconds before I made this realization, I had said, “We need to go right now! We have four minutes to get in the car, get to school, and get M to class!”)

Any how, I could not find the keys anywhere. They weren’t in my bag; they weren’t in the basket; they just weren’t. I dragged all the kids back inside, and I scrambled around the house in a somewhat random search for the keys. I didn’t find them. I did find N’s set, and luckily also remembered to grab the spare house key, and off we went.

We headed down the street towards school only to be met by a closed road and work crews. Of all mornings for them to be repaving our route, this would be it, right? But as a clever and resourceful mother, I knew exactly what to do! There’s a church on a corner near the school, and its parking lot cuts through to the next street. I just pulled in the driveway right there before the barricade and orange cones, went through the parking lot and pulled out the driveway on the other side. I turned out into the street and headed down the smooth (newly asphalted!) road just as jolly as could be. Way out ahead of me, I could see Mr. Roley Poley in the middle of the street. I saw some orange cones, too. And I saw Mr. Road Construction Worker standing next to Mr. Roley Poley. He was waving big waves at me, but I don’t think he was saying hello. (I guess you could say that they probably should have put cones blocking the driveway exit.) He threw his arms up in the air and shook his head in great disgust. I couldn’t see his face, but I’m pretty sure I know what it looked like. (Remember, I’m a mom, and I know these things.) I couldn’t hear him, either, but I’m pretty sure I know what he was saying, too! (What are you doing out here, you crazy woman driver! Didn’t you see the cones and barricades?! What are you thinking?! GET OFF THE ROAD!!!) So, he’s waving at me to get off the street, but since turning around wouldn’t help (I’d just have to drive all the way back to the church) and turning into some house’s driveway wasn’t really an option, I kept driving and turned at the first cross-street. (We did some loopy loopies through the neighborhood and eventually made it to school. And M made it in to class before the late bell.)

I’m thinking the road crews are pretty peeved at me… I figured that was the case to begin with, but I'm thinking it even more so now. When we got home, L noticed the “icky tires.” It seems as if I have brought the top layer of the new road home with me.

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