i only wear white when it rains

While crawling through the Shorecrest carline this morning at the speed of cars on a California freeway during rush hour, I was able to ponder how much more tolerable this is with my latte in hand. Normally I’m rushing to school after a shower and effort to put together an outfit that at least doesn’t offend. But today, all bets were off. I discovered that alarms are rendered ineffective when phones are put on “silent” after I woke up (thank Charlie Crist for a bladder the size of a lima bean) at 7:02, and we have to leave by 7:30. So I instead grabbed Gator sweats and threw on a see-through t-shirt with no bra (classy), slapped some sunscreen on Ainsley and helped her find her gold glitter shoes for “Spirit Day” since today is homecoming. It’s amazing that when you eliminate basic hygiene, it’s much easier to get out of the house with a few minutes to spare. Hmmm. Now I’m left to consider the benefits of brushed teeth versus having time to hit Starbucks before I bring my daughter to school. Tough call.

So while I’m circling the school at a snail’s pace to get Ainsley to the drop-off point where the germy hands of the school’s administration are waiting to greet her and the 400 other sticky kids in lower division (yes, I get the chills every morning when I witness this), she told me she hopes that she will be able to sit on the bleachers during today’s pep rally, and not on the floor like the kindergarteners. So I explained that the gym is only so big, and that’s why the school wants to build a new one.

“Where will the new gym go, mommy?”

“Where the old gym is. They will tear it down to make room for the new one. Isn’t that exciting?”

I glanced back to see shock and horror.

“But mommy…that’s so sad for them to tear down our gym. We have Coach Pope’s dance party in there. I like that gym!” (Just to put this into perspective for those unfamiliar with the leaky abomination that is the Crisp Gym, I make it a point not to enter that gym without being equipped with a hazmat suit and noseplugs. Touring it makes you either want to donate to the new athletic center fund or commit arson.) 

My initial surprise by her reaction was immediately replaced with pride and relief. Because now I know that when I’m old and dribbling applesauce down the front of my shirt, she won’t just drop me off at the Tyrone Square mall before it opens so I ferment on the benches until she picks me up eight hours later. When I have a leaking roof,  replaced my iPhone with a Jitterbug , and swapped my Abercrombie for elasticized-waist polyester slacks, I’m now confident my sweet girl at least puts me in a retirement home that serves Starbucks with its applesauce.