I need to be on time to my appointment. I waited a month for it and I can not be late.
And then there is a flat tire. Even though the van is sitting safely in my garage, the back tire is still undeniably flat. I glance at the clock, do some quick math and figure I can still make it on time.
My husband changes the tire and I get the kids in the car. And that is when my 6 year old decides to go put on his shoes and discovers they are wet. Of course they’re wet. I clearly remember telling him NOT to jump in the big puddle yesterday but naturally he didn’t listen. And the shoes are still wet. He’s fine to wear them anyway, but I tell him he needs to get his Crocs.
He returns with only one Croc and can’t find the other. I bite my tongue from saying the first thing that comes to mind – If you’d put them in your cubby where they belong, we wouldn’t have that problem. But I know that’s a useless thing to say; only I would benefit from saying it, not him…and so I don’t say it. Get your Shabbos shoes, I say instead. He’s back, we hop in the car and leave. Only half way there he tell me that he took two right foot shoes…and two different sizes.
I refrain from my should-have-put-it-in-the-right-place statement again and try to figure out what to do. We get to their morning classes and he doesn’t want to get out of the car. I glance at the clock. I will be late. I know I will. I hate being late. I never used to be late.
But I do what I’m getting very good at since becoming a mom…I surrender to the time and deal with my son first.
I beg, I bribe, I plead and work out an agreement for him to go into class anyway and I ask his friends to join him in a no-shoe day. Crisis resolved and I’m on my way.
I follow trusty WAZE for the 1.5 minute drive to my appointment…and it takes me to the front of Walmart and says I’ve arrived at my destination. Although I have very strong loyalty to WAZE, I know that this is not the doctor’s office. And no matter what I do, Waze insists that it is.
I call the office; naturally no one answers the phone…and I’m only number 7 in line. I drive around the parking lot, waiting for Walmart to magically turn into the doctor’s office I’m looking for…and it doesn’t. And I drive around and around and the next block and the block before…and 20 minutes later, all on my own, I find the right address. And I was right; it is not in Walmart, as Waze had insisted.
I run into the office, my whole list of excuses in tow and beg to keep my appointment. I use all my cards…how hard it was to find babysitting for all my kids…how I drove around and around and no one answered my call…and after 20 minutes, they tell me I have to reschedule. I’m fuming. I’m frustrated. I’m angry. I’m annoyed. And I do what all good pregnant women do-I cry.
This is so silly, get over it! Says that little voice in me.
But easier said than done; it took so much planning and my whole day is messed up.
I get back in the car; now I’m starving too. Not a great combination.
Well, I certainly know where Walmart is. I stop in to grab some food, wishing they carried some gooey kosher baked goods because I certainly deserve that right now. I begrudginly settle on a container of blueberries. And I eat the whole thing.
I start driving and tell myself I’ve got to shake my rotten mood, This is ridiculous. And so I search my mind for a way to get over it.
And here’s what I come up with:
Thank G-d I have a van that can have a flat tire.
Thank G-d I have a husband; and even better, a husband that can change a flat tire.
Thank G-d my kids have shoes, and lots of them, so they can get them wet, lost or mixed up.
Thank G-d I have kids that can make me late.
Thank G-d I have a place to drop my kids off for learning each morning.
Thank G-d I have money so I can buy a container of blueberries.
And Thank G-d I have an appointment at the doctor for a good reason.