Spirit of Giving, Continued

My life would be considerably easier if I were more organized. I try so hard to organize in advance and keep it together, but there always seems to be a fatal flaw. Yesterday morning was a case on point. Our co-op toddler school adopted a family for Christmas and I signed up to purchase, wrap and deliver to school before this Friday a gift for a pre-teen girl. I then promptly forgot all about it until Tuesday morning when the facilitator reminded me. Wednesday night, I went out after bedtime (the only time I can ever shop by myself, which means the only time I can shop because frankly even if the cupboards were bare and there were no chicken nuggets (gasp!), I would let my kids eat chocolate for dinner before I would try to go shopping with all three in tow).

I purchased and wrapped and laid awake for a good 45 minutes pondering delivery. There is a school session on Thursday afternoons, but we don't attend because it is during NAP TIME. NAP TIME is inviolate in my home. Nuclear holocaust, alien invasion, hundred dollar bills falling from the sky, you name it, if it happened between noon and two, we would miss it. I get annoyed when my husband calls me during NAP TIME. It is other wise know as MY TIME and I sit on the couch and watch a soap opera and eat junk. And yes, I am aware that my organization could be immeasurably improved by a more constructive use of NAP TIME, but my mental health would suffer.

So, about 9:30 a.m., I hauled out the triple, bundled up the troops, initiated the loading process and around 10:00 we set off in the direction of the church where the co-op school rents space. I felt together. I had the wrapped presents, all three children dressed appropriately for the weather, my wallet, my cell phone AND the phone numbers of the teacher and a friend who attends the younger class on Thursday mornings. My plan was to walk there, call up and have someone come down and grab the packages, and walk home. Simple. Did I mention that the triple is h-e-a-v-y?? Particularly when you are slogging over frozen snow in the middle of the street. Why walk in the middle of the street? To avoid the curb problem mentioned in a previous post. Why are there still four inches of snow on the street four days after our last snowfall? Unclear, since we live in the frozen North and this city is neither unaware of nor unprepared for the amount of snowfall we get each year. I guess at heart I am still a Virginian and hold dear the notion that snow in any amount should shut down all society functions until it either melts (hopefully quickly) or is pushed out of the way by the government. Not here in the arctic where, outrageously, they consider the elements a mere inconvenience and a chance to brag about one's snow tires.

The slogging took considerably more time than I anticipated and we arrived at the church winded and sweaty (me), whiny (toddlers) and sleeping (baby). My delightful children immediately kicked the whining and crying into high gear with demands to see teacher Brenda, an event that I had been extravagantly promising for 30 minutes. I pulled out my cell phone with a flourish. Enter fatal flaw. Uncharged cell phone refused to operate. Thwarted by the cell phone, I pondered and sweated. Options were slim. Sit and wait 30 minutes for dismissal of class in freezing cold with whiny toddlers. No. Unload everyone and make our way upstairs to the classroom to drop off the presents, unleashing tantrums of epic proportions when we must leave again without bouncing, painting, or singing the parachute songs. NO. Leave without delivering the presents. NO! NO! NO! Options exhausted. Okay, one other option, but it pains me to admit that I took it. Run (like the wind) up the stairs with the presents while leaving my three infant children parked in a gigantic stroller outside a church door by themselves. Like foundlings for someone to take (although, not speedily, given all the unloading required, nor stealthily, given the size of their ride) or like an idiot for someone to call social services on.

These were my thoughts as I snatched the presents and dashed away, mentally berating myself for my supremely poor decision-making skills. And, this was how, rather than standing, cute and together at the door, handing off my perfectly wrapped presents to the teacher with my adorable toddlers chirping about their walk, I ended up sprinting, sweaty and red-faced into the class room where I thrust the presents at my shocked friend and high-tailed it back down the stairs to find my children exactly where I left them (praise a HP), except beside themselves with fury at my failure to produce teacher Glinda as promised. I had a depressing reverse slog home trying to ignore the repetitive sobbing of 'teacher Glinda, want see teacher Glinda.' Sigh.

When we reached our street, I decided to let them walk in front of the stroller because it makes them happy in a way that only two year olds can be happy. They skipped, dashed and shrieked while their forgotten tears froze to their painfully chapped little cheeks. They kicked snow, spun in circles and giggled at each other. I had a mommy moment while I herded them forward with the front of the stroller because it is so much fun to share their delight in just walking and they are so darn cute in their snow coats and their huge mittens that look like lobster claws stuck on the end of their arms with their hoods bouncing on their backs and their hats pulled down over their ears. I took a second to notice that Ess's pink sweat shirt hood hung over her blue coat and the bottom of it stuck out below the coat and exactly matched her pink snow boots. She looked like a little GapBaby add. For fifteen minutes, all the way to our gate, I remembered that it doesn't matter to them how organized I am.

Then, I had to get them up the steps and out of their snow clothes. Good feeling gone. (But it always comes back.)