Wednesday.
Hump day.
The New York City of days-of-the-week; if you can make it here, you
can make it anywhere.
The restfulness of the previous weekend is 72 hours past; the breathing room of
the one on its way is 72 hours in the future.
In the Bodanis household, Wednesday is also a V.A.D.: "Vortex of Activity
Day." School, homework, supper for my daughter at 4:30pm - she has Sparks at 5:15; supper for my son one hour later - he has Beavers at 6:30.
It's an after-school routine which is hectic, but not uncommon among families
with young kids.
But, it became a little more pleasant for me this past week as I discovered a dirty
little secret.
Normally, my wife runs out with my daughter at 5:10; I stay back
with my son. This week my wife spent the evening at the office. I drove the
girl to Sparks, Gramma stayed behind with the boy.
As I left my daughter- wearing her little pink Sparks T-Shirt ("I Promise
to Share and Be a Friend") - to swarm the gymnasium with her hive of
5-year-old friends, I walked back to the parking lot wondering whether to
return home for the hour until pick-up, or sit at a bus-stop bench somewhere and
enjoy solitude while staring at public transportation.
Across the Sparks parking lot was a woman shielded behind her driver-side door waving frantically at me.
She was one of the Sparks moms.
Her daughter, mine, and three or four other girls had attended pre-school
together and had followed each other on the exodus to the Girl Guide
programme.
I waved back at her.
She again motioned frantically while mouthing something I couldn't quite
understand.
I jogged over.
"Where's your wife?" she inquired with a hint of disappointment.
"She's at work." I answered with a hint of indignity.
"Are you coming to Bob's?" she continued in a whisper.
"Where??"
"Bob's!" she repeated nervously. "We all go to Bob's for a beer
before coming back to pick up the girls."
I peeked in the car: another mother waved at me from the passenger seat;
room had been made among the toys in back seat for a third parent still inside
caught up in the drop-off routine.
"Who's Bob'?" I wondered out loud.
"It's the pub down the road."
"Ummm.....sure. OK, I'm in."
"OK." She continued: "There's still one of us caught up inside.
As soon as she comes out, we're gone."
Remember when Ernie used to buy letters from that shady guy Leftie behind the Sesame Street wall? This whole interaction had that kind of weird Muppet secrecy to it.
Several minutes passed before the third mom strode out of the Sparks hall.
Precious minutes had been lost.
Before she had even closed the car's back door, the moms-for-beer getaway vehicle was
in motion.
Bob's was fifty feet down the road. We none the less manage to gain enough
speed that we screeched into the parking lot: 52 minutes until pickup.
"What are the chances he can bring us the bill at the same time he takes
our order?" someone suggested.”It'll give us a couple of more minutes on
the back end."
There we were. Three Moms and me, nearly the only patrons at Bob's at 5:27 on
a Wednesday - desperately flagging down a waiter.
Two Carlsbergs, a Heineken, and a Smithwicks had never been ordered so quickly.
"Kenny, welcome to the Group."
Alluring Glow by Brendan Adkins
The Group had a wonderful clubhouse feel too it; parents with 54 minutes (and one pint) to themselves before they were forced to return to duties which were the inevitable result of procreation.
While the 5-year-old Sparks - in their clubhouse a few dozen feet away - danced in circles, sang songs, and promised to Share and Be a Friend; their parents circled a small round table, clinked glasses, and built their own friendships (while not sharing a drop of their beer, by-the-way).
We each took turns venting our frustrations, and sharing parenting stories of victory and defeat in the face of our children. Stories were kicked around frenetically among us like soccer balls not being allowed to touch the grass.
Every 7 or 8 minutes, someone would ask after the time. "Eleven minutes!" one of us would yell. Five minutes later: "Six more minutes!"
At one point, two minutes were wasted discussing whether we could leave the pub AT 6:15 for a 6:15 pickup, seeing as how they were only a few dozen feet away.
The realization that the Sparks leaders were themselves moms inspired enough guilt in us we decided punctual pickup was the least we could do.
Alas, 6:10 was upon us.
Back in the cars; back to our daughters.
Like friends arriving home at the airport after a54 minute vacation, we wished
each other well.
"My wife will be back next week." I told them.
"In case she's not, Kenny, you're more than welcome to join the Bob's
club. You're an honorary mom."
With that, Wednesday was no longer Hump Day. The vortex of activity lost
some of its unforgiving gravitational pull.
Instead of scrambling to climb over the mountain that is Wednesday evening, I
gravitate towards it. Becoming one of the Moms was exactly what this Dad
needed; even if only for 54 glorious minutes.
