Yesterday was my daughter's [last-ever] parent-teacher conferences. That means that she had off school today for the teachers' subsequent in-service day. Usually, when Anne has off from school on a weekday, I will take her out to lunch at the Olive Garden. (This is a long tradition that began many years ago.) So today for lunch, we planned to continue our tradition.
This morning, because I did not need to get up and make sure Anne got to school on time, I did not even realize that it had snowed overnight until my mom came to tell me (still in my pajamas, by the way) that she and my dad were about to leave for some appointments and that, if I drove out, I should make sure to drive on tha path she had just shovelled. Now, this is when I should have done more than just say okay and determine to go out in a little bit to finish up the shovelling. As a big, grown-up lady, I should have just gotten dressed and taken care of my new, God-given chore. However, in my present state of deterioration into mental adolecence, I put it off till later...and forgot.
Needless to say, when Anne and I exited the house to go to lunch today, my car was covered in snow. So was the driveway around where my car sits, as was the portion of driveway between where my car sits and the path my mother had shovelled for her and car to drive out of their garage. Not a problem. Anne and I each picked up shovels and got to work on clearing out enough space so that we could get out of the driveway. We also cleared enough snow off the windows of my car so that I could legally drive, figuring the rest of the snow on the car would just blow off.
Not so. Last night's snow was the heavy, wet stuff that is good for building snowmen. Even at highway speeds of 65 miles per hour, it did not blow off my car, that is, beyond sliding off my roof to cover my back window and make it impossible to look out my rear window. I was NOT happy with the situation. As soon as we stopped the car in the Olive Garden parking lot, both Anne and I hopped out of the car. I took the driver's side; she took the passenger's side; and we cleared the front and rear hoods of all visible snow. Then, I walked into the restaurant, expecting her to be right behind me as soon as she put away her snow brush and grabbed her purse.
Being only a few minutes after the restaurant opened, the waiting room was TOTALLY empty when I got to the hostess stand. There were a combination of about 5 hostesses and servers standing around and someone asked how many were in my party.
I answered, "2." (SO much nicer than answering, "1!") Then I half-turned to indicate that Anne, supposedly right behind me, was the other member of my party. Nobody was there.
"Do you want to be seated right away or would you like to sit down and wait?" asked a hostess.
I just held up my hands. "She was RIGHT behind me," I declared.
I looked in the direction of the glass doors, waiting for Anne to pop into sight. When she did not, I turned to the hostesses (all of whom were pretty young) and rolled my eyes, "17 year olds." Then I launched into a short story about when Anne was a very little girl and I used to have to bribe her with Olive Garden chocolate mints to leave the restaurant. Now, it seemed, I could not get her to come IN to it. My impromptu audience all chuckled.
I turned back to the glass doors. Still, Anne did not appear so I turned back to the hostess stand and began another short story. Midway through it, Anne appeared at my side. A big smile spread over her lips. She knows her mother very well.
Her words were almost a protest, "It's been 30 seconds and she's already telling stories!"
"What do you expect?" I shrugged. "I'm a story teller."
This morning, because I did not need to get up and make sure Anne got to school on time, I did not even realize that it had snowed overnight until my mom came to tell me (still in my pajamas, by the way) that she and my dad were about to leave for some appointments and that, if I drove out, I should make sure to drive on tha path she had just shovelled. Now, this is when I should have done more than just say okay and determine to go out in a little bit to finish up the shovelling. As a big, grown-up lady, I should have just gotten dressed and taken care of my new, God-given chore. However, in my present state of deterioration into mental adolecence, I put it off till later...and forgot.
Needless to say, when Anne and I exited the house to go to lunch today, my car was covered in snow. So was the driveway around where my car sits, as was the portion of driveway between where my car sits and the path my mother had shovelled for her and car to drive out of their garage. Not a problem. Anne and I each picked up shovels and got to work on clearing out enough space so that we could get out of the driveway. We also cleared enough snow off the windows of my car so that I could legally drive, figuring the rest of the snow on the car would just blow off.
Not so. Last night's snow was the heavy, wet stuff that is good for building snowmen. Even at highway speeds of 65 miles per hour, it did not blow off my car, that is, beyond sliding off my roof to cover my back window and make it impossible to look out my rear window. I was NOT happy with the situation. As soon as we stopped the car in the Olive Garden parking lot, both Anne and I hopped out of the car. I took the driver's side; she took the passenger's side; and we cleared the front and rear hoods of all visible snow. Then, I walked into the restaurant, expecting her to be right behind me as soon as she put away her snow brush and grabbed her purse.
I answered, "2." (SO much nicer than answering, "1!") Then I half-turned to indicate that Anne, supposedly right behind me, was the other member of my party. Nobody was there.
"Do you want to be seated right away or would you like to sit down and wait?" asked a hostess.
I just held up my hands. "She was RIGHT behind me," I declared.
I looked in the direction of the glass doors, waiting for Anne to pop into sight. When she did not, I turned to the hostesses (all of whom were pretty young) and rolled my eyes, "17 year olds." Then I launched into a short story about when Anne was a very little girl and I used to have to bribe her with Olive Garden chocolate mints to leave the restaurant. Now, it seemed, I could not get her to come IN to it. My impromptu audience all chuckled.
I turned back to the glass doors. Still, Anne did not appear so I turned back to the hostess stand and began another short story. Midway through it, Anne appeared at my side. A big smile spread over her lips. She knows her mother very well.
Her words were almost a protest, "It's been 30 seconds and she's already telling stories!"
"What do you expect?" I shrugged. "I'm a story teller."
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