"The course of true love never did run smooth"

One of those scarring moments has occurred.

I don't know if it's a controlling issue, or maybe I am over-compensating for my own childhood let downs, but I miss NOTHING in my children's lives (and I have 11,000 photos to prove it). I am at every award ceremony, every baseball game (when there was baseball, now it's football-American soccer), every production. I did have to miss A2 getting an award when Miss Ky had to be taken to the ER for a dislocated elbow, but he understood.

J2 has been practicing for two months for his role in Midsummer Night's Dream. He has been as anxious as only a 9 year-old could be anxious about having to hold girl's hand. When he's nervous, he pings off of the walls. He recited his lines constantly. He'd be performing Wednesday at another school in an auditorium, with lights and make-up, for several schools.

Of course Wednesday had to be nightmare day with me needing to be in several places at once and Miss Ky and I have both been a little achy and flu-like. Tuesday evening J2 had nicely informed me that he needed to wear black for this event. Did they really just get told this on Tuesday afternoon? It wouldn't be so bad if the kid wasn't outgrowing his clothing every week, but non-uniform clothes pretty much go by unnoticed since he lives in his football kits when not at school.

So, I did the usual daily things-- like follow my mini-tornado around doing damage control, getting dinner in the crock pot, etc... I still had to secure a baby sitter since only two family members were allowed tickets and frantically search for a black shirt and trousers to fit the boy. No shop had anything that didn't have something on the front. So, he was left to wear his church trousers and a shirt he had outgrown.

He got dressed as soon as he came home. He sat and waited. He rehearsed his lines. I found out where some of his anxiety was coming from.
"I'm going to be saying my lines and everyone will hear my American accent".
"That's ok, people like to hear it, just be yourself"
"Should I do it with a British accent?"
"No, it will make you more anxious, just speak normally"
"I'm going to just look right at you when I say my lines so that I don't get nervous"
"Oh, you may not be able to see me with the lights and all..."
"Yes I will, you're wearing white, so I will see you".

His Dad came home, swept him up in the car and shot off to the school. I gathered the rest of the brood, drove to A1's sport practice to collect him, drove all the kids back home, realized the crock pot meal was NOT done (stupid potatoes), so I started the oven for pizza and made a veggie dish. My babysitter was a tiny bit late, but in the time it took her to unload her baby and get inside for my instructions, I was now precariously close to being late.
I drove fast-- when I could. There was traffic.
Remember how I described these roads? They're made for one way travel, but two way traffic drives them. There's a lot of sucking in your breath as you pass and leaving your paint on hedges. So the traffic I was following wasn't a problem, it's the oncoming that I had to keep slowing for.
I made it into the city. My phone rang. I didn't have my blue tooth on, so I flipped open the phone to tell the Husband I couldn't talk.
The phone fell onto the floor board.
I'm shouting, "I can't hear you, wait!"

I drive through the round about, only vaguely aware of whether or not it was even safe to do so. I feel blindly around my feet for my phone as I am driving in the opposite lane around a line of parked cars. I get the phone to my head and say, "I can't talk".
The Husband wants to make sure I know where I'm going-- he's had 45 minutes of relaxing wandering around the city. I have been on a dead run since my eyes opened. I am not happy that he's not letting me hang up.
He's telling me how to get to the school when he has NO IDEA which direction I came into the city from. He also took BOTH of our tickets with him, so now, not only will I be going in late looking for my seat, we both will.

When I get to the school (on my own, thank you), I manage to see him in the crowd of chaos and ask for my ticket while I try to park.

And I spend the next 16 minutes trying to navigate my big American piece of Fod through this little British car park where people have pulled onto the grass, are parked in fire zones and actually in some of the lanes-- leaving the rest of us to back our way out of the narrow nightmare--
I exited the school to find something in the neighborhood.
There is NOTHING.

I knew that even at that point, if I parked my car in the middle of the roundabout (which of course is impossible) and ran to the school, I still will have missed his performance.
Hot tears filled my eyes as I text, "I'm going home".

There's a reason I am not allowed a gun. On my way home if anyone had even challenged me in anyway, I would've annihilated them.
What kept going through my mind was this sweet, trusting voice-- the voice that said, "I'm going to say my lines to you".
And I blamed everybody that I wouldn't be there for it: The school for not having any parking, or at least, not having anyone to direct parking; England for being so ridiculously bunny hugging and "Let's save the world, everyone should carpool even though none of you are going to the same place" so that car parks are almost non-existent; my husband because once again, he had the cushy day; our school for not providing a coach into the city or at least warning us that parking would be so limited (I was not the only parent that drove away-- I followed a stream of cars); the blame multiplied while I drove.

He's ok. He will survive not having his Mom at a play. He was tired and hungry and hugely disappointed that I wasn't there, but he's ok.
I, on the other hand, am scarred. For life. I missed the first play.
My husband said he did really good, "He stood there and delivered his lines confidently, clearly and just like any other British boy".