How NOT to Start Your Monday

We had a rough morning. Mars’ truck wouldn’t start, and he had to take my van to work. So while I was fixing breakfast, I warned …

Hey, I think I’ve just solved a long-term problem! Mad Scientist hates that nickname, and he’s been campaigning for something less childish. He suggested Lego-something. Snore! But I just thought of something better. He’s discovered a real gift for computer animation,* so from now on Mad Scientist is — the Animator. 

As I was saying, I warned the Animator that I don’t have a car. Because he’s feeling so stressed at school, we’ve given him a cell phone to carry and permission to call at any time and I’ll come and get him. I haven’t actually had to go get him yet, but he has called a time or two.

We talked while I fixed breakfast. I reminded him of a few stress-management tips and told him to feel free to call just to talk. And I told him in a real emergency, Mars could come and get him, though it would take forty-five minutes at least.

“Don’t forget to take the phone,” I said as he headed upstairs after breakfast.

Bet you know where this going, don’t you? Ah, but the winding road through the valley is worth it, just for the aesthetics. And so that you can be grateful my life is not your life.

Girly Girl came down fully dressed — right down to her backpack and snow boots. But it’s -29°C (-20°F), and she doesn’t have snow pants. So I sent her back up to put on long johns.

The Animator had been suspiciously quiet for some time, so I hollered up to ask if he was about ready. His answer was a burst of furious activity, which probably confirms my suspicion that he’d gone back to bed.

At 7:25, we headed toward the garage door to put on snow clothes. As I always do, I said, “Do you have your lunch?”

The Animator gasped. “I forgot my lunch.” He ran back, and I heard the refrigerator door open. Then he gasped again, a much bigger sound. “I FORGOT TO PACK UP MY COMPUTER!”

My heart dropped. Things are so precarious at school, and having his laptop seems to make an enormous difference. I am afraid to send him to school without it. Heck, he left it in the car Friday, and I chased down the school bus with my van to make sure he got it.

“Go ahead and get it,” I said as calmly as I could. “But you’ll have to hurry.”

He headed back toward the kitchen while I dug through Girly Girl’s cubby. I grabbed a pair of thick, snow mittens and yanked off the brown fleece gloves she’d been wearing. “Here, wear these.”

Next, I looked for a warm scarf. None there. I made a mental note to knit her a warm scarf, grabbed one of mine from my cubby, and wrapped it around her face, making sure her nose was covered.

The animator returned, and I pointed toward his sister. “Here’s how you have to wear your scarf.”

He nodded and grabbed his boots with a glum look on his face.

“Did you get your computer?” I asked. He shrugged.

I left him putting on his boots and hurried into the kitchen where I packed up his computer. It took longer than I expected, and I began to worry about missing the bus.

I ran back to the kids. Animator was standing right where I left him, wearing snow boots and a scarf wrapped around his face. No hat. No gloves.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“Daydreaming.” He leaped into action.

I told Girly Girl to go on out to the bus. But when she opened the door, Cookie darted out.

Cookie loves walking out to the bus with us, but with temps nearing minus 30, her paws will freeze in two minutes. Last time she went out in bitter cold weather, she laid down in the snow about ten feet from the house and refused to move. I finally picked her up and zipped her into my jacket, but even so, she shivered violently until we got back to the house.

Plus, she wasn’t on a leash, and she is coyote bait. Heck, to coyotes, she’s freshly broiled scallops wrapped in bacon. One delicious, juicy bite.

I hollered “No!” at Cookie. Good dog that she is, she dropped immediately into the submissive stance my family calls “dominant down” (though when I google “dominant down,” it refers to forcing dogs into that posture to try to assume alpha status — which seems crazy to me). In fact, she was so busy trying to convince me she wouldn’t challenge my authority that she wouldn’t come back in. I had to go out and carry her back in.

By then the Animator was headed out the door, muffler wrapped around face, hat in place — but no gloves.

“Animator, you have to have gloves.”

“I can’t find them!”

I yanked open his cubby and pulled out a pair. He couldn’t get them on. I unhooked the velco that holds the wrists closed, but he still couldn’t get them on. I grabbed another pair. Same result. None of the gloves in his cubby fit, though we bought them all in September.

I gave him the fleece pair I’d take from Girly Girl, and headed up the stairs to the door.

He wasn’t behind me. I looked back to find him wearing one glove — and frantically scanning the ground. I went back down and helped him look. The other brown glove was gone.

I looked at him and shrugged, making a “What now?” gesture with my hands. He was distracted by the motion, and grabbed at something in my left hand. It was the missing glove.

He pulled it on, and we hurried out to the bus. I hadn’t taken the time to button my top button, so I had to hold my collar closed, but we made it. As the bus drove into sight down the street, I hugged the Animator and said, laughing, “We did it! Good for us!”

They climbed on the bus, and I came back inside, with a sigh of relief — only to find the Animator’s cell phone sitting on the counter.

*Susan, thank you so much for Alice! What a great piece of software!

Edited to fix a major typo: Addofio pointed out that I switched from “Animator” to “Alienator.” Thanks! I hadn’t even noticed. Do you suppose there some Freudian meaning in there?

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