The Other Pick-Up Artists (My 500th Post!)

On Monday when I talked about the different kinds of moms that pick up their kids from school, I didn't have enough time to talk about the wide variety of others who also venture out into that danger zone each day. So we're back in my car, parked between the two schools, people watching. And let's be honest, people judging.

Lots of dads pick-up, too, as many of you mentioned in the comments.  Some would fit the categories I used for moms, but there are some other breeds worth mentioning.

The Coach Dad: Dressed in athletic gear, he's a pretty good picker-upper. After all, he's used to wrangling a large group of kids this age and making them kick, throw, hit, and carry balls of various types up and down fields. He can certainly get 5 bouncing ping-pong balls headed for practice into the minivan. He's organized. Collects all the cupcakes and saves them for after practice, puts all the art in a stacked, not-to-be-squished pile on top of the neatly arranged back-packs. The kids obviously have assigned seats because there's no fighting as they quickly get in and get buckled. Coach Dad would never double park. There are rules about this stuff, you know.

Taking the Day off Dad: He's a little confused. He has the day off, the wife went somewhere, and though she did tell him exactly what to do, he wasn't really listening. How hard could it be? But now there are cars going in every direction, kids and moms are swarming like ants all over the vicinity, the crossing guard glared at him for not crossing in the right place, and he's just going to go up to the school and find the kids. It's not a bad plan (if you don't count the jaywalking) and he eventually finds them. Wow, what nice art! Can I have a bite of the cupcake? Let's go out for ice-cream, too. They jaywalk back to the car.

Business Dad: Mom and dad are obviously juggling this schedule thing with the kids, and he's on his bluetooth as he, in the most efficient manner possible, gets the kids into the car (in the carline where he's been waiting, easiest place for his conference call). He waits patiently for his turn to pull out. The kids sneakily eat the cupcakes in the back of the car, and have already put their art in the front seat for him to notice. Which he will when he gets back to the office because it's on top of his files.

There are also sweet little grandmas who pick up their grandkids. I rarely see them with a car, but grandma has her cane, and her little yappy dog, and smiles with delight at the little one who is sharing the cupcake. The art will go on her fridge. They walk the few blocks to grandma's house, chatting happily.

Grandpa picks up, too. He's early. He stands next to his car, parked right where his daughter told him to park, scanning the area for the kids, and mentally goes over the list of who is riding home today. No one can eat a cupcake in the car, so they are to hold them carefully UNEATEN until they exit the vehicle. Back-packs and art are carefully stowed in the pristine trunk. He's relieved when he has the days' quota of kids, and signals carefully as he pulls out.

All this flurry is over in about 20 minutes.  Drive by just a tad later in the afternoon, and it's like a ghost town, and none of the above ever happened.

*****

This is my 500^th post! It's unbelievable how quickly the time has gone. I've learned SO much about how to get about in this community, learned technical stuff about how to run a blog, I've joined hops, fests, challenges, and made irreplaceable friends. Thanks for coming along on the ride. I couldn't have done it without you!

What Kind of Mom are You?

It's no secret that I don't tolerate carline particularly very well. All those parents breaking the (simple!) rules of going in order and waiting one's turn. With all the kids I pick up (two and a lot of the time three families), I've worked out a system that keeps my blood pressure down and the kids safe.

I park. Next to a beautiful park. It's within sight of the elementary school which lets out at 3:00 pm, and just up the hill from the middle school which gets out at 3:15.  My elementary charge just walks across the soccer field and gets into my car.  She usually plays games on my phone, I get some precious reading time. The boys show up eventually.

Sometimes I people watch. There are so many different kinds of moms, I get distracted categorizing them.

Perfect Mom: She has the umbrella, when it's raining, is impeccably dressed, escorts her little one, carrying his or her impossibly huge back-pack to spare the child the load. She has parked her car (legally) and helps her child into the car. She oohs and aahs over the art project, and let's the child eat the cupcake from the party.

The I Can Barely Be Bothered Mom: Also impeccably dressed, but with a whole different attitude. Stands by car door, looking annoyed, scanning the crowd for her child. Yells, “Hurry UP!” as child struggles with back-pack, lunch box, art project, and cupcake. Gets huffily into car, and puffs out cheeks while waiting for child struggling with multiple objects to climb into car, arrange stuff, buckle in, and be ready for take-off. She's double-parked, IN the carline, but now tries to sneak into the non-existent third lane to get out before everyone else.  Who knows what happens to the art or the cupcake.  They're not important.

