Monday, May 03, 2010

The Weekend in Three Acts: A Comedy

Act I - Lucky Bra

Anyone who has multiple kid activities occurring at the same time can tell you that it feels very similar to how the horses at the beginning of a race must feel. You built up for the big moment when the race starts, you prepare, you pack, you take your Xanax…all that good stuff. (Not really on the Xanax, but don’t be fooled into thinking it hasn’t crossed my mind at certain times!)

Our schedules were coordinated down to the last minute, our watches were synchronized, and we were off! First thing Saturday morning was the State trampoline meet in Joplin. Both girls were competing, so we packed two of everything we could shove into my little meet bag. Two leos…check. Hair bands…check. Pristine white socks (which are actually sort of hard to find, by the way)…check.

So I was surprised (yeah, I know, I should be past that and not be surprised at anything I hear anymore) to hear Micaela go into a semi-panicked state about half-way to the meet. After I guided the car back onto the road and ascertained that we were not in any immediate danger—her screech made me think otherwise—I tried to get to the root of the real problem. By then, my adrenaline was through the roof because of the formerly mentioned screech/squeel, and I employed every defensive driving technique I’d ever read about to keep us alive and on the road. Steer into the skid. Do not slam on the breaks. All that good stuff.

But we were not in danger of careening off the road. Oh, no. It was better and evidently more life-altering. Here was the emergency:

“Mom! I forgot my bra! I can’t…like…compete without my bra!” The volume was steadily rising, and jumping into full-on hostage-negotiating mode, I tried employing the concept of (gasp!) being reasonable. Big mistake.

I said, “Well, Micaela, we’re right on time, and if we stop now, we might not be right on time, and then your coach might kill us all.” Thinking this would force her to see reason, I settled back into driving mode, cranking up my wild and crazy CNN Talk News channel…until I heard:

“NOOO! You don’t understand! I can’t compete in the bra I am wearing now!”

So, stupidly, I asked why. And here’s what she came up with:

“Because!” (huff and huge roll of eyes—I saw this as I glanced in the rearview mirror, because if you saw a black streak of SUV careening down the highway in a death race toward Joplin, it was not me…really.) “Because I can’t wear a pink sparkly bra under my leotard! It will SHOW THROUGH!”

Hi, my name is Janelle, and I’m an Emergency First Responder. May I help you? Yes, my training kicked in. It may never help me in the scuba diving field, but it definitely helps me diffuse volatile kid situations.

The scene was quickly escalating, and I feared that soon we would have to call on the Navy or National Guard to help us talk her down—except that oops, they are really busy with that whole huge oil spill thing that is destroying our formerly pristine waters (ok, no more political stuff). So, it was up to me.

I calmly told her to stop yelling at me, or my nervously twitching eye might actually pop out of my head. Then I did what any mother in a time crunch might do—I calmly pulled to the side of the road and did a search for the nearest Wal-Mart on our handy-dandy GPS. (Yeah, I’m gonna stick with that story—because once more, it was not our little SUV that was careening, and now weaving, down the highway as I madly typed Wal-Mut…no, wait Wal-Mrs…no wait Wal-Mart at 70 miles per hour. I finally typed it in right on the third try.)

Once we had located a Wal-Mart, we parked and RAN to the bra department, gasping for air, and then Micaela went into shopping mode and decided she needed to survey all her options before choosing. As she slowly meandered through the lingerie department, I grabbed the first white bra I saw that didn’t have DDD anywhere in the sizing and herded my girls toward the checkout. We were finally on our way!

It was only as she was hurriedly changing into her leotard in the gym restroom that she tentatively shouted out to her gasping mother (We had just run up the Mount Everest of stairs, and I was getting over bronchitis.), “Um, Mom? I sort of left my bra in the car.”

Huh? What? I didn’t think I could have possibly heard that correctly. The emergency bra was in the car? And she was half-dressed in the bathroom, which meant that there was only one person who could run outside to get it. Yep, lucky me. So I sprinted the steps another time, took her the bra, and she asked, “Um, did you happen to grab my hair clips?”

Noooo! I did not grab the hair clips, and I sent her happy little rear out to the car to get them.

And all that leads us to the fact that Micaela is the Missouri State Trampoline Champion this year. I think it’s the lucky bra. Way to go, Doodle Bug!

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