Brave? No. Crazy? Yes!

My sweet hubby is on call this weekend. This means he is either not in our bed at night or on the phone handling things from our bed throughout the night--or like last night, a combination of the two. He leaves before sunrise and works until there aren't any more sick people to see. He is rounding on not only his patients, but the in-patients of his 5 other partners as well, not to mention trauma or folks in need of surgical consultation. In other words, I am a 'surgery widow' on call weekends while he works his fanny off.

These weekends go much better if I have plenty of activity planned for the children, but we try to remain in town and somewhat loose, so Daddy can catch up to us if he gets an unexpected break during the day. With boatloads of almost-4-year old energy and gorgeous Spring weather, we left the house at 10am to run a quick errand or two then enjoy some free community festivities. There were two prominent festivals in our small town today, separated geographically by a couple of miles. An old-fashioned trolley and a riverboat ferry were set up to transport folks between the two. After an hour at the first one, we boarded the trolley to the second.

Upon arrival, I noticed a free child identification program. It was the full package: dental impressions, pictures, video, fingerprints, etc... so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity. Unfortunately, it took almost an hour and a half to complete the paperwork and the process, standing in multiple lines with 3 impatient small children. About 20 minutes in, I called my husband and he was able to come provide support for a bit. (As a side note, I know being prepared is important, but standing in that line I allowed myself to briefly consider the circumstances under which accessing this information might ever be necessary and I almost vomited. Hot tears started to well in my eyes and I large lump arose in my throat. It was more than I could handle.)

After the identification packets were complete, Daddy scurried back to work while the children and I walked a half-mile from the parking lot where the trolley had deposited us to the festival. The children were hot, hungry and tired. The festival was primarily focused on environmental issues without much for little people. After P suffered two different screech-evoking injuries, we decided to bail. I got a bottled water and a bag of chips for each of us and attempted to herd them a half mile to the place where the ferry would pick us up and take us back to the car. It was like pushing mud. They were whiny and all wanted me to carry them and their snacks. The walk was painfully slow.

When we finally got within 100 yards of the ferry, I saw it pulling away from the dock. This meant another half hour wait until the next one. We parked ourselves in the grass on the riverbank and waited.

With less than 10 minutes to go, K decided she ABSOLUTELY HAD TO go potty. I frantically attempted to get them to hustle up the hill to the restrooms, so we could be sure to get back before the ferry arrived. We all crammed in one nasty outdoor bathroom stall as K reconsidered and decided she didn't really need to go after all.

We returned to our spot in the line. Within the next couple of minutes a large crowd began to form as we anticipated the ferry's return. A dozen or so people broke through the line and went down onto the dock, thereby assuming 'first in line status.' As the ferry unloaded and reloaded the line was moving smoothly until I heard the captain shout, 'capacity!' The line attendant then lowered his arms and stopped the line AT ME.

Apparently many of the ferry riders had wanted a round trip cruise, which left only about 20 available seats. Even though we had been in the first 10 people in line, the line cutters caused us to not get a seat. I couldn't believe it. I am really pretty diplomatic in difficult situations. I was mindful that my children were watching this all unfold. I was furious that people had unfairly cut to the front. The attendant and the captain tried to moved people around to see if they could accommodate more passengers.

"Oh no," I lamented to the elderly attendant. "We just missed the last ferry and have been waiting ever since. My car is at the other park. I would have made the cut if not for folks breaking in line unfairly."
"People cut in line? You don't mean it!" He said with a grin. I did not find it funny or cute. My face apparently revealed my emotion, as he continued, "We have Coast Guard regulations."
Just then the captain shouted from the boat, "I have a couple more spots..."
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Anybody in that line have family members on board you were separated from?"
Four people behind me raised their hands and pointed to the line breakers. They were then ushered out of the line and put on board.
"Sir," I said to the attendant, "Those were the people who cut to the front..."
(Yes, I am a tattletale...but I was in survival mode...and I am a justice junkie.)
He motioned to me, "Go ahead. Get on."
As I tried to usher the children to the boat before he could change his mind, R's left leg slipped between two floating docks. Thankfully, I was holding his hand and was able to catch him. There was an audible gasp from the line of people behind me.
As we boarded the ferry, the only open seats were RIGHT NEXT TO the line cutters. Lately my theme has been loving your neighbor, indiscriminate compassion, etc...but I couldn't even make eye contact with them.

It was a wonderful ride on the river. The feeling of gliding through the water, the cool breeze, comfortable seats (and the knowledge that we would be safe at home within a few minutes) seemed to alleviate much of my stress.

As we got off the ferry and climbed the stairs towards our car someone remarked at my having the trio out on such an adventure alone. "You are so brave!"
If she only knew what the previous 4 and a half hours had been like.

Today I learned there is a fine line between brave and stupid.