Goodbye, Friday

Today could have been better. It started out with potential. Julie was going to meet us at the Museum of Civilization and sign us in (she works there when not on maternity leave) so Emily and Hope could wreak havoc in the Children's Museum. Julie was running behind but called to say she'd left her name and that would be enough to get us in if she wasn't there. We went out to get in the car and as I was buckling Hope into her seat I felt something was missing in the garage. I looked up to see an empty bike hook in the ceiling. John's bike was gone.

Shit.

So, off we go, me feeling so crappy that I have to break this to him and hoping our deductible is less than the usual $500. We got to the museum to find out the parking garage was full. The people denying us entry sent me across the street to the hotel that had parking. I parked the car there, noticed the hideous rates, and then started walking, Hope in my arms, backpack on, clutching Emily's mittenless hands down the street and back to the museum. I didn't have a stroller. None of us had mitts on and I didn't have a hat. The day was not improving.

We went in without a hitch but what the heck were so many people doing there on a Friday? Ottawa doesn't have this many homeschoolers, does it?

Yeah, turns out today is a P.D. day and being that I don't have any kids in the school system yet, I'm not tuned into these things. I vowed last time this happened to me to never go to CMC on a P.D. day.

Again, shit.

So, I chased Emily and Hope through the Children's Museum, heart-pounding whenever we were separated. I saw other parents with the same panic-stricken looks on their faces calling out their child's names, stress lines etched into their faces. There's got to be a better way to do this. Or, we all need to calm down. It would be easier if none of us ever saw an episode of America's Most Wanted.

After a lunch of cold french fries in the cafeteria with Julie (she found us amazingly amongst the other families), we headed back to the car. I paid the parking ($12!) at one of those pay machines which promptly told me I had fifteen minutes to leave the parking lot and went down to the car, loaded the kids in, drove to the exit where I was supposed to stick in my ticket that I was SUPPOSED to have retrieved from the machine when I paid.

Shit, shit, shit!

I threw the car into reverse and somehow navigated the 1960s car park with Austin Mini-sized corridors back to a parking spot. At this point, I may have been testy with Emily's one thousand questions about what we were doing. I may have.

I unbuckled both kids, picked up Hope, grabbed Emily's hand and ran, yes, ran, back to the machine. Remember, I had 15 minutes to be out of the parking lot. I got the ticket (thank my lucky stars it was still there), ran again back to the car, buckled both kids in (I really wish I was a mother in the 1970s today, when I could have thrown them in the back seat and made that El Camino sing!) and drove like the Dickens to the exit where miraculously I made it out before my 15 minutes was up.

We drove home. Hope went to bed and I sat down, called my insurance company and the Police to report John's bike stolen. I called John and told him. He was extremely relaxed about the whole thing which is a lot more than I can say about the way I was feeling right about then.

And, our deductible is $500. So, we're getting a cheque for $580. John had a nice bike.

The sun will come out tomorrow.