I was so grateful yesterday for Maddie’s new school and the attendance rules that would be strictly enforced, giving me the support I need to help Maddie learn some discipline, and to, in difficult circumstances, “do it anyway.” So when Maddie called home at 9:30 this morning, I assumed she would be in tears, trying to process her disappointment, to make a final attempt at persuading me to change my mind.
I had told her I would pick her up if she got the thumbs up. I had assumed her teacher would enforce the attendance policy regarding excused and unexcused absences, but it turns out her teacher is a kind, compassionate person. So when she presented her situation to him this morning, he kindly checked with the appropriate person, and said, given this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, that it could be considered a sick day and she could go. “Alright,” I said, but I was actually thinking, “Oh crap.”
So, first I called my sisters who were on their way (separately) from further north. They would be in a better position to pick up Maddie, but both cars were inching along on a jam-packed freeway. There wouldn’t be time for them to make a detour to pick her up. Okay, Uber is handy, I thought. I grabbed my phone and made a request, then called Maddie with the information. A few minutes later, the driver cancelled. So I tried again, and gave Maddie the new information. Then, a little while later, another cancellation. A third failed Uber request later, and it was too late. We were catching the ferry and I just couldn’t get her to the terminal.
In the meantime, my mom and sister and I had all arrived at the ferry terminal after parking probably a mile away and walking. We were running out of time. And my other sister and her daughter were having no luck finding parking anywhere in the vicinity. She was frustrated and panicked and wanting a solution, but I just didn’t have one. Nobody knew what to do for her. And time was really running out.
For a moment, I thought perhaps the solution was to meet up and drive into San Francisco instead. We could all fit in my ginormous car. But then it occurred to me that traffic and parking might continue to be a problem, and maybe we’d get all the way over to the ballpark and still be screwed.
So as the boarding window was about to come to a close, and only half of our group had arrived, I had to make one final call to Maddie, who now had been waiting in front of the school for 45 minutes waiting for a ride.
“I’m so sorry, Maddie, but I just can’t get you over here. You’re going to have to go back to class.” She could not believe it, and, as usual, she had a bunch of potential solutions that just weren’t workable. “I’m really really sorry, Maddie, ” I said. “I have tried for the last hour to make it work and I just couldn’t do it. I’m so sorry.” She was upset and wanted to stay on the phone, but there really wasn’t anything else for me to say. My phone was about to die anyway.
So one of my sisters, my mom, and I got on the ferry with heavy hearts. I felt terrible about the emotional roller coaster Maddie had experienced. If only I had communicated with her teacher so we could have an understanding. It never occurred to me that this new high school would say, “Sure! Take the day off!” I had assumed he would say no.
It was too hot at the game, and even though the Giants were winning, and despite some exciting plays from both the offense and defense, I just couldn’t shake the anxiety that had come from the events of the morning. I love baseball. I love the Giants. I love AT&T Park. It really is one of my happy places, even when the game isn’t going our way. It’s a beautiful park, and our high-up seats were perfectly oriented for not only a clear view of home plate, but also of the bay. Its’ magical. So when Madison Bumgarner made a highlight-worthy play at first, I missed it. I was preoccupied. I did see the replay, though. I would cheer at the appropriate moments, but after a few seconds, I just sank back into my sadness.
I felt like responsible for the whole thing. Responsible for the fiasco with Maddie, and even somehow responsible for my other sister and her daughter wasting half their day trying and failing to go to the game with us. How I had any impact on the traffic and parking I don’t know, but I just felt as though, somehow, it was my fault.
So when one minor frustration got in my way, I snapped at my sister. I never do that. We are close and always kind to each other. I was so upset at myself.
And then it happened. I burst into tears. I can’t remember the last time I cried over my own life. I’ll cry at a sappy commercial, but for some reason I have become much more emotionally reserved about my own circumstances. I don’t know why. But now, there it was. A lot of inner turmoil had bubbled to the surface. I cried for maybe a minute, and then forged on.
About half way through the game, I found my anxiety building. What happened at school after my last phone call? Did she go back to class (I did call her teacher so he would expect her)? Would she be angry when I got home? Would I be able to get her to do her homework after a terrible day like that?
So, I spoke up, and we left at the end of the fifth inning. All the way home, I speculated about the ordeal that awaited my return.
When I finally saw Maddie, she was in her room. Happy. Relaxed. “Did the Giants win?” she asked.
“Yes, they did,” I answered and then told her how hot it had been and that her cousin never made it, nor did we even make it in time to see her former classmates sing.
Her reply: “Whatever!”
Well, I should have seen that coming. After a day of agonizing, I was reminded of one of Maddie’s greatest strengths: Nothing gets her down for long. She has always been that way. When she was new to walking, she fell down over and over and over again. She toppled over so frequently it was sometimes hard to watch. But she always got right up and forged ahead. Once in awhile, I could see her feeling a little defeated, and a tear might come to her eye. But a moment later she was back at it. Once she fell off a tire swing in a pretty dramatic fashion, but instead of running away crying, she wanted to get back on. Right on, Maddie.
So you know what I learned today? A bunch of stuff. First, Mr. L is a good man. Second, I shouldn’t have assumed how he would reply to Maddie’s request. Communication is key! Third, Maddie is awesome. I already knew that, but it was a good reminder today. She bounces back like nobody else I know. Rather than dwelling on what she didn’t have today, she lived in the moment and made the best of it.
Ironically, though, it’s her rubbery constitution that makes these lessons so difficult to teach. Next time something important is at stake, I don’t know if she’ll remember the disappointment she felt this morning because it was so soon gone.
Only time will tell. I will keep trying to reinforce the message. I will keep trying to teach her grit. I will keep telling myself I’m doing OK. Tomorrow is a new day. I will try to make the best of it.
The Year of Living Hopefully 