Last week, Ellie had her final violin lesson for the season. The lesson was scheduled to last thirty minutes, just enough time for me to dash into Food Basics for a few essentials to get us through the weekend and be back for the final crescendo. (For anyone in the violin-biz, I have no idea if crescendo has anything to do with the violin specifically but I think it is somehow related to music)
I dropped Ellie off, popped into the grocery store, cognisant of the time and began my race through four major sections of the store while Chloe rode side saddle widthwise across the cart.
I realized early on, it was going to be a race against the clock and there was no time to check expiry dates on yogurt which at Food Basics can be a death sentence.
Aisle two and the first road block struck. A neighbourly couple I hadn’t seen in months, recently retired (read: nothing but time on their hands).
Neighbours: Hi Liz, have you had any trouble with the mail delivery lately?
Me: Hi Guys, none that I can think of. I’m in a huge rush. I have to pick Ellie up from violin lessons.
Neighbours: Have you seen many turtles yet this season?
Um turtles, a few, run, run, run, violin, mail, confusion, late, see you at the mailboxes.
I made it to the check-out and I reached the front of a line where the girl was learning the ins and outs of the till being coached by a bored veteran demonstrating a freakish cigarette package balancing/spinning trick.
He meandered out for his scheduled smoke break and left me, her first one-on-one, to figure things out as a team.
She was quick to drop my container of blackberries and spill them all over the floor. In a calculated risk, knowing I had planned to make rainbow fruit skewers the following day, we agreed, she should just leave them on the floor, not bother calling for back-up and I would explain to the attendees at the baby shower, not unlike Pluto, indigo had been relieved of its astronomical duties.
We forged ahead to the uncomfortable nod towards the purchase of bags or sending me, tail between my legs to fetch a box filled with hidden, endangered (illegal), exotic spider eggs.
She told me she would have to excuse herself because she needed a Band-Aid.
Oh my God, my kid is going to be sitting outside with her violin case open, playing Twinkle Twinkle with a single tear rolling down her cheek.
Never mind the Band-Aid, I handed her one from my emergency pocket and while she was grateful, I didn’t feel as though it saved me any time while she attempted to figure out which character from Phineas and Ferb she would be sporting.
Neighbours approaching from as if out of nowhere, “How’s the pool? We were thinking of putting one in.”
I arrived six minutes late for the pick-up. To my knowledge, I’ve never been a second late picking up any of my kids for any activity.
Ellie looked at me from the waiting room as if I had abandoned her in the forest with one water proof match, a satchel of water, one fishing hook and an expert edition Sudoku book to last an entire weekend. I quickly reminded her that was what Cubs do and to put away the violin (both literally and metaphorically).
She looked wet, tired, cold and confused. Dehydration, fatigue and hallucinations were setting in.
Ellie: Mom, take me home, I’m starving.
Six minutes.
Both Hanna and Chloe were born nine days after their expected delivery date while Ellie was right on time. I have a feeling her insistence on being punctual is going to continue to bite me.
