First day of ‘summer’ schedule and I am already behind.
Day 1 was Memorial Day. I had intentions of playing a bit but getting enough done so that the week went smoothly. It’s the first week of BUBBA CAMP so I had some anxieties and wanted to leave things n top-top shape to make things easier on everyone. Intentions…probably should have said delusions. We went to the pool. That was ALL we did. I have the sun burn and the ramsacked house to prove it. Not off to a stellar start here.
Day 2 requires man child to be at the pool at 5:30. AM. That’s the morning…although it’s obscene to call this time of day morning. It’s the really more like the middle of the night. It’s dark and egad…it’s 5:30. But he had friends who drove him the last few weeks of school. Its my turn. So I literally hike up my big girl panties and wake up at 4:40. AM. Still AM–people . Of course I don’t GET up until 5. And then I leap up panicked that I am behind schedule. Turns out I am not the only one.
Man child? Nope. Not a sign of him. House is dark. He is not up. Despite being warned about being responsible and not waking his sisters. I look at the dark stairs and sigh. After I murmur a few choice words. Up those stairs I’ve got a rambunctious dog, a whiny wee-one and a hormonal pre-teen . Its like the stairway to HELL. I DO NOT WANT to climb the stairs…almost as much as I don’t want to be up at 5a, But since I am and HE’S NOT I trudge up, dodge the dog, stub my toe and feel my way, in the pitch black to the bi-fold doors where I hiss the heathens name. He answers like it’s 4PM and he’s been up all day. All chipper and perky like he’s beein waiting on me all along. Liar.
While he grabs his swim bag I ‘make breakfast. At 5:02 I count opening oatmeal as “making’. I have to open 2 packs after all. 45 seconds and VIOLA…breakfast is served. We collide in the dark at the bottom of the stairs. I hand him his oatmeal and grunt for him to hurry before stumbling to the car. I Did I mention its DARK at 5am? Well it is.
Me, the boy and the oatmeal take off. Its DARN dark at this ungodly hour. I start in on my ’if I am going to do this you have to do your part’ speech but it lacks its usual zip. I am not nearly so fierce at 5am. I have only gotten a few lines in when I am interrupted. By a car horn. What?/??? “It’s my alarm” man child explains to which I retort, “lot of good it does us now”. He’s saved from making a response was we pull up to his friends house. It’s dark. Man child shovels in a few bites of oatmeal. I look at him like he’s grown 2 heads. He stares back in the blue light of the car dash.
“Early,” he mumbles waving to the clock with his laden spoon.. Seems in my hampered state of mind I didn’t account for the extra 9 minutes on my watch, the microwave clock or the car clock. Hey…a non-morning person’s gotta do what a non-morning person gotta do. It would help everyone if said non-moring person remembered this though. Sitting in a dark car after waking up your sons best friend by being 13 minutes early at 5 ish is NOT pleasant. Another alarm sounds. “This is when I get up mom.” My alarm is set for 5:10 and 5:13. They get me at 5:20 and we are always right on time.” He wakes up his friend and off we go. Still early.
Really? I pick one thing to be early for and it’s 5:30 AM swim practice.
I come home full of BIG plans…really making breakfast for the girls, washing and drying my hair, packing my lunch and maybe getting to work early. Early bird gets the worm….right. Oh yes, big plans. Instead
I fall face first on the bed and fall into a coma. A coma so deep I miss the alarm the first time and the second.
So despite getting up early I start my morning late. How does this happen? Seriously. I am a walking disaster.
I don’t make breakfast-I leave a note reminding pre-teen to do so. Super Mom.
Out of necessity I do manage to wash my hair but have no time to dry it. I remedy that on the way to work though…stay tuned…I reach a new low.
I don’t use any forethought-I yank a garment out of the closet with my only consideration being large amounts of elastic so that it actually fits. Off I go.
My hair is literally dripping wet. I may or may not have all the components of my make up on but I am on the road and, lord willing and red lights cooperating, will be to work at a non-embarrassing start time. Of course I could go faster were it not for bangs hanging wetly in my eyes, obscuring my vision. I have plenty of time to ponder this as I sit through one green arrow without turning (UGH). Since it appears I have time on my hands solve a problem. There on the Oconee Connector and Highway 316 I crank up my air and proceed to blow dry my bangs via the air vent. I am finger fluffing like a pro–oblivious to the cars packed in around me. While fluffing and sylin’ I spy a discarded hair ‘pretty’ on the floor. It’s blue ruffles but it’s a band none-the-less. Minutes later I’ve got rockin’ bangs, a bun and a green light.
Did I mention it’s only day 2 of the summer schedule and that Tuesday’s are