Today was one of those incomparably lovely days, when the temperature soars, skies are sunny, and to top it all off there is absolutely nothing on the calendar for those golden hours after dinner.
Which is a really good thing, as it gave me the chance to make complicated arrangements for dealing with tomorrow, when:
I need to drive to the airport. (approximately 60 miles from home base)
Imelda has her first softball game. (seven miles)
Joan has her first soccer game. (fifteen miles, completely different direction)
Veronica has Little League practice. (three miles, but yet another direction)
All between the hours of 4: 15 and 6:00.
There is no public transportation in our town.
None of the girls is old enough to drive.
Jane-Clare is no help, as her after-school job kicks in around 4:30.
This, clearly, has all the makings of one of those word problems (fox-goose-sack of corn-small boat-river) the habitual solving of which supposedly will head off dementia, though possibly at the expense of bringing on an alternate mental disorder.
Our original plan, which I suppose I ought to describe more accurately as a forlorn hope, was that Joan could catch a ride with her BFF, whose mother and I have formed a friendship, over the past 15 years, originating in the coincidence that we have three pairs of same-age daughters.
No dice.
"I was going to ask you the same thing," BFF's mom explained.
See, the fact that our daughters are the same age has its downside, too. Turns out Imelda's opposite number also has a softball game; not the same game, of course; that would be too easy.
So now we had the added wrinkle of providing transportation not only for Joan, but also for her BFF.
That was solved, is that is the right word, by bringing Duthac into the picture. He agreed to drop both girls off, immediately prior to his heading off for work; someone else would have to pick them up after the game, but that seemed quite do-able.
OK. So. Imelda's game is at home; she will be there, needing only to be retrieved later. My husband is willing and able to take care of that aspect.
It was only over dinner that we learned about the third sports-related event. Veronica's coach called and recited, "We have a practice tom--" at which point I burst into laughter.
Poor man. No doubt his statement seemed entirely reasonable from his perspective.
"Yes, I hope we don't have much trouble with the weather," he said, putting the best possible spin on my reaction.
OMG, the weather! Now, if Joan and BFF are dropped off, well and good, but what if there is a thunderstorm and the game is called and there is no shelter available?
Here's what we have:
Dad is going to Imelda's game, and quite possibly driving hell-for-leather to pick up Joan after hers;
Duthac is dropping off Joan and BFF;
unrelated nice family, enlisted via frantic telephone communication, is driving Veronica;
Mom is picking up her sister at the airport and heading to the mall and a nice quiet dinner at P. F. Chang's (please don't give me away).
And yet another mom (bless her heart) will transport Joan and BFF to the home of one of them in the event of an electrical storm.
Do we have all bases covered (to borrow a metaphor)?
You know, I wonder about that fox-goose-corn thing. I mean... aren't foxes omnivores? And they're reputed to be quite smart. So... look, if he figures out that the goose just isn't coming his way, wouldn't that sack of corn start looking pretty darn good as an alternative?
I'd also like to know whether Shirley Jackson and her family ever located that missing blanket.*
But I think we are all pretty clear on that whole it-takes-village thing, n'est-ce-pas?
*see Life Among the Savages
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