It usually starts while I'm still asleep, having an awesome dream.
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Then, Hubby's alarm goes off, and I wake up.
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A few times.
I putter around, enjoying the quiet stillness of the house before the kids wake up. And no matter how bedtime went, how soundly they slept, inevitably, they wake up like this:
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And they're all...
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LIKE IT WAS MY FAULT THE EARTH ROTATES AND THE SUN EVENTUALLY RISES ON A NEW DAY.
We settle down and in an attempt to ward off any chaos in catching the bus (insert sarcastic laughter here), I ask them to get dressed while I make them breakfast.
Almost every day, my request is met with:
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And I'm all...
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I ask them several times in several ways, resorting to threats because THE CLOCK IS TICKING. Their freakout usually results in tears and they finally admit...
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Have I told you that we live in a split level home? Their bedroom is 5 steps up from the living room. I can stand in the kitchen and see their beds.
You'll have to excuse my overly sensitive parental response to this.
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Scared? Of what? I have no idea. Bugs? Ghosts? Dark hallways? The alarmingly high pile of laundry that builds in the corner of their room that gives off a strange odor? Your guess is as good as mine. I tell them to be buddies and go up together.
Then the stampede upstairs begins.
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The walls shake, the rafters shiver and hanging light fixtures rock back and forth precariously due to the vibration. But, of course, it's important to go up the stairs in such a manner.
That way they outrun the ghosts and dirty laundry.
At this point in the morning, there is usually a peaceful intermission. They come down dressed for school, I have breakfast waiting for them. It's a total Beaver Cleaver moment, and I am lulled into the false sense of security that the rest of this morning may be salvaged without any further insanity.
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I'm always 100% wrong.
I usually make the mistake of looking at the clock and seeing that there is 30 minutes until we have to get to the bus, let them watch a TV show.
This is my downfall.
I let my guard down. We get comfortable. We get distracted. Then, I blink and suddenly 29 minutes have suddenly disappeared. In a panic, I start barking orders.
"BRUSH YOUR TEETH!"
"BRUSH YOUR HAIR!"
"BRUSH YOUR SHOES!"
Chaos ensues.
The girls run around the house with no particular goal. Freaking out.
Like just freaking out.
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Then I get all...
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Until they finally get their shoes. And after a painfully long interlude where Chica halfheartedly throws the laces from side to side, she apathetically announces in fake defeat, "I forget how to tie my shoes."
Temporary amnesia.
How convenient.
With just minutes left, Bug starts to open the door, turns around and announce she has to go to the bathroom.
The poop kind.
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I quickly tie shoes (entangling my fingers in the process), wipe butts and scurry out the door.
A parade of crazed monkeys does not begin to describe what we look like trying to get to the bus stop.
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With seconds to spare, we make it to the bus stop in a sweaty, hyperventilating mess. I kiss Chica goodbye and she gets onto the bus.
Sweet. Baby. Jeebus.
We made it, I sigh, and head toward home.
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As Bug and I walk, I start to feel relieved. Only to remember that we have to do this all over again tomorrow.
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One day we'll get ourselves together. Someday I'll become that "with it" mom. And I'll find a way to make velcro a trend again because LORD HELP ME IF I HAVE TO TIE ANY MORE SHOES.
In the meantime, enjoy the fact that it's Friday, friends.
You'll get a new chance to start all over again on Monday.
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