We’re running late this morning.
Of course, we just started running late, we’re always on time until one of the kids announce that they forgot they had to be at school early for archery, or Spanish club, or study group… or anything else that could throw our morning into a pile of screws.
“mom are the red bowls microwave safe?” I hear Grace call out. “Yes” I say and then wonder to myself if they really make bowls that are not microwave safe these days? What a waste that would be. “Good” she calls back, “all the other bowls are dirty”.
Whats the point in loading the dishwasher if you’re not going to run it? I lecture myself.
I hear the buttons on the microwave beep, 1 minute 30 seconds, it’s what is required for the perfect bowl of oatmeal, I silently wish I would have had oatmeal this morning.
The microwave begins to whir when Gabby says “Oh Mom, I do have archery this morning”
Grace and I look at each other and then look at the clock on the oven.
It’s 7:37. Grace has to be at school by 7:50 if Gabby is to be at archery by 8. No time to eat your oatmeal at the table like a good American family now.
I tell the girls to grab their jackets, school bags and Gabby’s lunch as I plop the hot oatmeal into a mug with a handle for Grace to eat on the way to school – whip open the silverware drawer just to give myself the second fat reminder in five minutes that I didn’t run the dishwasher, so her choices are a fork or a serving spoon. I select the serving spoon and run and start the Beemer so it can be warming while the kids continue to gather their belongings.
On the ride to school Grace calls her dad to tell him good morning using her sisters phone, texts her boyfriend back a “good morning” from her phone and takes a bite of her oatmeal at the same time. I smile, cause if there’s one thing I’ve taught her, it’s multitasking.
Gabby reminds me from the back seat that she needs an excuse letter to miss the Archery tournament tomorrow – so I lean over to the floor board to rip a sheet of notebook paper out of Grace’s spiral just as she gathers it up to jump out of the car and begin her school day. She’s fumbling the door open as I’m going down the list in usual morning routine .
“you do have money for lunch?” “yes mom”
“and your school ID?” “around my neck”
“and your phone?” “love you, bye mom”
We come to the worlds longest stop light and I began to write Gabby’s cop out letter. After 16 years of parenting, I’m skilled at cop out letters, but this one is truthful, and unfortunately, something I have to write often.
“Gabby will not be able to attend the archery tournament on Friday…” I begin just as the light turns green. I throw the pen and paper into the seat next to me. I might juggle a lot but there is no way I’m going to try to write and drive. Being at a complete stop is one thing.
Between three long stop lights I finally manage to get the words out in blue ink:
“Gabby will not be able to attend the archery tournament on Friday as she has visitation with her dad in Tulsa”
Gabby pops out of the car while I’m running down the usual morning list with her:
“got your lunch box” “yep”
“and your backpack” “uh huh”
“did you turn your cell phone off?” “bye mom, love you”
“bye baby, be sweet.”
I slip into the driveway five minutes later and gather the wrappers and oatmeal cup from the car.
Step into the house and immediately begin to load the dishwasher with the dishes of the morning so I can finally run it. Oh God, please don’t let me forget to run it again. I’ve been beating myself up over it all morning. I wipe down the counters and the table and notice that the place mats are crusty. I use that word lightly. “sick” I say out loud while scraping what may have been a lucky charms marshmallow off with my fingernail.
I gather all the place mats and the throw-blankets from the living room for the washer, but when I go to put them in, I see that Gabby has left her laundry wet in the washing machine from last night. I want to be mad, but I left the dishes in the dishwasher, so I’m really not a good example.
As I am digging through the washer to separate what can be dried from what will shrink if I even exhale on it, I fish out her swim suit. It’s January. I’m not even going to ask.
The load isn’t full so I go into her bedroom to see if there is anything that needs washing, and on her bed lay 4 shirts. She did laundry last night, so these surely can’t be dirty – but I learned a long time ago that the sniff test is just self inflicted punishment, so I scoop them up too and throw them into the most jumbled load of laundry that ever was.
Rerun is whining at my feet, so I lean into the pantry and scoop out a cup of dog food for his bowl, with an equal sized cup of water to drink, he’s so excited I think his 10 pound body might knock me over. I pour the pebbles into his ceramic dish and think “that’s the last mouth I have to feed for 6 hours”
Feed. Yes. Thank God I remembered. I shuffle to the fridge to lay something out for dinner tonight.
I look through my appointment book, satisfied that there are no conference calls today, I locate my laptop and sit down on the couch, it’s finally time to write.
But first, I really need to run the dishwasher.
Linking up with Bees With Honey on Let’s Bee Friends Friday
and also with: http://melomomma.com/2012/01/blog-hop-19/