No, actually, they do. I know. However, I really mean this is the most of sarcastic tones. With a side of woe is me, thrown in for good measure. Per my last post, I owned up to the fact that any seismic activity in the greater Chicagoland area was due to me getting my rather copious backside out on the tennis court for the first time in FOREVER. I was feeling so grand about that and loving that heady rush from the fact that I did not die while exercising that I got all brash and sassy and scheduled round two of tennis for Tuesday. Yeah, tomorrow. And, I blogged about not canceling said appointment with TH. whelp...I canceled.
BUT BEFORE YOU YELL AT ME...there is a story behind this cancellation...I swear. And, any seismic activity in the greater Chicagoland area on Friday afternoon can also be attributed to me.
Friday was one of those days where you look back and go "dumbass" to yourself. If only I had slowed down then, I'd be better off today. Those that know me well no that I am not known for my patience, my gentle manner, my gracefulness, or a general good mood. Honestly, Friday was moving along rather swimmingly. Yeah, I was sore and tired, but only one of those things is unusual. The soreness. But, it was a good soreness. I like to tell myself this in hopes that one day I really will embrace that thought process. Alas, I digress. Anyway...swimmingly. Until I went to the post office.
The post office in Chicago is a real treat. Real treat. I don't know that I could ever, effectively explain a Chicago post office. It is really something you can't comprehend until you experience it. For instance, after several Netflix DVDs going missing when I returned them, I called Netflix fearful they would ban me. They asked my zip code and I gave it. The customer service rep starts laughing and promptly tells me that my zip code is on their top ten list of worst zip codes. However after visits to many different post offices, I had felt fairly confident that I had found one of the less sucky of Chicago post offices, and NOT my local one. What a triumph that day was for me!Friday, though, the nonsucky post office was sucking. Usually dead around 2ish in the afternoon, it was not that day. I HAD to mail something for the Husband and there was no getting out of it. I also HAD to pick up the oldest of the rugrats at 3pm. An hour. To go to the post office just 2-3 minutes from the school. No problem. Right? Not when 3 people are getting passports and every shipping challenged person in the city showed to ship 327 different random little packages with nothing filled out. GAH. I couldn't even really bitch because two of the people getting passports were children of a friend. Damn.
We escaped, mail properly posted, with about 10 minutes to get to the school. Parking was INSANE. Normally, that would be plenty of time to find parking, though not prime spaces. Friday, no go! I circle the block. I get the green light and kindergarten dad comes moseying across the street, in front of me. Me with the green light and he gives me the flippant hand wave, oh you can wait gesture. It was all I had not to run him over. *grr* Finally get back to our side of the school to pick up and park illegally in someone else's parking pad (along with several others from school) and sprint over to get the oldest. We get back in the car and after what seemed like an eternity to get out of this nonprime parking spot...huge telephone pole, narrow spot, narrow alley, big car...I get half a block away and Oldest announces, oh, I forgot my lunch box again. And, it has food in it. ICK.Circle the school AGAIN. I swear I am NOT a Catholic School vulture. Cut through alley in hopes of being able to slide out of alley and backup just a smidge to park in front of school and sprint in before they shut the doors for the day. I do NOT want a festering lunchbox. Other mom cuts off my plan by parking right at alley edge. I contemplate backing down the one way. Though, given my current run of luck, I figured this would be the one time CPD heads down that street, catches me, and then bludgeons me, nearly to death, in front of my children. Or, maybe just give me a ticket. You never quite know with them. Either way, it's not a happy ending for me.
I find a parking spot and time is quickly running out to get back to the school to retrieve the lunchbox. Youngest has a smoothie without lid that Oldest bought him in a rare nice move towards her brother! Imagine the following series of events in rapid fire succession. Literally, seconds.
Try to get kids out of car quickly.
I grab smoothie as it is precious cargo.
Get them out.
Close car door.
Try not to bitch about someone being irresponsible and leaving their possessions scattered about Chicago.
Start sprint back to schoolyard.
Trip, fumble, roll off of curb,no more than 2" tall.
Right ankle caves, makes popping noise.
I go down, full out collapse.
Scream out in pain.
Try not to vomit.
Try not to cry.
Try not to let loose the litany of vulgarities surging through my head.
Limped to schoolyard.
Got a friend to retrieve the lunchbox.
The most important thing...not one single drop of spilled smoothie. As several friends pointed out, it is good to know that I did learn something in college. How not to spill my drink when falling down. HAIL PURDUE!So, this time around, a sprained ankle shoots down my plans.