First day of school

Day one of school proved to be overwhelming.  Sunday Andrea started showing some suspicious symptoms so Paul kept her out of the nursery and took her home early.  By the time I got home she was feverish and miserable.  She woke up from her nap screaming and threw up when I went to check on her.  Waterfalls of snot poured from her nostrils and her sniffs to relieve the constant dripping sent the mucus down her throat, upsetting her stomach.  What a great start to such a pivotal week.

I asked Paul for a priesthood blessing.  I was told to be comforted and was promised I could accomplish what I've set out to do.  Andrea's fever broke the next morning but the snoterfalls did not.  Monday night was my second night on the couch listening to my daughter's sick moans and coughs.  Naturally, I also started to show symptoms, and Andrea decided to skip some afternoon naps.  Tuesday evening as I drove to school, I tried hard to stay awake.  The setting sun streamed into my car at eye level, and squinting only proved to be a reminder of how desperately my eyes wanted to close.  I turned on some loud music and began to sing as robustly as I could muster.

Sitting at a stop light belting One Thing by One Direction, I realized that with my broken A/C and rolled down windows the car beside me (also with rolled down windows) could hear every off-pitch note.  Not to mention they could see my snoterfalls and I suspect a few rogue mustache hairs.  Great.

But upon arriving to class I realized how amazing my philosophy teacher was.  He told us we wouldn't write any papers, our tests would be open note-open book, and the weekly quizzes are impossible to fail if you've done the reading.  I left class on a scholastic high until approached the end of the sidewalk and faced the parking lot.  In my delirium on the drive to school I forgot to pay attention to where I put my car. . .

I called Paul and talked to him for about fifteen minutes before I realized how bad my situation was.  I told him if I wasn't home by ten o'clock he needed to call the police.  I hung up my phone and tried to focus as I walked down each row of cars scanning for my little white clunker.  I could feel drips threatening to rain from my nose and my eyes.  I was going to die in that parking lot of old age looking for my car.  Then I realized if I waited long enough all of the cars would go home but one.  I wondered how long that would take because I was out of tissues, and the vast concrete wasteland was lacking some emergency foliage. . . if you know what I mean.

As the hours minutes passed, the parking lot began to empty, and (as if illuminate by the heavens) my car came into view.  I had already passed it FOUR rows of cars ago!  I think it's safe to assume I meticulously counted the exact coordinates of my vehicle on day two and three.