A First for Everything
It's been a week of firsts... the first day of Kindergarten for my son, giving up the morning coffee runs, stepping outside my comfort zone, and for 20 minutes I had no idea where my son was (and I was over 40 miles away). That last one, nearly threw me over the edge of insanity.
Let me set the scene. It's the second day of school. The first day where I would be working IN the office and my son was to attend the after school program. Sounds simple enough doesn't it? It's 1:50pm and it's an early dismissal. All of which, I had sorta forgotten once I jumped in my car to drive all hog-wild to the office so I wouldn't miss a meeting.
I'm discussing the future of my department with my boss, concentrating on making the best impression, and expressing thoughts on how we need to position this new deliverable we are creating (can I sound any more Corporate? Sheesh, you might as well start Buzz Word Bingo right now).
My phone vibrates.
Mid-sentence I grab it and glance at the caller ID. It's a number I don't recognize. But it is the area code from the Kiddo's school. Panic runs through me and I answer--mid sentence.
"Mrs. Hiitola?"
"Yes." Four pairs of eyes are watching me now.
"Your son is supposed to be in the after school program right?"
"Yes." Breathing turning shallow. I jump up from my chair and rush out the door to the hallway.
"He's not here."
"Where is he?"
Silence.
"His teacher didn't bring him to the room?" My blood pressure sky rockets and I try to maintain some sanity to my rising voice. "Where is he?"
Thankfully this young woman (and she is all of 20 years old if that) had enough sense to say something sensible. "I'll check the office and have them put a call out. Let me call you back."
Before I could think of 50 places my son could be she hangs up. And I am in a stupor outside a clear glass conference room. One where all the attendees are watching for my return. I was Terrible Thought 20 (Someone else picked him up. A creepy someone else. Or he walked home and was standing on the steps. Alone. With no where to go. And then someone approached him...)
With nothing else to do while I waited, I went back into the conference room, took a deep breath and continued talking. And worrying. And sweating (there were rings of sweat I swear). And staring at my phone. Until, she called back.
My son was in the office. He'd asked a teacher where to go. And well... long story short, he did the right thing. And he was safe. And there.
It was one of my worst nightmares. In short, it was multiple errors. Second day of school, I was in the office, different than the first day of school madness, son was confused about what/where the "after school program" was, and the teacher didn't remember to bring him where he needed to be.... and hell, blame could be placed everywhere. But in the end, all that mattered was my son.
Not the stupid meeting I was attending. Not my job. Not the conversation I was having. And not the fact that I just interrupted a meeting four times so I could then TALK to my son to make sure he wasn't terrified of school. Or the after-school program. All that mattered was he was safe. And when I high-tailed my ass to go get him, all that mattered then, was his hug.
Let me set the scene. It's the second day of school. The first day where I would be working IN the office and my son was to attend the after school program. Sounds simple enough doesn't it? It's 1:50pm and it's an early dismissal. All of which, I had sorta forgotten once I jumped in my car to drive all hog-wild to the office so I wouldn't miss a meeting.
I'm discussing the future of my department with my boss, concentrating on making the best impression, and expressing thoughts on how we need to position this new deliverable we are creating (can I sound any more Corporate? Sheesh, you might as well start Buzz Word Bingo right now).
My phone vibrates.
Mid-sentence I grab it and glance at the caller ID. It's a number I don't recognize. But it is the area code from the Kiddo's school. Panic runs through me and I answer--mid sentence.
"Mrs. Hiitola?"
"Yes." Four pairs of eyes are watching me now.
"Your son is supposed to be in the after school program right?"
"Yes." Breathing turning shallow. I jump up from my chair and rush out the door to the hallway.
"He's not here."
"Where is he?"
Silence.
"His teacher didn't bring him to the room?" My blood pressure sky rockets and I try to maintain some sanity to my rising voice. "Where is he?"
Thankfully this young woman (and she is all of 20 years old if that) had enough sense to say something sensible. "I'll check the office and have them put a call out. Let me call you back."
Before I could think of 50 places my son could be she hangs up. And I am in a stupor outside a clear glass conference room. One where all the attendees are watching for my return. I was Terrible Thought 20 (Someone else picked him up. A creepy someone else. Or he walked home and was standing on the steps. Alone. With no where to go. And then someone approached him...)
With nothing else to do while I waited, I went back into the conference room, took a deep breath and continued talking. And worrying. And sweating (there were rings of sweat I swear). And staring at my phone. Until, she called back.
My son was in the office. He'd asked a teacher where to go. And well... long story short, he did the right thing. And he was safe. And there.
It was one of my worst nightmares. In short, it was multiple errors. Second day of school, I was in the office, different than the first day of school madness, son was confused about what/where the "after school program" was, and the teacher didn't remember to bring him where he needed to be.... and hell, blame could be placed everywhere. But in the end, all that mattered was my son.
Not the stupid meeting I was attending. Not my job. Not the conversation I was having. And not the fact that I just interrupted a meeting four times so I could then TALK to my son to make sure he wasn't terrified of school. Or the after-school program. All that mattered was he was safe. And when I high-tailed my ass to go get him, all that mattered then, was his hug.
