We Make Our Own Drama...

Yesterday, I had something at work where I had to present my social security card.  So I got into the safe place we keep those documents and pulled it out.  Ready to go.  I also needed to find the boys' birth certificates.  Kindergarten registration is less than two weeks away, so I might as well pull those out now.  

I couldn't find them.

How...in five years' time...did I not prioritize moving their birth certificates to the safe spot with the others?  The search for their birth certificates was on.  I knew what I was looking for:  The big white envelope from the hospital, with "Master 'Full Given Name'" typed in all capital letters.  I had seen those envelopes from time to time.  I knew we had them in our closet.

It didn't take long, and my efforts were rewarded.  Two envelopes, in pristine condition, right where I thought I would find them.  I opened the envelops to find...the paperwork to fill out for a birth certificate.

How...in five years' time...did I not prioritize securing copies of their birth certificates?!  Maybe I could fill these out real quick and mail them the same day.  The bold letters at the bottom of the paperwork thwarted my plan:  Please allow 2-3 weeks for delivery.

Kindergarten registration is less than 2 weeks away.  This is a conundrum.  

Maybe the county clerk can expedite sending them if I call?  Maybe the school will allow me to register the boys and produce the birth certificates later?  I decided to call the county clerk first.  Her amazing answer was, "If you show up in person, we can print them for you on the spot".  Perfect!

I text my husband.  "I have to go to the county clerk tomorrow for birth certificates for the boys.  I never did that."  He is used to me forgetting important things until the last minute and responds, "Have fun with that :)"

This brings us to today.  I had to drive to downtown Kalamazoo, as the boys were born in Kalamazoo County.  I am not at all familiar with downtown Kalamazoo.  No matter, I have a GPS.  All is well.

Tim had the minivan this morning, to transport all the kids to school.  This means I had the truck.  The newer, nicer, bigger vehicle.  The one that makes me feel cool driving, but lowers my driving confidence just a smidge.  No matter.  I can do this.

I drive downtown.  I find the building I need.  I do not see parking anywhere.  I turn and find a parking garage.  Perfect!  I pull in, and my antenna bends back on the "6 foot 8 inch" clearance bar.  How tall is this truck?  I have no idea.  There is not enough space to hop out and see how much distance is between the top of the truck and the clearance bar.  But there is nobody behind me.  I back up and drive around the block.  

I call my husband.

"How tall is the truck?"

"I don't know.  Why?"
"Well, I have to park in the parking garage and I don't know if the truck is less than the 6 foot 8 inches clearance."

"I have no idea."

"Okay, I will look for another place to park."

I hang up with Tim and consult with Google (while at a red light, of course).  F150s have a range of heights, with the highest listed at 78.5 inches.  Ugh...I consult my calculator.  6 foot 6.5 inches.

I don't like that answer.  It would probably be okay, but I don't want to risk a speed bump or something taking off the top of my truck!  So I drive around some more, looking for another place to park.  I am not willing to use a parking meter, because I have no idea how long it will take at the county clerk.  Up ahead is another parking garage.  It has a 7-foot clearance.  Woot woot!  

I safely park my truck without incident, walk to the county clerk's office, fill out the necessary paperwork, and get copies of the boys' birth certificates, all in about ten minutes or less.

I drive home, and I take a nap.  That was exhausting.