I guess we just never know what our days will bring. But, there are some things I can always expect, one being my daughter’s allergic reaction to mornings. She acts allergic to opening her eyes and I tend to react, thus resulting in a frequent allergic reaction occurring around 6:45 a.m. every weekday morning. Therefore, I often dread getting out of bed myself, knowing what lies ahead. Honestly, there are mornings when I feel like I’ve put in nearly a full day before we’ve ever left the house.
In the waking process it’s not unusual for me to have read a couple of chapters out loud, blabbered on about the exciting events ahead in the day, created my best family dog story and told it in my perfected canine voice (something like the talking dogs in Up), and allowed our dog to jump on her and lick the night’s drool from her face. My creativity is often stretched, looking for new, effective ways to wake the sleeping zombie.
After my series of antics maybe, just maybe, Payton will open her eyes and say a few words. That’s just the beginning. But eventually, after an exhaustive process she’s dressed and headed out the door, always a little late.
Wednesday of last week happened to be a pretty good day. For some reason she popped up fairly quickly, didn’t have a clothing breakdown or a shoe crisis. No tears were shed. No lives were taken. We were off to a good start…until we drove up to the entrance to the morning daycare. You know it’s not going to be good when you see crime tape. Cops and crime tape. Damn it; it was going so well.
I first have to say that my daughter goes to a wonderful daycare before and after school. It’s the same one she went to before she was in school and I consider it a model for how daycares should be run.
The only teeny weeny little drawback of the daycare is that the very short street that leads to it contains a questionable business on the right – Fast Time Eddie’s Sports Bar. It’s on the back side in the sub-basement of what was once a casino, until it recently closed. It’s the kind of place that appears to fill up quick right after 5 p.m. and not the kind of place you’d want to meet your husband or best friend for a beer.
That was confirmed for me early Wednesday morning when apparently a little fight turned into a bigger fight, leaving one stabbed to death and one other in critical condition. It, of course, didn’t occur inside the bar, it occurred in the middle of the little road leading to the daycare.
All of us dropping off kids were forced to snake through the bowling alley parking lot which was the next left. Taking a circuitous route through the lot led to a little back road that allowed us to trek down the hill to the daycare.
In hindsight the inconvenience was minimal, because the fact is it’s not the kind of thing you want to drive by and have your kid ask, “Mommy why is there blood all over the road?”
From here, the conversation would go something like this:
Me: “Oh honey, there was another stabbing at the bar last night and this time it didn’t turn out so good.”
Miss P: “You know, David and I have fights at school sometimes but we use our words to resolve it. That’s what Mrs. Crimson taught us. Maybe she could help the people at Fast Eddie’s stop their people from fighting.”
New rule at the bar people: words only. Kids are at play up the street and it’s time you all put your big boy pants on, because next time we see crime tape we’re bringing in Mrs. Crimson.
