“Have a good day, Mommy!” the oldest shouts toward the open car window as she and her giant purple backpack head to school, purposefully ten or so steps ahead of her younger sister. “You too!” I attempt and fairly well succeed in a sing-song voice as I roll up the windows and mutter under my breath, “little knuckleheads.” But if you know me or hung out with me after two beers, you know what I really called them.
Why would I say such a thing to my precious children, you ask? First, for the record I love my kids. Second, let’s rewind, shall we?
At 5:50 a.m. I flung my arm out of bed and reached for my cell phone to turn off the alarm before my husband could groan about it. I put on my gym clothes and took a photo of my six pairs of Saucony shoes to post to Instagram later. Wtf? Idk. Ridiculous habits of 2018. I tied my running shoes and headed for the basement to walk on the treadmill for twenty minutes to do one thing for myself before we had to go wake up the kids. I heard footsteps above me and knew Ellie was probably awake, so I expedited my workout (skipped a bunch of stuff and stretched a bit instead) to make sure she wasn’t afraid of the dark house.
I walk into the kitchen where Ellie is tearing a frozen waffle in half. I stare at her trying to figure out what her plan is until I see her face drop, tears flow, and arms fold in front of her chest. “What are you doing?” I ask. “I wanted to see if it was bendy,” she replies. I put the two halves of waffle in the toaster and add a harsh, “I hope this doesn’t start a fire.”
Realizing I’m a little grumpy I go check in on the hubs. We chat through the shower door for a minute until I can’t stand the screaming coming from the kitchen one more second. The waffles “popped” but didn’t pop up since they are only halves. “Here,” I say grabbing them with tongs and plopping them onto her plate. Her tear-stained face does not look satisfied. She stares at the waffle halves completely insulted. I hear my oldest coming down the stairs, and pleased with that progress, I go to take my shower.
Finally starting to feel awake from my shower, I begin to put on a happy face when suddenly the door flies open and both kids run into the bathroom, elbowing each other in the ribs as they hurry to get to the sink first. How my sink became the designated teeth-brushing sink I do not know. “I was here first!” “No! I was here first!” They continue to duke it out. There is another sink in our master bathroom, not to mention four bathroom sinks in the entire house. But I don’t mention this point; it’s useless. I get dressed and go check on lunch boxes.
The hubs has already packed snacks and half of Ellie’s lunch. I nuke some mac’n’cheese for our vegetarian’s lunch. Last year school lunch was all the rage and dare I mention that neither MY mac’n’cheese nor my grilled cheese could hold a candle to the lunch ladies’ mac’n’cheese and grilled cheese. Just another argument I won’t win and won’t bring up today.
Our oldest remembered she needed to return her Friday Folder to school (since we had forgotten yesterday – yay parenting!) and grabbed it to stuff into her backpack. “Way to be proactive!” I cheer her on. Proactive is a catch phrase they are responding to the past couple of weeks, so I’m gonna board that praise train and roll with it while it works.
“UGH!!! MY HAIR!!!!” Ellie shouts as she stomps her way through the kitchen with a scowl on her face. “We’re gonna be late!” Sammy shouts, in an unconvincing manner to try to get Ellie to leave her hair alone. “And it’s all gonna be your fault!” she continues. I’m pretty sure this is where my first or second outburst occurs. Oh that’s right the first one happened when the box of Cheeze Its fell on the floor and scared the bejeezus out of me, to which I responded, “What the ..?!!!?!”
Chasing Ellie is like playing Pac Man when you try to eat the orange or the banana or pretzel for bonus points while it keeps floating away from you as you dodge obstacles. I snap at her to stay in one spot. “And quit moving your head while I’m doing your hair!” I snap again. Clearly I am owning this day in model Mother of the Year fashion.
“Time to get in the car,” I announce. Ellie looks not at the clock in the car, but the brightness of the morning and groans, “It’s already DAYTIME! We’re gonna be late to schooooooool!” “Well if you hadn’t re-done your ding dang stupid hairdo, we’d be on time!” “BUT IT HAD A POOF IN IT!” “As if anyone is gonna notice your poof. GET OFF MY BOOKBAG! YOU STEPPED ON MY BOOKBAG!” Exactly a minute and a half after this berating attack on her sister, she smiles at me from outside of the car and tells me to have a good day.
Gotta love those knuckleheads.