This morning was the annual fundraiser breakfast for the large local non-profit organization I have chaired for the past three years. Fortunately for this story, I am no longer the chair and no longer called on to speak at the event ... but I was still hosting a table of ten, not to mention that I knew there would be many folks in the crowd that I would want to greet and chat with. (Not least among them you lovely dears.)
Last weekend Mr. J was in Detroit, sailing. He was supposed to be home for three days before turning around and heading to Minneapolis. Well, as it happened, he was wrong about the scheduling and he was only home for about 36 hours. He left yesterday afternoon. It's fine, I can deal with the kids on my own for an extra day or two, but I was going to need some help in the morning today as the kids are not supposed to arrive at school before 8:15, and the doors were opening at the breakfast at 7:30 a.m. for an 8:00 start time.
I called on Mr-Mama. It seemed like the reasonable thing to do, since my own mama was already on board to help pick the kids up at school three days this week, and since the Mr-Parents live half a mile from my house, and since Mr-Mama made a huge point of telling me while I was with her last weekend that she is always up in the morning and had thought about volunteering to take the kids to school on the regular (ha!) but she thought it would be good for Mr. J to get into that routine. Sure, whatever.
So I texted her on Monday night about helping out this morning (Wednesday). She was all about it. No problem at all. I'd get the kids up and dressed and she'd be here by 7:20 to give them breakfast and drive them to school. Great.
Well, this morning at 7:20 she was not at my house. She's routinely late so I was not yet panicked. I got very busy dealing with the Bear, who was having a rough morning (sleepy and cranky), and the Bits, who had somehow removed her own diaper and peed all over her bed such that everything had to go into the washing machine including (the horrors!) her beloved Baby. I was starting to stress, though. My trips downstairs by myself had reduced the Bear to tears, so I was reduced to begging Bear to please, please put on his clothes so that we could go downstairs and call Mr-Mama. At 7:33, we finally got downstairs and the phone rang. It was Mr-Papa. He said, "Was Mr-Mama supposed to be over there this morning to help with the kids?" I said, "Yes, ten minutes ago." He said, "I'm on my way right now and she'll be right behind me."
Through a blessed confluence of green lights, and after literally sprinting two downtown blocks -- providing a great source of entertainment for the people sitting in the Einstein Bagel Bros windows, I'm sure -- I made it to the registration table for the breakfast at exactly 7:59, and I got to my table at the very moment they turned down the lights. I don't need this kind of stress in my life.
This, THIS, is exactly why Mr. J says every time I suggest that we call his mom for help: "I can't rely on her." I would be so mortified and ashamed if my child ever said that about me. The only silver lining is that her flakiness seems to be nudging Mr. J to do better himself.
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