It’s that week again. The wonderful week in May when we have dance recitals, dance recital practice and gymnastics class. Except this year we’ve added in a birthday party too and a cook-out. So here’s the deal, Tuesday we have dance recital practice for all three girls. Riley at 4:45, Kinsey at 5:15 and Bailey at 6:15. Plus Riley has gymnastics at 5:30. I planned to take all three to rehearsal then Mom arrives just in time to run Rye over to the gymnastics.
Well that plan was about as successful as Fred Thompson’s presidential campaign. Mom tells me a few hours before rehearsal that she magically has a 5:30 meeting and can’t be at practice. I quickly evaluate my options.
1) Get ticked off and take all three girls to rehearsal. 2) Get ticked and take all three girls to rehearsal and skip gymnastics. 3) Find a DeLorean equipped with the flux capacitor and jump between locations thereby skipping over a few minutes and instantly arriving at gymnastics on time.
I went with #2.
Anyway, I slightly underestimated the time it would take me to pick up all three, stop at home to grab their dance shoes, and get to the rehearsal place in time to have Rye and Kinsey change into their costumes.
It was going to be pretty tight but it looked like we’d arrive and the girls would have about 3-4 minutes to change. Rye’s a trooper and she’d be able to do that no problem.
Except for the road construction.
Yeah, the entire road in front of the high school is gone. Not torn up, not blocked off for resurfacing, not being widened – it was gone. It was like somebody took a giant ice scraper and just removed the road.
Well the detour added about 10 minutes which made us late.
“Crap, we’re going to be late.”
“Oh man, I hate being late. Are we going to get in trouble?”
“No, I’m sure some other people will be late because of the construction.”
“Why aren’t you driving faster?”
“Why didn’t you pick us up earlier?”
“Why didn’t you go a different way and go around the construction?”
“Why is there construction?”
“Are we going to be late?”
So after I endure that blistering indictment of my clock management and summer road construction knowledge, we park and run into the building. But only after Kinsey and Bailey had the opportunity to complain about the running and how long it was from the car to the door. Plus a few more questions related to our tardiness.
We rush into the building, find the bathroom and take a quick peek into the auditorium to see whose class is practicing first.
Riley’s. Cool, Rye will whine less about being the last one there.
But Kinsey’s class is also on the stage dressed and ready to go. Crap. Can’t let Kinsey see that.
“Dad my class is up there too!. Why did you make me late! Now I’m the last one!”
“Tough break there chief. Rye get in the bathroom, get changed and help Kinsey get her costume on.”
I drag Bailey, who is complaining about why she can’t get her costume on right away, into the auditorium and hook up with a couple Mom’s from Rye’s class.
“Hit that road construction?”
“Road construction? Really? Didn’t notice that.”
Rye’s teacher is giving me the eye and telling she really needs to get on stage so they can get started.
“Yeah, sorry, I’m a dude. Can’t go in the bathroom and help her get dressed. The authorities tend to frown on grown men hanging in the girl’s restroom while a bunch of girls 8 and under are changing clothes.”
Thankfully another Mom offers to check on them.
30 seconds later, Rye runs up onto the stage but there’s no Kinsey. Great.
My internal Kinsey Meltdown Clock starts…10…9…8…
“She’s fine, I helped her get her stuff on. She’ll be out in a second.”
Good thing for the Recital Mom’s.
So Rye does her thing in these outfits where she looks like a German-Austrian-Swiss extra from The Sound of Music.
Then Kinsey gets up there and does pretty well. She’s concentrating really hard.
I glance over to see Bailey folding herself into one of the seats. She looked like Robert Shaw in Jaws as he’s sliding into the shark’s mouth.
“This is not a boating accident.”
Quizzical looks from the Moms.
If it was all Dads here, somebody would have thrown out a “Jaws, 1975” and started singing the “I’m drunk and I want to go home” song.
Rye has a quick costume change into her western cowgirl outfit. Hat, vest with a sheriff’s badge. Boot Scoot Boogie.
Rye and Kinsey finish up, I take Bailey into a spot where we change her into her dance costume. Which makes her really happy. And I’ve only been here for 75 minutes at this point which is nothing. I’m really happy too. I’m the opposite of that tired, annoyed, throwing in the towel kind of attitude you get when you’re trying to manage three little girls while the Moms smirk and laugh at you. Really, I’m fine.
“Dad, I need to poop.”
“Seriously? Can you hold it? You have to go up in about 30 seconds.”
Wow, didn’t expect that.
Must’ve been a false positive in Bailey’s poop radar because she was fine and didn’t visit the bombay doors until the next morning.
Bailey does her thing which really is just a bunch of skipping and running and hopping with some high kicks and we’re done. We head out to the car.
Windows still down. Backseat driver’s side door wide open.
Yeah so evidently we were in such a hurry when we arrived that nobody shut the doors and rolled up the windows. I give the car a quick check. My Kid Rock CD and my Hair Band compilation CD which features such classics as Tesla’s “Getting Better” and Thunder’s “Dirty Love” are still there. So is everything else. Which mostly consists of junk, ATM receipts and Sun Chip remnants.
Guess nobody thinks my stuff is cool except me.