It's The Final Countdown

Monday.  

8:10

"Kiddo #1, it's time to eat so you won't be late for the bus." I try to use my sing song voice, the one that Disney princesses use when they're chiding forest animals for being mean to their stepmothers, or the local witch, or whatever. The voice where butterflies and glitter comes out of your mouth while you speak. I try to use that one because it's the morning (a) and I need everything to be harmonious and happy in the morning, but also, b) because it makes me feel like we have all the time in the world, so there's no need to panic about catching the bus. Can't you just hear the glitter?

Kiddo #1 appears. She's dressed, teeth brushed, hair in pigtails. She quickly stomps down the hallway, but she's not angry, she just walks and runs like a herd of elephants. 

In the kitchen sits her brother (which is worth noting since he's not one for being immobile for very long), singing and eating Chocolate Cheerios (best.invention.ever.) when Kiddo #1 rounds the corner. She sits at the table and begins eating.  A fawn walks up to our kitchen window and eats some grass that we grow there especially for forest wildlife. Gnomes are outside, busily building little homes out of cute mushrooms while the Faeries flit about changing Summer to Autumn.  It's a beautiful, calm, September morning.  There is no way we won't catch the bus today.  Smug, I go into my bathroom to quickly put on the bare minimum, bus stop Momma make-up.

Seconds later, I return to the kitchen to find it's now 8:43.

WHAT? How? Was the infant playing with the kitchen clock?

"Kiddo #1! We're gonna miss the bus! GET YOUR SHOES ON AND GRAB YOUR BAG!!"  The calm kitchen is thrown into screaming chaos with me running over Kiddo #1 to get Kiddo #2 and toss him into the stroller. Kiddo #1, crying because she can't find her shoes, grabs her book bag, determined to catch the bus-- shoes be damned.  I turn around.
"Where are your SHOES?"
"(bawling) Momma. I can't find them! I'll just go to school without them. I have indoor sneakers I can wear."

"What? That's crazy. Find your shoes!"

Kiddo #2, squirming in my insane grip, just. won't. stay. put. and I don't want two screaming kids because I pinched him with the seat belt thing.  Kiddo #2 returns.

"I can't find my shoes. (wailing, bawling, unable to breathe)"

The bus rolls on by, oblivious to our plight.  Frickin' nice.

Tuesday 

8:03

""Kiddo #1, it's time to eat so you won't be late for the bus."  I smile while I talk because, well, everyone can tell if you're smiling when you talk (or not) and I want my little angel to feel happy and calm this morning. We're getting to the kitchen earlier today so that we don't have a repeat of yesterday's unpleasant, chaotic mess. My blood pressure is already a little elevated at the thought, so we're just going to change the routine a bit and be fine.

I sit the kiddos down at the table. Kiddo #1 is dressed, but teeth aren't brushed and hair is still rather tornado-esque.  Kiddo #2 is in his diaper and both are happily eating Chocolate Cheerios. I head into my bathroom and put on my bus stop Momma make-up (which includes: moisturizer, mascara, eyebrows and lip gloss) and return to the kitchen.   Ha! 8:18.  Life is great.

I sit down and begin eating my Chocolate Cheerios. The three of us chit chat about Kiddo #1's ballet class with Miss Britt, who has been Kiddo #1's teacher for the last two years, so we feel like she's a part of our family. It's cool since she's a positive, caring person that all kiddos should have in their lives. You don't always get so lucky when your kids start into sports. 

WHAT THE FRICK?!? 

8:41? How did this happen?

"Kiddo #1! We're gonna miss the bus! GET YOUR SHOES ON AND GRAB YOUR BAG!!"  

I run out to the garage and open the door to (somehow) show the bus driver that we're alive and trying to get to the bus stop. Leaping over not one, but two different baby gate-hurdles, I grab Kiddo #2 and Kiddo #1's book bag and run out the front door.  I call, "Kiddo #1-- get your shoes I've got your bag!" over my shoulder but it's too late. Kiddo #1 is yelling that she can't find her book bag, and I can hear her because the front door is open. And because the front door is open, the frickin' dog is now galloping around the driveway like Charlie Sheen at Hugh Hefner's house after finding the Coke room. Winning.

The bus rolls on by. I look to the sky. It begins to rain. 

Wednesday

8:15

Kiddo #1 is done eating. She is dressed, she has her shoes on. She has brushed her hair and her teeth, possibly with the same brush-- I wasn't going to interfere because I have too many things going on in the morning to be able to monitor that minor detail.  But both her mouth and her bangs have the same minty freshness, so you be the judge.

Kiddo #1 is sitting on the front porch with her book bag in front of her, but down the steps.  Kiddo #2 is in his jammies but at least a new diaper, and is also sitting on the front stoop. He's eating Chocolate Cheerios out of a canvas baggie and every time he takes one, the Velcro closes like a bank vault. Kiddo #1 is helping him open it, without losing the rest of his breakfast in the meantime.

I return. Miracle of miracles, it's only 8:31.  We, triumphant, walk to the bus stop. We, jubilant, get there first of all the other kids.  We, delirious with joy, wait for the bus. 8:41. 8:45. 8:54. At 8:57, the bus rolls up and Kiddo #1 gets on, still as excited as ever.  The other mom looks at me and says, "Wow. It's never here this late."  Of course not. Of course.

Thursday

8:41

What? How? Where did the 8:12 time go? I didn't even look at the clock this morning. Fantastic. We've already missed the bus and both kids are still in their jammies. WHY CAN I NOT GET MY CHILD TO THE BUS ON TIME?!? 

The doorbell rings.  It's my mother. How is that possible? She lives an hour and a half away. Why would she be here at my house at 8:41 in the morning?

