freaky last Friday, I was about to call the S.W.A.T. team regarding my kidnapped occupied daughter. I’m not what you’d call a helicopter mom by any means. Look, I have four active kids and that’s a bit too much recognizance for me to keep up with even if I wanted to. At best, I can tell you if any one of them hasn’t brushed their teeth in the morning by feeling the heads of their toothbrushes (which one belongs to whom sometimes is a snafu). But I digress. Friday was a day of foibles:
(1) Verbal affirmation from my district coordinator (the one with the sugary sweet voice) for subs failed. (me on the phone): “I’m no good at geometry, so as long as it’s NOT geometry, I’ll cover that high school class. ” A ‘ha, ha, ha,’ and lo and behold–behind room number 28? You guessed it, geometry students! Mental note: Unreliable intel from the district office.
(2) Halfway through first period, a woman on the PA system said something like, “blah, blah, blah, THIS IS A LOCKDOWN, blah, blah, blah, LOCK YOUR DOORS, blah, blah.” Is this for real? I fidget and fumble trying to lock the door in what seemed to take an eternity. I think of my own children; hoping they’re safe. The damn handle was ‘loosey-goosey’ from the outside whether it was locked or not. I prayed it was ‘righty-tighty’ and stood in front of the door while the rest of the class went on like it business as usual. I plotted grabbing the fire extinguisher and bashing the shooter’s head in if need be. Twenty minutes later, the lockdown is lifted. No shooter or “bad guy” is ever spotted (thank goodness).
The day is not a complete disaster. I get to teach some magic tricks and learn how to add up exterior angles and solve for x. Still, my psyche probably has a fissure that is beginning to split by the time I lie myself down on the bed after school.
I text my eldest to get the 411 on her whereabouts which I know to be somewhere in the sprawling park of Disneyland with her drama class.
4:48 pm: “How’s it going today?” No answer. This is a cat and mouse game. I’m on alert. She normally texts me back in like 20 seconds.
5:19 pm: (elapsed time 31 minutes) “Hey, did u get my text?” Still no answer. I’m exhausted but officially freaking out after witnessing all the other things that weren’t supposed to happen today happen.
5:20 pm she texts: “Sorry, I was in a workshop and my fone was turned off.” Finally.
I shoot back: “Thank goodness. I was kinda freakin. Sorry. Have a good dinner/nite.”
5:20 pm: “Sorry, I was in a workshop and couldn’t talk.” What the heck? Why would she text me twice? Highly suspicious. Two texts almost identical but slightly changed. I go into panic mode. Someone stole her phone and is replying to me or she was kidnapped and is unable to say so.
I text back twice at 5:22 pm (calling didn’t occur to me): “Wait. Who is this?” and “Why did you send msg twice?”
“I meant to send one to dad and hit wrong button.”
I formulate an authentication question; one which only she could answer. I was tired of people telling me things I couldn’t trust.
5:23 pm: “What was our white dog’s name?”
“Mom! It’s me. You’re crazy.”
(that’s beside the point) “Still answer the ?”
She does and I text, “Ok. Bye. Luv ya”
When a visual on my gallivanting daughter was confirmed as she stepped off the bus, we all celebrated (well, my family chided) the return of my “kidnapped daughter.” Lord, we all need strength and peace when facing internal and external battles in life. I’m sure I’ll need you when I sub this Wednesday in the science lab (good Lord).