This morning we took the girls out for “transportation day.” It’s a special event in Florissant put on by Parents As Teachers. We were there last year, and Jadzia really liked it. The girls got to explore all sorts of vehicles: police, ambulance, fire truck, motor home, refrigerated 18-wheeler, dump truck, front loader, snow plow, golf cart, tractor, Big Foot, etc.
In a very strange coincidence, later in the afternoon three of those vehicles would converge on our street. First, a police officer pulled over a driver for some sort of infraction. This is unusual on our street, as traffic tends to be light. Moments later, a fire truck and an ambulance pulled up to a house on our street, lights flashing and all. A woman was led away on a stretcher.
It was as if the transportation fair had followed us home.
After Yoli came home from work, I thought it might be nice to get some Mexican food. I hadn’t remembered it was Cinco de Mayo, but once Yoli mentioned it, I felt sure that’s what we should do.
We headed over to El Palenque. Pretty much all of Ferguson was there.
We got into a booth right away, but the ordering process and getting our food took forever. But the miracle of miracles is that not one, not two, but all three of our daughters were well-behaved through the entire evening. Jadzia and Ludi ate most of their food, too — always a plus. It was an evening that had all the ingredients for disaster, but by God’s grace, we averted it.
(this article’s title is in reference to Jadzia. I tried to explain cinco de mayo to her at the restaurant. She insisted that today was OCHO de mayo)