I wonder sometimes, what my purpose is in this life. And then my phone rings. It's my dad. He needs me to pick up the kids at school, in 10 minutes, meanwhile, I am across town, 20 minutes away. I race to the car, dog in-tow, and hear my phone ring again as I put the keys in the ignition. It's my sister, she would like to know if I can go to the post office for her, before it closes, in an hour and a half. "Sure," I say, speeding out of my parking spot.
I almost hit a cyclist as I try to make it on time for school pick up. Luckily, I have the slowest siblings in the known universe, so I know that despite my being ten minutes late, they will still be changing into their 'outdoor' shoes, and packing a pile of wasteful paper notices into their backpacks.
Trying to get the kids into the car, while not letting the dog out of the car, can be a challenge. Someone ends up getting scratched in the face, and they cry the whole way home. Oh well, at least they get home. Say a quick hello to Mom and Dad, grab a banana, and out the door.
Off to sissy's house to ship whatever she needs taken to the post office this time.
As I pull in the driveway, I see a lady with two kids hanging off of her standing in the doorway. Wonderful. Customers. I put on my smile, and try to squeeze through the tiny entrance to help settle the screaming child inside the house. It's my niece, and she wants 'Maya.' Maya is my dog, and I can't remember whether I left her in the car, or at my parent's house. Whatever, she's got a tag on her collar. That doesn't help settle my niece, but I know the secret weapon. I run upstairs to find the hidden box of baby bribes- Cheerios. The regular old, not organic, too much packaging, sugary Cheerios. Works every time. I read baby a story, noting that the time is ticking by until the post office closes.
"What took you so long??" Sissy asks as she comes up the stairs 15 minutes later. I shake my head, and mention that I don't see the package anywhere. She motions to a pile of cloth diapers on the kitchen counter.
"Do you have a box?" I ask, knowing the answer already.
"There was one- somewhere, do you see it?" exactly what I expected. I begin looking for a box, when I hear it again...."Maya Maya Maya" and I am reminded that I am not exactly sure of the whereabouts of my dog. There's the box, under the laundry pile on the couch! I give her credit, it is just the right size. I pick off the dried-on banana that is attached to it, shove the diapers in, and begin the quest for the packing tape. Fifteen minutes till post office close. I ask where the packing tape is, and whether she has printed the label. No, and no. I log into the Canada Post website, and ask her to put the right address in. She doesn't answer. I turn around, and she is gone. Knowing that getting her to help me is a lost coause, and knowing that it will be my fault if I don't get to the post office before it closes, I log into her email, print the label, and grab enough cash to send it. I'll buy packing tape at the post office.
I yell salutations as I close the door behind myself. Phones ringing. Please God, let it not be someone calling to say they found my dog. It's not, Its work. Real work. wanting to know if I can come in tomorrow. I already told Dad I would take my sister to her therapy appointment. Ugh. I hate passing up paid work for unpaid work.
I run, to the post office, toting my big brown package, thinking that I will get there faster without driving through rush hour traffic. I manage to avoid being hit by the motorcyclist making the illegal turn around the barracade. And as I open the post office door, I almost crash into an eldery man, standing at the the back of the line-up, that is about 15 people long. Lovely.
5:05pm, and I am being served by the lady at the counter. She tells me I need to get a new ink cartridge for my printer, as they won't accept it if the type gets any lighter. I apologize for the printer, not mine as it is, and promise a new cartridge before we ship again. She gives me a speech about how she doesn't even have to take it as is, and I smile, and apologize, and smile, and apologize, until finally she picks it up and turns to put it in the back room. I turn around, and begin my peaceful walk back to my sissys house.
Phone rings. Mom this time. Am I coming over for dinner?
"I don't know, is my dog there?"
"I don't think so...oh wait....no...I don't think so."
Wonderful. I walk around the corner, and there, in my car, is my dog. Thank goodness it's fall, and she's not overheating. No, she's chewing on my seats. Lovely.
I get in the car, only to the phone ringing again. I wonder if I should even bother looking at it. I do. It's work again. They want to know if I can come in tonight, now. Sure, I say.
I drive across town, again, to drop the dog off at home, and back across town to work. "Low Fuel" light illuminates on my dash. Lovely!
I pull in the driveway at the house I am to work at tonight, as the parents walk out the front door.
"He's all ready for Bed!" they say, as if to hint that tonight their Autism-affected son might just go to be without a fight. Ha. Yeah right.
I am greeted with a smile, and a big hug, and the inevitable question, "Can we go to the park?"
It is challenging to explain to a 4 year old, that already having your pyjamas on is a good enough reason not to go to he park. He is not impressed. "Go Outside?" He pleads.
I agree to take him out on the deck to look at the stars. We get out there, only to see that the cloud cover is blocking our view. I explain to him that the stars are not visible, and he argues that they are simply, "not out yet," and wants to wait for them to come out.
We are still out on the deck discussing whether the stars are or are not out yet, when my phone rings. Dad again. Wants to make sure I'm "still on" for tomorrow mornings appointment. I tell him that as long as I survive this evening, I'll be there.
I try to coherse the 4 year old that it is in fact bedtime, despite the stars not being out yet. He does not believe me about the bedtime bit, but seems relieved that I admit the stars aren't out yet.
I have him settled in bed, when the phone rings again. It's one of my other family's, from work. Their teenage foster son has run away from home again, and they fear that he is downtown trying to get drugs or alcohol. They ask if I will go look for him. I explain my situation, I am already working, and they ask if I mind to put the 4 year old in the car, and go look for him. I actually have to explain how inapropriate that is, and what an unrealistic expectation that is to have for me. They apologize, crying, saying "We just don't know what else to do!!"
That is the story of my life.
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