You know what annoys me?

Preschool pick ups that end up taking more than an hour.

My daughter’s preschool is five minutes from my house. Five minutes. But last night went like this -- I show up at school a little after five p.m. and my daughter spots me, all smiles, runs over for her usual hug.

And then the games begin.

She doesn’t want to put on her jacket even though it’s cold and rainy outside, and since I have decided that it is irresponsible to let her get her way all the time, we embark on a round of strenuous negotiations until she agrees to put it on.

The Writers Guild of America has nothing on her.

In return, I have been charged with finding the bead bracelet that she made in school last week and is now obsessed with, which is about two inches long and could be anywhere. Thankfully, it turns up after a relatively brief search -- after looking in her cubby and poking through the many boxes and shelves and buckets in the Ladybug room, she has remembered that it is actually in her coat pocket.

I grab all the artwork that needs to go home, her lunchbox, the bracelet, and pull out the school notices that have been folded into threes and placed in my “parent pocket.” We head out to the parking lot with our gear, and I have to wait to open the gate until she agrees to hold my hand, since that’s the rule.

More negotiations ensue. Once that’s settled, I open the car and she immediately hops into the front seat, announcing that she’s going to drive. Further negotiations reach an impasse. I pry her from the steering wheel, wrestle her into her car seat and breathe.

Ok. . . we are on our way home. We pull up in front of our house, I hop out, open the back door and see that she has stripped off her shoes and socks and thrown them on the floor. No matter, I will just carry her. I grab her lunchbox, the artwork, and… something is definitely missing. What is missing? My purse.

“Aw, shit.” I mutter, hoping immediately that she did not hear that, though I am sure she will now be sharing that sentiment with her classmates at school tomorrow.

We pull into the preschool parking lot, put on shoes and socks, return to the Ladybug room and find my purse on the floor. (What is it about motherhood that seems to trigger a kind of early dementia?) Arriving back at our house a little after six, I carry my barefoot daughter inside. (Her shoes and socks, ripped off in the car for the second time this evening will have to wait until tomorrow.)

Whew!

Ah, and we get to do it all over again in the morning. . .

By Shannon Matus-Takaoka

Labels: Shannon Matus-Takaoka

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