And it all happened before 8am... or.... the revenge of the still-wet cat puke
I put my hand in still-wet cat puke on our couch. (Thank goodness for leather couches!) I do a quick clean up of said cat puke.
There is a heated debated about a toy watch that Shaw insists he wear to school. It is to stay here where it won't be lost or broken.
I catch Shaw attempting to sneak the contraband watch to school anyway. Another heated debate ensues.
It is determined (by me) that "Little John," Shaw's giant Teddy bear, will "watch" the watch all day. I stuff the "watch" in my left coat pocket.
I question the kids as to their readiness to leave for school.
I find out that Tristan has, in my absence of the morning routine, been "forgetting" to take his daily snack. I contemplate if we now look like neglectful parents or parents who expect their genius nine-year-old to have his act half-way together.
There is mob-mentality panic over where the umbrellas are that does not subside until all three umbrellas are safely in the hands of each rightful owner.
I contemplate how in Ashland, WI we never would have been worrying about umbrellas in December, unless it was to keep snow off of us and who the hell does that? No one I've ever known or seen in real life.
I question the kids as to their readiness for school.
Aislinn needs a drink. I show her the cups are in the clean, but unemptied dishwasher. The ice and water dispensers in the fridge clatter and splatter. Aislinn gives a refreshed, "Ahhh..."
My questioning about school-preparedness is becoming more frequent now.
There is a debate about a ski mask. Ski masks are swapped between Aislinn and Shaw causing a minor disruption in the order or the Universe. Things settle back into place quickly.
Finally, we're out the door. I pass the line of three kids under umbrellas to make my way to the gate so I can procure the car from its house.
I back the car out.
Shaw turns himself into a toy water snake as I try to urge him into the car. In one of my attempts to pick up the whining, crying water snake I see a huge, wet cat puke stain on, what had been, his nicest pair of jeans.
I swear.
Water snake child fights and whines and tries to slither out of my grasp all the way into the house. I gently give him his orders: boots off, pants off, stay IN THE ENTRYWAY. I frantically look for replacement pants. I settle for some that are lying on his bedroom floor. They don't have cat puke on them.
More slithering and whining and protesting comes when I bring the "new" jeans down and help him into them. Like the child's toy he is so much reminding me of, I'm able to get part of him into the jeans and let gravity do the rest. Luckily, he doesn't slip entirely through the jeans as the toy would have.
I interrogate him as to where he'd been in the cat-puke jeans, wondering if there will be surprises for me when I return home. He offers no answers.
Back out to the car. Amazingly, the other two aren't fighting and I'm told by Aislinn that her older brother needs a Kleenex.
Kleenex are passed back to the boys: one who has a cold, the other who is recovering from his minor freak out.
Off to school.
I drop each kid off at respective doorways as it's raining and there will be no outdoor play today.
I tell each one how much I love him or her, how proud he/she makes me and to have a fantastic day and I'll see them all later.
And it all happened before 8am and all of my children told me they loved me.
There is a heated debated about a toy watch that Shaw insists he wear to school. It is to stay here where it won't be lost or broken.
I catch Shaw attempting to sneak the contraband watch to school anyway. Another heated debate ensues.
It is determined (by me) that "Little John," Shaw's giant Teddy bear, will "watch" the watch all day. I stuff the "watch" in my left coat pocket.
I question the kids as to their readiness to leave for school.
I find out that Tristan has, in my absence of the morning routine, been "forgetting" to take his daily snack. I contemplate if we now look like neglectful parents or parents who expect their genius nine-year-old to have his act half-way together.
There is mob-mentality panic over where the umbrellas are that does not subside until all three umbrellas are safely in the hands of each rightful owner.
I contemplate how in Ashland, WI we never would have been worrying about umbrellas in December, unless it was to keep snow off of us and who the hell does that? No one I've ever known or seen in real life.
I question the kids as to their readiness for school.
Aislinn needs a drink. I show her the cups are in the clean, but unemptied dishwasher. The ice and water dispensers in the fridge clatter and splatter. Aislinn gives a refreshed, "Ahhh..."
My questioning about school-preparedness is becoming more frequent now.
There is a debate about a ski mask. Ski masks are swapped between Aislinn and Shaw causing a minor disruption in the order or the Universe. Things settle back into place quickly.
Finally, we're out the door. I pass the line of three kids under umbrellas to make my way to the gate so I can procure the car from its house.
I back the car out.
Shaw turns himself into a toy water snake as I try to urge him into the car. In one of my attempts to pick up the whining, crying water snake I see a huge, wet cat puke stain on, what had been, his nicest pair of jeans.
I swear.
Water snake child fights and whines and tries to slither out of my grasp all the way into the house. I gently give him his orders: boots off, pants off, stay IN THE ENTRYWAY. I frantically look for replacement pants. I settle for some that are lying on his bedroom floor. They don't have cat puke on them.
More slithering and whining and protesting comes when I bring the "new" jeans down and help him into them. Like the child's toy he is so much reminding me of, I'm able to get part of him into the jeans and let gravity do the rest. Luckily, he doesn't slip entirely through the jeans as the toy would have.
I interrogate him as to where he'd been in the cat-puke jeans, wondering if there will be surprises for me when I return home. He offers no answers.
Back out to the car. Amazingly, the other two aren't fighting and I'm told by Aislinn that her older brother needs a Kleenex.
Kleenex are passed back to the boys: one who has a cold, the other who is recovering from his minor freak out.
Off to school.
I drop each kid off at respective doorways as it's raining and there will be no outdoor play today.
I tell each one how much I love him or her, how proud he/she makes me and to have a fantastic day and I'll see them all later.
And it all happened before 8am and all of my children told me they loved me.