If you've worked with me, you have likely received the following text message right before our meeting is supposed to start:
'Sorry, running late!'
It's generally just five minutes, but my record was 17. Terrible.
The general rationale for why I'm always late is hereditary. I have inherited my Mom's knack for squeezing one more thing in, before I get back to the rightful sequential order of events. So at work for example, one meeting ends, I find someone in the hallway I need to talk with, check that box, and then end up being 5-10 minutes late for the next meeting. It's a character flaw. I'm working on it.
This week, it wasn't an extra meeting or task to complete that prevented punctuality, it was thunderstorms. A big front spanning from Chicago to the Eastern corridor of busy airports: flights from Logan, Laguardia, JFK, Dulles and Reagan, all grounded if they were coming into Chicago. I was in lowly Hartford, there was no way I was getting out. First flight: cancelled. Second flight: cancelled. My prospects looked grim. I scrambled between multiple carriers and airports to get out as soon as possible. It was Margaret's birthday the next day and I have never missed one of my kids birthdays.
I called the corporate travel agent, and gave her carte blanche instructions. Any carrier. Any airport. Just get me in the vicinity of Chicagoland by tomorrow morning. She got me on a 5:20 AM from Hartford to Midway, put me up at the Sheraton right next to the airport, and charged me a lot of money. But it was the sweetest victory.
So, I'm at the Sheraton hotel on Wednesday evening, facetiming with Margaret. Her hair is a skew. She had a good day, getting to see a movie with her cousins. And she asked why I wasn't home. And would I be home for her birthday tomorrow? I assured her I would, which made her smile. As she looked at me on FaceTime, she said, 'I wish I could just grab you through the phone.' I wished I could have grabbed her too. It was such a Margaret thing to say, fitting with her sweet, kind, caring personality.
Margaret turned five on Thursday. I made it home at 7:30 AM, with Kirshbaum's donuts in hand. She got to open a present from Uncle Andy. And have a party in the park with her St. Francis friends. We took her to Vistro, one of our favorite places in the Western Suburbs for dinner. She got dressed up and mostly dined on French Fries and a Shirley Temple. She fell asleep that night, like she always does, with a smile on her face. God, is she cute.
All of my kids are special to me, but on their birthday, I like to reflect on just how special they are individually.
Margaret is the happiest kid. Always smiling, always laughing, always loving life.
She loves people: her friends and her family, and has a way of bringing everyone together.
She gives the best hugs and always wants them.
She is filled with dramatics: facial expressions, dances, goofiness. She can make you roll with laughter.
She loves everything girly - princesses, purses, a little lipstick when she's dressed up to go out.
She tried soccer this year, but spent most of the time walking up and down the field. She seems to like tennis much better.
She is always trying to keep up with her brother and sister: playing the games they play, swimming like them, jumping off the diving board, and as I wrote a couple weeks ago, peddling as fast as them.
She authentically says the sweetest things, and you just want to eat her up when she does.
I was so happy to be home on Margaret's birthday, to get to make it a little special for her, which was no small task, given the fact that we were moving out of our house and living at Opa's. But judging by the smile on her face all day, it was a great birthday.
No comments:
Post a Comment