Thank You for Your Support!

My daughter is usually pretty squared away. Someone in the family has to be. Given that Abby's only human, however, once in a while she drops the ball. Or forgets her soccer socks, like she did last week.  She was already at the bus stop when she remembered that she needed them, but I was determined to make the drop before the bus arrived, thereby saving myself a drive to the middle school. Unfortunately, I got tripped up in her pigsty of a bedroom, unable to find anything other than fuzzy red knee highs she wore in third grade. She's wearing them, dammit. Given that delay, the bus naturally beat me. 

Being the good mother that I am, I cursed Abby’s forgetfulness and then went after the first school bus I found. Not knowing her bus number (I'm not that good a mother), merely praying it was hers, I drove like a woman possessed, hoping to catch it at the next stop. I caught up to said bus, still unsure if Abby was on it. 

SIDE NOTE: What's with the tinted windows on the school bus? Even Run DMC knows that "Tinted windows don't mean nothin', they know who's inside." 

As I pulled up behind the bus and jumped out of my mom-van, the driver shut the doors and started to drive away. I gave chase, waving fuzzy red socks in the air and shouting, “WAIT!” A startled mom at this stop saw my crazed condition and flagged down the driver. When he opened the doors my mortified daughter reached out for her socks and actually thanked me for the effort. Even better than my daughter's appreciation was the driver's flirty comment: "I thought we had a new student!” Aw shucks, even I know that I don't pass for a middle schooler, but when you reach your 40s you'll take any attention you can get. Of course, it's likely he said that assuming I had a child in tow, not just socks. But I prefer to believe I was being flirted with. And no, I don't care that he was 83 and had no teeth.  

The socks and bus piece of the story, while painfully amusing, is not important in and of itself. It’s what happened next that I will always remember for the next few weeks: the mom at the stop who flagged down the driver gave me a congratulatory fist pump, and two women who were out for their morning walk shouted, “Go, Mom!” Frankly, it was the most support and encouragement I've felt in a very long time (sad, right?). It was also proof that moms, whether we know each other personally or not, know how to bond over life's everyday parenting moments. It's the little things that keep us going.

There's something to be said for receiving support and encouragement from the larger communities of which we are a part. I believe we'd all have a bit more spring in our step, the increased possibility of a smile on our faces and a greater sense of well-being. Here are just a few scenarios in which we could offer each other a quick pick-me-up:

• You're using self-checkout at the grocery store and not once does the machine instruct you to "Wait for Assistance." Fellow self-checkout shoppers would offer you a pat on the back and a "Way to go!"
• At the gym, you make it around the track once without stopping to catch your breath. The speedy person who passed you twice puts you up on his/her shoulders for a victory lap.
• You've been waiting an unacceptably long time for a table at your favorite restaurant. When you're finally called, fellow waiting patrons sigh, but applaud your tenacity and good fortune.
• At the Vietnamese-run nail salon (I've blogged about them before), you successfully deflect recommendations that you have your entire face waxed. Women in earshot give you a thumbs up and then gently suggest you reconsider your upper lip.

Research has shown the advantages of gathering in support groups - hence AA, Weight Watchers, GriefShare. All I'm suggesting is that we extend the love into our everyday lives. The results for society as a whole could be tremendous. 

Now get out there and make someone's day!

So This Police Officer Walks Up to My Minivan...

It was 3:41 p.m. on a particularly chilly Sunday in November. I was en route to Abby's second soccer game of the afternoon having just said goodbye to my parents who were returning home after a week without power. I was happy that life could return to normal for them, though part of me wished they could stay so I wouldn't be alone with my anxiety. Rob's work trip to Las Vegas came at an inopportune time. I really needed him here to help me mentally and emotionally prepare for the big day that loomed ahead. My first day at the new job.

Perhaps it was this anxiety that caused my error in judgement. More likely it was the result of 20+ years of careless driving. I failed to come to a complete stop at a stop sign on my way to the game.

I saw the cop after I passed through it. I had slowed down significantly. I could see there was no one coming from the other direction. Still, something told me he was watching for someone like me. Within moments he was behind me on Avondale Road with its infuriating 25 mile speed limit. I could barely go that slowly. I was holding pretty steady at 30 and he was keeping up so I figured he was okay with my speed. Turns out he was keeping up so he could more clearly read my license plate and pull me over. Which he did.

It had been a decade or more since I was last pulled over by the flashing lights. The ill feeling was nevertheless familiar. Made slightly worse by the realization that I hadn't brought my purse. Or my driver's license. The officer sat there behind me for what felt like hours and when he finally ambled up to the car he took the time to look into my two rows of back seats. Thank goodness I wasn't carrying my machine gun or my stash of narcotics on this particular Sunday. As he approached the window I fumbled in finding my unexpired registration card and lamely explained my missing license. He finally told me the reason for our little get-together: Neighbors on Martroy Lane had been complaining about drivers inadequately stopping at their corner. I should have mentioned how neighbors on my circle have been complaining about the drug dealer residing on our street.

The officer returned to his car and I sat there in the minivan of shame, certain everyone who passed knew it was me, the one with the "I Believe" window sticker. I started to cry, albeit too late in the process to do any good. He remained in his car for another seemingly hour-long stint before returning to very graciously present me with my traffic citation. He thoughtfully pointed out that I could pay the fine within 10 days or plead not guilty and go to court. Surely my word would trump his with the judge. And could you just see me telling my new employer I needed the afternoon off to deal with a small legal matter? On the citation he did indicate green as my car color instead of the correct silver, perhaps I had something to work with there? 

 

He left with me with a congenial "Have a nice day, Ma'am." I'm not sure which pissed me off more, the "Have a nice day" crap, or being referred to as "Ma'am." Clearly my youthful appearance escaped his notice. Maybe driving a mini-van automatically makes you a ma'am. 

The very best part of this experience, besides gathering delightful blog material, was the "bill" itself. I really appreciated how they break it out for you:

FINE: 25.00 (Not bad. Breath a sigh of relief)
E.M.S.: 10.00 (Well, let's just consider it a donation to our emergency personnel)
MCARE: 30.00 (WTF is the "Medical Care Availability and Reduction of Error Fund?")
COSTS:  36.00 (The above aren't "costs?" They're certainly costing me. I may have to protest. What other service provider gets away with a vague "costs" line on their invoice?)
J.C.P./A.T.J.: 10.00 (Judicial Computer Project/Access to Justice. Whatever.)

TOTAL DUE: 111.00

Glad I've been saving money by buying my new work clothes on eBay.

While it absolutely sucks getting a $111 ticket, I had it coming. Nearly a decade ago, while together on a business trip, my friend and former coworker Gale recommended I consider coming to a complete stop at stop signs. It took this long for my failure to heed her good advice to catch up with me.

Driving home from Abby's game afterward, I came to a complete stop at each sign. It was a different feeling, but one I'll try to get used to. Or perhaps I'll just avoid Martroy Lane and Avondale...