Saturday was not insane, just busy enough--events back to back--that I wasn't up for waiting any more than I had to for the Metro. I did download a trusty Metro app that a friend sent me upon reading my earlier post, and on Saturday I learned to consider human factors when using it.
On Saturday morning, a friend with a truck helped me haul a in-store-pick-up dining set from Home Depot. The dining set will remain in very heavy boxes until the bf (that's getting old, isn't it; let's call him... 'F.') returns from his Easter weekend to help me set it up, but in anticipation of it--it's a very nice set indeed--I decided to really clean up my back yard. But first I really had to clean up my front yard, which was bringing down the neighborhood. So my Saturday was up, paper, yoga, Home Depot, mow lawn and weed front yard, quick lunch, metro over to a play that would run nearly four hours, and if up for it, join some friends on the SW waterfront for cherry blossom festivities. Well, I wasn't up for it, even though the play was very good. I felt like going home. I whipped out my trusty metro app to figure out the next train time, was very excited that I would make it... except that there were a bunch of tourons blocking the entrance to the nearest stop. There would be no passage. Resigned to that train leaving without me, I decided to walk to a less crazy station and to enjoy the beautiful day for the next ten or so minutes between trains by texting/e-mailing outside. So a minute or two before the train would depart, I headed into the station and down the escalator--the one of the two whose left side wasn't being blocked by idiots. I was wearing heels, which clacked, and moving fast, because really, I didn't have much time to spare. But, close to the bottom, all of the sudden, a small child stepped right in front of my. I braked suddenly, nearly falling over. Her father or grandfather moved her out of the way, but said to me, "don't run her over."
Now, people, what's wrong with that?
I said, "I don't intend to, but it's hard when she steps right out in front of me."
He said, "like I said, don't run her over."
Had I had more time to spare, I would have leveraged that teachable moment and pointed out to the parents or grandparents that that would have been an excellent opportunity to teach the child the importance of watching where she's going. A very good skill that's not taught nearly enough. You can't just go stepping to the left on a busy subway system. Of course I'll do my best not to run her over, but why don't you do your best to prepare your child for the realities of coexisting with other traffic, foot and otherwise, rather than having words for someone who nearly fell over not trying to step on your kid?
I'm serious. Teach your f*ing children to watch where the f* they're going. It'll make for a safer childhood and even adulthood.
***
Sunday was insane, but not in an altogether bad way until the evening, when I went to a play that was neither terribly easy to get to, nor worth the trek. The advantage of an evening play, though I get so tired as it goes on, is that it gives me most of the day to get things done.
I started Sunday with my usual bike ride, but had little time for the usual post-ride chilling with the paper: the backyard beckoned. I took the pickaxe and started weeding. I weeded for hours, hacking at and pulling out big tufts of grass. I took a break to put some stuff in the oven--my rice, beans, sweet potatoes, tofu, and vegetables--for lunch for the week, and went back to weeding. I weeded until I started getting tired enough that I was hitting my ankles with the pickaxe.
I then vacuumed, took out the trash, took out the recycling, dealt with the food, threw my laundry in, hopped in the shower, and set out to Target for kitty litter with less than two hours to spare before I'd have to head out. Alas, Target was closed for Easter because apparently they have no Jews in their employ who'd be willing to work that day. Perhaps the day is so miraculous that cats don't need to poop on it.
Got back, saw a missed call from my parents, called back. My mother asked what I did that day, I said mostly yardwork. Then, for the second time in as many weeks, she lectured me relentlessly about how I just had to see the live telecast of La Traviata, who cares if I had other plans, cancel them. I told her I had to go, was running off to see a play. I then folded my laundry, had a quick dinner, and drove to the play. Yes, drove. Even I won't f* with Metro on a Sunday night, especially when there's a line change involved. Parked, got to the theater almost just in time. As I was waiting to enter the theater, my phone rings, and because I never learn, I answer it.
When I say I never learn, I mean, I think, "mom knows I'm really pressed for time, so she wouldn't be calling me unless it were urgent," when the reality is that as far as mom is concerned, everything is urgent, and there's no convincing her otherwise. I'm serious. Recall this conversation from years ago:
A.: Hello?
Mom: Hi.
A.: Mom, I'm in the middle of something. Is this urgent? If not, I'll call you back.
Mom: Let me just tell you that Smith called me asking for money! Imagine that! The audacity!
A.: Mom, that's not urgent. I. have. to. go.
Mom: Well, let me just tell you--
A.: No. Goodbye.
I could go on (and on) about how mom really does not consider that I have things going on, ever. She'll volunteer me to pick something up from a friend of hers in the area at a given time, or plan a visit without telling me, because it does not cross her mind that I might have plans. Or she'll call me and start expounding on some customer service complaint, with the intention of having me write a letter about it, without it crossing her mind that I'm out and about and in no position to remember the details. But I digress.
Minutes before the show started (a show mom knew an hour ago I was running off to):
A.: Hello??
Mom: A. Since you're doing yardwork, don't forget that you have poison ivy out there.
At least it's not about a complaint letter she needs me to write. But c'mon. Don't you think I know I have poison ivy in my backyard? I mean, that poison ivy has made my life hell more than a few times, and F recently caught some trying to help me eradicate it.
A.: Yes, I know there's poison ivy. I have to go, the play starts in a few minutes.
Mom: It doesn't really ever go away--
A.: I know, mom. I. have. to. go.
I suppose I should be grateful... she's just looking out for me, but all I could muster was annoyance. Which is often the case when there's potential to be grateful because she's just looking out for me. I guess gratitude can share the emotional landscape with annoyance.
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