So how do you kill seven hours with a seven-year-old when you’re waiting for your older two to finish a writing conference? First, I decided to drive over to work, get everything set up to make it easy to stroll in later that evening. That way, I would be able to rest a little longer at home before going in. I work at a store where I or one of five artists walk a class of adults through how to make a painting in the course of two hours. You bring your own wine or booze of choice and have a fun night out with the girls or guys. It’s a job custom-made for me.
It seemed as if the day would turn out profitable enough. The next order of business was to get this kid some clothes. Disposable ones would be perfect, but a thrift store or Kmart would do. Anything to get him out of the high-water, holey pants he had on.
So by two-thirty, we completely ran out of energy and things to do. I parked outside the large Christian Fitness Center where the conference was located, leaned the seat back, and closed my eyes. Ross lasted an entire fifteen minutes in the back seat before nearly losing his mind, so it was time to head in and find another way to kill the final forty-five minutes.
Yay! It was over and four weary souls headed toward the exit. I had just enough time to get home, grab something to eat, change clothes (which by the way were yesterday’s if you read the last blog), and rest a few minutes before the long night of work ahead of me. I just need to find my – WHERE ARE THEY? Oh, God, did I lock the keys in the car?
The short answer was, yes.
Mental calculation: If my husband left work immediately, drove home for the keys, turned around and came here, we’re looking at 1 1/2 hours minimum. It was at this point that the dominoes of misery began to tip and fall.
To be continued.