This has been the most stunningly unproductive day I've had in quite a while. Littered with all the elements of a tragic comedy, it is in fact proof of God's sense of humor.
Let's take this from the top. Last night as I was closing my eyes to go to bed, my 14 month old son started to cry. Not much, just enough for me to know he was awake and wanted me. I let him cry for a few minutes, thinking he'd soothe himself and fall back to sleep. In the dark I waited, and just when he had quieted down, and I had closed my eyes in anticipation of sweet escape...he cried again. Louder this time, and more insistent.
I hate to hear my little guy cry, so I got up and went into his bedroom. He stood there in his crib rubbing at his runny nose and his sleepy eyes. I scooped him up and took him into my arms, sitting down in the glider rocker with him. He rested his little head on my shoulder, and I felt a little hand clutching my arm.
For about half an hour, all was well, he was quiet and calm, so I put him back in his crib and went back to my room. As I closed the door, the wailing started. Not just cries, but pitiful howls of desperation. Again, we sat in the rocker for half an hour, and again, as I lay him back in his crib, the cries started again.
I couldn't ignore them, or let him cry it out. These cries would have woken the whole house, and probably the neighbors. Not to mention, they broke my heart. I once again cradled him, and crawled into bed, laying him face-down on my chest. He tucked his hands down between my arms and abdomen and held on. We drifted together for what had to be nearly an hour, and I was confident he would go to sleep. Again I put him in his crib, and again, within minutes, he was screaming.
My wife, who was asleep with our newborn daughter, volunteered to trade 'duty' with me so I could get some rest. I reclined on the sofa next to the bassinet at 3:36, and was asleep in no more than a few seconds.
At 5:30, my daughter began to cry, wanting to be fed. I sat up with her, fed her, cradled her, and whispered to her as she gazed out the window at the gradually brightening sky. We sat together until about 6:45 am, when she fell asleep again in my arms, and I returned her to her bassinet.
I then woke up at 8:40, and was supposed to be at work at 9:00, a good twenty minute drive. I scrambled to get ready, say my goodbyes to my wife, whom I'd had to awaken, and rushed out the door.
Getting to work at 9:15, I immediately had to head back out to the Motor Vehicle Administration to get license plates. After a half an hour wait and a grumpy receptionist and emotionless teller, I was told that I needed a bill of sale for the car, and ushered on my way. Driving back to the officeI realized I'd left the office keys at home so I made the 20 minute trek back to the house to fetch them. Then, 20 minutes driving back to the office. I retrieved the bill of sale and headed back to the MVA. Suddenly, my gas gauge dropped from full to empty and the low fuel light came on. I knew the gauge was faulty, but from experience, I reckoned I had nearly 80 miles of gas left. I was wrong.
Within a minute, the van was jumpy and unresponsive. I pulled into a parking lot and the engine died. Another half hour getting gas...then, I finally made it back to the MVA. I stood in line for half an hour, only to be told my insurance information was not correct, despite the policy I held in my hand stating the opposite. This time, I wasn't even given a magic number to see the teller. By this time, I was getting increasingly agitated. On top of not having slept last night, I now ended up wasting every moment between 9am and 12:30.
I want to go home.