"Hi! Oh! Goodness! Everyone is rushing around! Here, let me help."

We divided and conquered the children. I took the infant, she took the kid. Hair brushed, teeth clean, outfit on, book bag packed, shoes on, ready to go. 8:45. How did my mother, in 4 minutes, do what I clearly couldn't get done in over an hour the last four days? Must be the magic of Grandma.

I get the infant out of his (gross) diaper and into his new one.  I put him in the car seat, essentially naked.  Grandma, without audibly judging, removes him, dresses him and returns him to his car seat again in 4 minutes. Kiddo #1 sits quietly in the car awaiting me. I can't even get ME dressed in 4 minutes. How the frick?

Grandma takes the children to school in the car. I, abandoned at home, put on my extended make-up (bus stop make-up is the bare minimum, extended make-up usually happens after Kiddo #2 goes down for his morning nap) and wait for their return.  

"So, why are you here this morning?"

"Oh, I had a feeling you needed a little help."  Really? She had a feeling at like, 5am that by 8:30 I would be up shit's creek without a paddle. Nice. She should use this skill for lottery tickets and the Super bowl.

"Thanks." I say.

Friday

8:58

Dear Teacher,

I regretfully inform you that the morning bus pick-up will henceforth be cancelled.  Kiddo #1 seems more than able to catch the bus, however, I clearly cannot get my stuff together that early in the morning.  

Yes, I understand that this is only the second week of school, but my heart cannot take much more of this stress. 

I fully appreciate that you get her to the bus every day after school; I cannot imagine how hard that must be with 20 kids in your class, but then again, none of those kids is me.  

With much respect and admiration,

Elizabeth 

Monday

8:12

The doorbell rings. Expecting my mother again, I answer the door in my bra and jeans. It is not my mother. Fantastic. Oh, look, it's Kiddo #1's teacher. 

"Hi. Uh. Did you get my note?"  I twirl away from the door and grab the first thing I could reach, which happens to be my vest with the broken zipper. This is not helping.

"Note? Uh, just a sec." I discreetly (haha that's hilarious) maneuver to my bedroom where I put on my pajama top. My pajama top missing the important buttons. Frickin' seriously? Why do none of my boob-hiding shirts seem within my grasp? I flounder around and throw on a sundress. Over my jeans. Wonderful. Height of fashion here.

I return to the kitchen, where I left my children and a teacher, to find nothing. In fact, the breakfast has been put away, the dishwasher is running-- she did NOT have time to vacuum? What?  There's a note on the counter. It's dated from last Friday. 

Dear Elizabeth,

I will come on Monday and see what I can do to help. Catching the bus is great, and I know we can do it!

Sincerely,

Mrs. Sweetie Pie

I look out the window to watch my eldest getting on the bus while the teacher is holding Kiddo #2, waving. 

Tuesday

6:57

I'm not messing around here. Kiddo #1 will ride the bus today come Hell or high water. I am crouched down in the kitchen wearing my Lulu Lemon headband like Rambo, and Kiddo #1's long strands of play pearls are draped across my front like so much munition. I've done my make-up, am dressed and await the gentle sound of the alarm clock to start the day.

I made Kiddo #1 wear her clothes for today as her jammies last night. I figured that step would save us at least 15 minutes-- the obligatory negotiation of what she'll wear, whether she likes her panty selection and whether or not she needs socks/tights/shoes was all done last night.  Smiling silently, I watch the sun rise and listen to the alarm clock begin buzzing. 

Kiddo #2 begins chattering away.  I couldn't pre-dress him. He has a tenancy to over flow all types and styles of diapers, so I figured there wasn't much point.  I ninja my way to his bedroom (that is to say I jumped, somersaulted, hid behind plants and scaled walls to get to his bedroom) and change his (disgusting) diaper speedily.

7:22.  Husband gets into the shower. Kiddo #1 is now roaming the house in the zig-zag pattern that comes from walking with her eyes still shut. I get her to the kitchen and put cereal in front of her.  She eats.

It's now 8:02.  Yes. Right on schedule.  Kiddo #2 is eating. Kiddo #1 is brushing her teeth.  I am dressed. 

8:12.  Yes. This will happen. I can feel it.

8:30, we calmly walk out to the bus stop. It's raining, and we don't have an umbrella. We pick up the pace and stand under a tree about 15 paces from the bus stop. The other children of the bus stop stand with us. 

The bus pulls up at 8:43.  The boys run to the door and pile in. Kiddo #1 is still standing beside me.  "What are you doing? Get going!"  She then tries to lift her roller-book bag up by the handle and carry it in front of her. She looks more than awkward, and she's tripping over her feet. And we're in front of a driveway and the owner of the driveway is trying to pull in off the street.  I grab the book bag and begin to pull it behind me, which ends up running over Kiddo #1's heels and taking off one of her shoes, in the middle of that driveway.  The last couple kids are getting on the bus and we're at least 10 paces away. Frick!

"Mom! I lost my shoe!"  I snort like an angry bull. I swallow the urge to scream "SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP!" and instead take a deep breath and say (as sweetly as humanly possible) "Honey, you're about to get run over. Fix your shoe on the bus."  But she's four and doesn't know how to walk with one shoe on and one shoe off.  And then, as I stoop down to fix her shoe, the bus driver shuts the doors and pulls in the flashing Stop sign. WHAT? We're right frickin' here! The other bus parent starts waving to the bus driver and actually bangs on the door but he pulls away but the rain picks up and the torrential downpour is much louder than the hand on a bus door.  

The bus pulls away, oblivious to our plight.  

I need a personal assistant.


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