I'm changing schools, but that's for another post.
On my very last day at Greens Prairie, my last day to work at the school where both of my kids go, we got out early. I decided that we should go get the boys passports to open up our vacation options. I didn't know if they would come in before our vacation this summer, but even if they didn't, we'd have them for next year. After a very sad day of goodbyes, prepping for vacation seemed like a perfect plan.
Several people asked what our plans were for the afternoon, and when I shared my passport idea I was met with skepticism. "Do you have an appointment?" No, I was just going to go to the passport office where their job is to order passports. "Have you called ahead?" No, surely they will know when I walk into the passport office that I'm there to get a passport. These people obviously had negative passport-obtaining experiences, but I figured that was probably out of the norm. I'd be fine.
Since both parents have to be there to get a kid's passport, I convinced Trey to meet me at the College Station Post Office, home of the Passport Obtaining Place, even though it is quite difficult for him to get away from work during the day at all, much less on a Friday. The boys and I were waiting patiently in line when he arrived. When I got to the front, a very nice postal worker lady said, "We only do passports by appointment, but I can make you an appointment if you like."
Hmmm...so the hours posted that indicate when passport getting is available are really just hours during which I can make an appointment? Interesting. No big deal. I'll just make an appointment.
(Remember, I had a day of pretending not to be overwhelmingly sad about getting a promotion, which in and of itself is absurd at best, and I was determined to be positive about this.)
"Yes, ma'am. I'd like to go ahead and make an appointment."
"Okay," she says, as she flips through a paper calendar. "The next appointment we have is June 26th."
"What? As in, one month from now? That June 26th?" In my head I am telling myself over and over that this is just the lady with the calendar. She doesn't make the rules. It's not her fault. It's not her fault. It's not her fault.
"Yes,would you like an appointment on June 26th?" she replies.
I'm working very hard to keep a smile on my face with the woman (whose fault it isn't). "Seriously. Is that truly the soonest I can get one? Is there anything else I can do?"
"Well, the Department of Study Abroad at A&M does passports, and I have their number right here if you'd like to call them."
Yes, I would like to call them. And I did call them. And they said to come on over because they could let us order passports for the boys anytime before three. Score.
Trey mumbled incomprehensibly under his breath about government redundancies and scheduling and poor service, but he did agree to follow me over to campus to get the passports. It was already pretty close to two o'clock. We decided we needed to hustle a little bit so he could get back to his office. I checked the campus map on my phone, realized we needed to be near the MSC, and asked him which way to go. He didn't care, and he decided he'd just follow me.
So, hurriedly, we trekked over to campus.
Once we parked in the garage, I pulled up my campus map and told Trey which way I thought we should go. In my defense, I did tell him he might want to double check me, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, he decided to trust me with directions on this hot May afternoon. Let me state again. He trusted me with directions. Big. Mistake.
When we got about halfway around the MSC, I realized that we had gone the opposite way from what we should have done. Meaning, we should have just walked straight to the front door of the Department of Study Abroad, but instead we walked all the way around the famous (and large) Memorial Student Center of Texas A&M University. It was also about halfway around that I realized Trey was looking hot (yes, that kind of hot AND temperature hot) in his Friday banker garb -- nice boots, dark jeans, black shirt embroidered with the bank's logo. Clothes made for a busy day of handling people's banking business. Not made for hiking miles across the humid landscape of Central Texas in the middle of the afternoon in late May.
I swear when I spotted the sign in the distance, it was like an oasis in the desert. Sweat dripping into unmentionable crevices (see sweaty bra post from 2009), my family of four entered the Study Abroad office.
The people there were so nice. They handed us forms, gave us desks to work at while filling them out, took the boys' photos one at a time. This was all going to be worth it.
Until we realized we needed a check. An actual paper check. Which we did not have.
Trey thought he had a checkbook in his truck, so I offered to run back to it (the shorter way this time) so he wouldn't have to be in the heat again. When I got to the truck, no check book. No check. Nothing. I looked everywhere short of under the hood, and there was no check to be found.
"He's going to kill me for dragging him through all this for nothing," was all I could think. Not that he would kill me for real, or even that he would be mad at me, but he would be sweaty and hot for no good reason AND he would have to leave work again the next week in order to make another passport attempt. This would not make him jump for joy, my fault or not. Cautiously, I called to inform him of the no checkbook situation. "Just come on back," he said.
As I walked back to meet them, I noticed them from a great distance because they were all but running toward me. I thought something must have been wrong. When I got to them, Trey said, "I'm going to my office to get the checkbook. I think I have time." The he sprinted away in his good boots and black shirt in the Texas sun.
I think the time then was 2:42. I decided that he was, indeed, insane, and that this was an impossible task, but that I would humor him and wait around until 3:00 when the office closed and he wasn't back.
While he was gone on his futile effort, the boys and I hopped in my car to move it to closer parking that we'd found on our hike, but when we got to that parking we realized it was all taken. I decided to go ahead and park in "service vehicle only" parking since I didn't figure I'd even be getting out of the car. I had given up.
Then at 2:57, straight out of a movie script, Trey's truck came flying around the corner on two wheels and slammed on the breaks in the middle of the bike lane. It wasn't an illegal parking spot - it wasn't a parking spot at all - and there was Trey Hickman jumping out of the truck and sliding across the hood just like Bo Duke!
(I made up the sliding across the hood part, but he could totally pull it off.)
I jumped out of my car, and Trey and I ran into the passport office and made the boys stand watch on our two illegally parked vehicles lest a bored tow truck driver appear from the sky. We wrote some checks, took the oath that says we're really citizens and really Tucker and Keaton's parents, and we got those blasted passports ordered. It was a miracle. A Trey-Hickman-Can-Get-Anything-Done-When-He-Decides-To miracle!
Immediately, Trey rushed off to work, and as the boys and I strolled toward my car in the service vehicle space I noticed a lady on a moped approaching my car. Ugh! After all of this I was going to get (a well-deserved) parking ticket.
"That's my car," I told her as we approached.
"You're parked in a service vehicle only spot," she replied without looking at me.
"I know," was all I could say.
Then there was a good long minute of silence while she tapped away on her little ticket making machine. Finally, unable to stand the quiet, I asked, "So will I get my ticket in the mail or do I need to wait for it?"
She scowled at me. "Lady, if I was going to give you a ticket I would have done it already."
Score again!
"Quick! Get in the car, boys! We're getting ice cream to celebrate the last day of school!'
And after all of the tears and sadness and goodbyes of the day, we got ourselves a win.
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