Oh, Monday.

So there I was, head held high, striding confidently the train stop. I've got another little one with a quickly approaching birthday, and so I was on another mission from my father, this time to find a solid scooter for Ella.  It was a brilliant idea of my dad's, especially given the concrete world we're living in here in Zurich.


As you know, Joey and I have gone many, many times to Dietlikon, home of all the inexpensive stores, including my beloved Ikea. So when our train stopped on the tracks and the conductor announced the delay that would make us miss our connection of the route I'd planned, I wasn't worried.  Trains run constantly and the S8 and S3 would get me there. I know this much is true.

Joey and I stopped at our favorite bakery stand, grabbed some seeded croissants, and walked to our track, scarcely looking at the sign posts.  This is our city now. We even knew which part of the train had the best accommodations for strollers, and we boarded and snuggled into our seats.

It took me about fifteen minutes to realize that the scenery and the names of the stops were unfamiliar.  And another two to figure out where on the map we were.

Trains, they run in two directions.

Tail between my legs, I disembarked and discovered that we had twenty minutes in the icy cold before our proper train would arrive.

My biggest worry was that I had a lot of chores to do and I had to be back at noon for the kids.  I only had the time to screw up once.  So, humbled and cautious, I triple checked my route, noticing that my phone, my lifeline, was running very low on batteries.  Oh, dear.

Well, I dashed from store to store, discovering that, even with a $135 shipping charge through Amazon, it is still cheaper to import a scooter from the states. And I ran through Ikea (how could I not?) and bought a floor rug (we're trying to dampen our echoy apartment, and the drapes we just got help, but not enough).  But, aargh, the time, the time!

And so I found myself running up the ramp to the train, pushing a stroller with one arm and carrying a carpet as tall as I in the other.  I boarded a train that would get me home two minutes past noon.

I can't tell you how grateful I am that I got home in time.  Mind you, the kids would have been fine: I saved enough batteries that I could call Dennis and have him pick them up, as Google is only ten minutes away.  But I would have missed this:

Monday wasn't finished with us, however.  Ella came home with a pile of homework, including a Joker assignment to copy a half-page of German text: a punishment because she was late to school this morning. Ella was crushed: she'd be getting a bad report card, now, she said, crying, and she wanted so much to get a report card that was really good so her grandparents would be proud of her.  Grandparents, help me out on this one: you're still proud of her, right?

But still, it was bad news, and her lateness was all my fault. This morning, Alex had misplaced the little yellow canister that you see hanging around his neck in the above picture.  His teachers use those to send home messages to parents, and he was teary-eyed at the thought of not taking it back to school on time.  ("I'll be in so much trouble!") I'd made Ella hang back and wait while we looked for the canister, instead of letting her go on ahead to school.

We found a little kindergarten-level fairytale for her to write out, and I kept her company while she painfully copied it letter by letter. The worst part was, the weather was glorious, and none of us could appreciate it until 3:30, when Ella finally finished.  But then we rushed out to salvage what we could of the day.

On our way to the playground, Ella spotted one of her friends from school, and the two of them crouched down in earnest conversation for about twenty minutes before Ella rejoined us.  I asked her what they'd been talking about all that time, and she said, "Oh, I was trying to tell her I couldn't talk to her because I was with my family."


But do you know what makes a hard day much better?  A surprise visit from Nish, coupled with a big bowl of melted cheese and a bottle of wine for dinner.