It takes me about a month into each new school year to arrive at a place where I can both wash my hair and eat breakfast before getting everyone out the door. Last week I thought I made it and Mya was dressed and ready to go with time to spare before the bus was barreling down the street. My morning smoothie was in the blender ready to whirl and the maniacs were actually dressed as they spread Crispies around my kitchen making their own cereal calling to me that they needed "mowk". I tossed them a banana and some "mowk" and acknowledged to myself that maybe I can do this thing. Then I picked Mya up to get her in her stroller and she started to puke. It really is this life flashing sort of moment when that happens as I chant 'no, no, no' and run through in my head how long she has had her morning meds down and how far we are already behind on food and, damn it, I already brushed her teeth. And then the suction tubing had fallen out of the too tiny connector and the thing wouldn't work so I tossed it across the room and grabbed the canister that I just replaced but was too lazy to throw out. As I hooked it together and yanked off the catheter I had just chucked she coughed and sputtered and breathed and finally pulled it together without me. Somehow we managed to keep most of it out of her hair and we sponged off and redressed just in time to catch the bus with stinky breath. Thanks for keeping it real, