Forever 5 Minutes Late

My kids are officially out of school for the summer, but a couple of times a week they go have a little “school” time at a friend’s house. It helps keep me sane and gives our break a little structure. However, no matter how hard I try, school year or not, we are ALWAYS 5 minutes late. Maybe this is why…

:: 5:45am :: Mommy is awake for the day. Catching up on work emails, writing, and not gonna lie – checking out what I possibly missed on IG or FB during my brief 6 hours of sleep. Ahhhhh. Silence, diet coke, turkey sandwich, and Cheetos. What? You don’t eat Cheetos for breakfast? You are missing out, my friends.

:: 6:30am :: The debate begins of whether I shower now or later after the kids get up. Lately, they’ve been waking up super early so the risk is great that my shower will be interrupted by 2 hungry dictators, demanding pancakes and milk. Because I was so flipping organized last night with the pre-pack {lunches made, backpacks filled, nap mats folded, and clothes laid out}, I opt for the later shower and return my attention to catching up with my bloggy friends and more work. Surely there’s time for that shower later…

:: 7:15am :: GRRRRR. After waking at 6:45am for the last FIVE days, the kids are sleeping in. Totally could have gotten that shower. Now I’m stuck.

:: 7:30am :: Where are they???

:: 7:45am :: My tow-headed twins finally make their way downstairs, and as expected begin making all sorts of unreasonable demands. You know, like actual food I have to cook. Or defrost. Whatever. One asks for a banana. It breaks in the peeling process. This is unfortunate, yes. To the said child, it’s the WORST THING EVER THAT HAS HAPPENED IN FOUR YEARS OF LIFE. Tantrum ensues. Child ends up in time out. Hasn’t eaten breakfast yet.

:: 8:00am :: Child has recovered from the banana trauma. Sort of. Requests a new banana because the other one is permanently deformed. I hesitate to give the new banana – but my head is starting to pound, and I’m not sure how much more fight I have left in me over A BANANA. Child scores new banana and has another point in the win column in the “wear Mommy down” war.

:: 8:15am :: Mercifully, breakfast is over. Save for the peaches that the other child wouldn’t eat. They are promised to be a snack later. I have my doubts, but trying to stay positive. I’ve also mopped twice from 2 glasses of spilled milk. And guess what? You can cry over spilled milk.

:: 8:30am :: The kids fight over what cartoon comes first. Jake wins. More tears. I promise that Sofia is next. {Don’t judge, I NEED that shower.}

:: 8:45am :: About to head to shower. The girl finds the clothes that I so meticulously chose and laid out last night, complete with matching hair bow and shoes. Cue freak out #426 for the morning. She drags me back upstairs to find something she can, and I quote, “twirl in.” Fine. I totally think your hot pink tutu and peach top is an adorable look. Top it off with your sparkly silver Toms, and you are good to go.

:: 8:55am :: Shower time. It has to be. We need to leave in 40 minutes. Pushing it, but doable. About to open the shower door when I hear loud squeals and admonishments of our dog ‘Max.’ “MOMMMMYYYYYY, Max just peed in the house! All the way down the kitchen.” Fan-freaking-tastic. I try to keep a pleasant look on my face, but there’s no doubt I’m irritated. A child attempts to console me. “Mommy, it’s o-tay. Max is a good dog. He’s just an old dog.” On this day, he’s just a lucky dog that he still has a home.

:: 9:00am :: The Swiffer has now been in action 3 times this morning. That’s gotta be a record. Shower, shower, shower. At this point, I’ve abandoned all thoughts of actually having a cute hairstyle. Bun it is. But gotta wash the hair. Has it been 2 days? 3? No clue.

:: 9:05am :: Child A busts into the bathroom screaming some nonsense about Child B who has somehow managed to change the channel to Sofia. What the heck??? I don’t even know how to use the Roku. How does she?

:: 9:10am :: Towel off and doorbell rings. No. Just no. Melee ensues. The dog goes nuts, the kids start yelling for me to get the door. I hurriedly throw on a robe and pat down the countertop searching for my glasses since I’m legally blind. And being able to see the stranger at the door is always fairly helpful. Oh goodie. It’s a pest control solicitor. Let’s see how good your services are. Shoo yourself away.

:: 9:15am :: Now a child needs help with a puzzle. I’m not completely heartless. Search for the missing piece and put aside any hopes for actual make up.

:: 9:25am :: Throw Child A his clothes and shoes. Brace myself for the meltdown that the shirt doesn’t have numbers or a Ninja Turtle on it. But I’m a prepared Mommy. At the first sign of his disdain, I run to the hamper and toss him the graphic tee. Whatever. Just.get.dressed.

:: 9:30am :: Bun up, quick powder job so I don’t scare tiny children, and my go-to yoga pants and tank top. Hot Mom. I know this.

:: 9:31am :: Walk through living room where Child A is standing with prized shirt on – but no shorts or underwear. GET.DRESSED. SHOES.NOW.

:: 9:32am :: Forgot to put lunches in actual lunch box. Throw in an extra granola bar for good measure because breakfast was less than stellar. FOR THE LOVE, SON, PUT ON YOUR SHOES!

:: 9:33am :: Shoes finally on. End is in sight. Flip off television to which the children have a visceral reaction of “NOOOOOO!” Announce that it’s time to leave. They race each other to the door ignoring my 18th warning not to slam doors. Child B hits the garage door with all her might in an effort to be the first to the car and claim the “special seat.”

:: 9:34am :: No special seat until we do her hair. I’m relegated to attempting to brush her hair {containing traces of last night’s ice cream} in front of the washing machine. Child runs off 5 different times screeching because I’m hurting her head. Abandon plans for braid and throw her a headband instead. Get in the car.

:: 9:35am :: We are buckled in. Right on time for once. It’s a miracle.

:: 9:36am :: One minute down the street, and I realize I’ve forgotten their water bottles. Gahhhh. Back home, grab the water bottles, and throw them in their backpacks. Back in car.

:: 9:37am :: “Where’s my LOVIE????” Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Do some quick mental math of my odds of getting into a car accident because of toddler all the way to school. Not worth the risk. Back home.

:: 9:38am :: Rescue lovie from upstairs. I hate stairs.

:: 9:40am :: Back in car. Now 5 minutes late.

Story of my life. My apologies to the preschool teachers.