On a typical weekday, my alarm is set for 6:20am. I like to linger in bed and hit the snooze a few times. Only seven more minutes, but I could be dead to the world for 6 minutes and 45 seconds after I press that favorite button of mine. This morning, shortly after my first round of "just seven more minutes" the phone rang. A telephone call at 6:30am is so much more alarming than an alarm clock. It was the auto dialer calling to inform Darrin that there would be a 2 hour delay at school today because of a water main break. Six-thirty. He must have just left! Maybe I could catch him!? I threw the blankets back, jumped out of bed, ran down the hall, out the front door and he was just pulling out of the driveway. I jumped up and down flailing my arms as dramatically as I could and he didn't see me. He was at the end of our very short driveway, straightening the car out to pull forward on the street as I ran barefoot in the snow and did my little neanderthal dance on the driveway in my pajamas as he pulled away. In a panic, I threw open the van door and honked the horn, but off he went. I have never been so confident in my efforts that I did the best I could. I wonder if any of the neighbors heard me yelling "NO!" and saw me looking like a freak on my driveway?