The Frazzled Mom: She's trying to be Perfect Mom, but can't quite get it together. She hasn't found time for a shower yet, is still wearing sweats, is of course a little late, and runs across the street in front of you, usually dragging a younger child who is almost airborne at that speed. Finds pick-up child, quick hug, grabs backpack, which comes dangerously close to hitting the now almost airborne again younger child. They rush to car, late for the next errand. She throws them into the seats, buckles them in a frenzy, and roars out of spot. At least she parked in a real spot, but the cupcake doesn't make it into the car. She runs over it as they drive away. That art project didn't stand a chance. It blew away in the current created by this mad dash of chaos.

The Social Mom: She's parked so that she has plenty of room to talk to the other moms. The kids' she's picked up stand not so patiently waiting to be let into the car, yet she's yacking away, mostly bragging about herself, her kids' latest accomplishments, comparing them to other children (by name) whose achievements aren't quite as high, and ignoring all attempts by the children to get her attention. She'll “look at it later” when shown the art project, “no you can't eat that cupcake, it's got sugar”. Back packs must be held, they'll get dirty if set in the grass.

So who am I? I told you. I'm The Lazy Mom, sitting in my car, making the kids come to me, after walking a bit, carrying their own stuff. I do hand them napkins for the cupcake, though, and I do make sure I compliment their art.

Which mom (or dad...I didn't even get to the dads...) are you? Or have you identified another breed I missed?

~Tina

The 45-Minute Waiting Area

I didn't think that there were people ruder than those I've met in my son's carline at his school. I was wrong. The people in the “45 Minute Waiting Area” at the airport are by far worse.

What's up with the 45 minutes anyway? Is that some magic time that represents how early most people are? Does it mean that when a flight arrives at a certain time, it's going to be 45 minutes until your pick-up-ee is standing at the curb ready for said pick-up? Or does it mean that there's some secret parking enforcement surveillance that will come after 45 minutes and send you on your way? Why not just call it the “you-won't-find-a-spot-here-because-I-used-up-three-so-that-my-girlfriend-could-watch-the-planes-land area”?

Or we could call it the “yes, I see that you're signaling and about to pull into that spot, so that's why I'm accelerating around you, will cut you off, and take that spot. Or “the I don't know how to park, and neither does the guy two spots away, so the spot between us will only fit a motorcycle.” Or maybe it could be the “if I drive up close enough to your bumper you'll move the extra 6” so that YOU'RE on the guy in front of you's bumper and none of us can move, should we get the magic call.” Pick one. Or name it all of them. Just don't make me wait there again.

When we finally did get the call (an hour after arriving), four cars had to move because they'd parked us in. There wasn't a lot of room left to maneuver. The parking lot had become like one of those 4x4 sliding puzzles where there are 15 tiles and you move them around to put them in order, only someone shoved a 16^th tile in there and now nothing's moving...

(photo credit wikipedie free images)

The fun wasn't over, though. After we picked up our friend, I was to drive her car home. She'd injured herself on her trip and couldn't walk. I also had to find that car. All was fine until I hit a dead end at West M. I was going for West N. I'd been heading down the alphabet from C just fine (I am rather familiar with the alphabet, right Gary?). Then no N. I wandered around a bit. Reminded me of that Seinfeld episode where Kramer is carrying the air-conditioner, Elaine has the goldfish, and Jerry ends up urinating in public.

Finally the airport parking enforcement (aHA! Please, head out to the waiting area from hell and kick some of those yahoos outta there, would ya'?) truck comes driving along. I flag them down and explain that I need N but the garage ends with M. One of them turns to the other and says,

“Do we have an N now?”

“Yup, it's in the other pod.”

“OK, how do I get there?”

“Oh, he'd better take you. It's kinda confusing. I'll stay here and finish up.”

So I get into the enforcement truck, and the man ATTEMPTS to help me find her car. We drive around for quite a while until he figures out how to get to “the other pod.” It's close by, but seeing it and finding a road/path to it are two different things.

We finally get over there, after several tries up and down the ramps, and we actually find the car! I was so relieved, and thought that the hard part of my day was over. But no, because the friend we picked up ended up needing the ER, so that's where I spent the night. But that's another post, if she'll let me. I was THIS close to laying down on the tile floor at 4:30 a.m...I'm too old to stay up that late. Especially after braving the waiting area, and the parking garage, and worries about my friend's health. I need a nap...

Do you have any travel/airport/parking lot horror stories? Or would you rather be in carline?