If at first you don't succeed...

We attempted the casual care at the gym again yesterday.  Another hectic morning, two children loudly protesting the early hour (6:45 am, which is not that early if you consider that some days they're clamouring to play at 5:00 am), drive Hubby to work and then back home, trying to get The Wee Ones to eat breakfast while I run around and get the bags ready (why don't I do it the night before?).  Shove them into clothes, skip tying the Little Miss' hair back and shove a clip in it instead, and out the door.

We made it up The Longest Staircase in the World without incident, and Missy Moo was off like a shot as soon as the door to the casual care was opened, leaving a trail of puzzle pieces and naked dolls in her path.  I put Mr Man down while I scanned the coathooks for their names.  And then I scanned them again.  Was today Tuesday?  I'm positive it's Tuesday...But no, no names.  Hm.

"Excuse me.  Do you have a list of the kids that are registered to be here today?"  I've cornered one of the caregivers, and she's very politely humouring me by flicking through her chart.  No, they're not booked for today.  "Can you check this week?  Maybe I booked them on a different day."  No, they're not booked for this week, either.  Odd.  I remember calling and speaking to somebody and booking them in...

The caregiver offered to call the other location (because there's another casual care centre NOT at the gym, but also run by the Military Family Resource Centre) and lo and behold!  They're supposed to be over there.  Uuuuuugh.  By the time I round them up, buckle them back into the car, drive there and unload them, I'm going to miss half my workout time.  Dammit, Meg!

As I watch Moo across the room declaring herself Queen of the Plastic Playhouse and mentally prepare myself for how hard it's going to be to get her to leave the room, the caregiver tells me that they are able to take both of the children this morning, as they've had a few no-shows.  Relief.  I could have hugged her.

I high-tail it out of there, down the stairs and into the gym, a quick glance over at the weight corner. Empty. Boo hiss.  I pick a bike strategically placed facing the weight area (just in case someone shows...), wipe down the bike, get my spin shoes on (OH how I love them!), pick a song on my iPod and hop on.

Twenty minutes into my spin, I'm a sweaty tomato-faced mess.  Ten children aged three to four years file in, along with three adults.  Cute!  It looks like a local preschool is on a field trip to the gym!  How fun for them!  ...wait, why are they all looking at me?  Of course, I'm alone in the gym so I must be the object for show and tell today.  For the entirety of "Buttons" by the Pussycat Dolls (don't judge me!), alternating four beats of standing up and four beats of hovers (my spin instructor swears it brings the heartrate up, as well as working your lower back), they watch.  I would have liked to stop and take a break until they moved on, but ego took over!  I'm The Best Spinner...Spin Person in the World!  I must press on!  Harder! Faster! More resistance! Raah!  By the end of the song, the ten kids were crouching down while I did my hovers and jumping up when I was standing up straight, which simultaneously made me laugh and embarassed the hell out of me.

Thirty minutes after that, I'm wiping down my bike, doing my stretches and galloping across the gym (pausing for a moment to appreciate the young, hot military guys playing basketball) and up the stairs to collect The Hooligans.  Wait..what's that?  On the first landing (there's, like, three), I hear a sound I recognize.  Is that the Wee Master?  Nooo...he never cries!  When I finally make it to the second landing, I'm positive.  It's definitely him.  What's going on?

I open the door and the caregivers look at me with relief.  Mr. Man is in the plastic playhouse.  I go over and peek in the window. "Hey, Buddy!".  He looks at me, tears and snot streaming down his face, and then collapses on the floor in a sobbing heap.  Missy Moo strolls by.  "Hi, Mommy.  He cried a lot.  I didn't cry because I'm a big girl." She threw an eye-roll over her shoulder and kept moving.

Another ten minutes later, we're paid and pottied, eyes dry, bags and babies stacked on me like a pack mule, and we're outta there.

...I wonder how it'll go next week...?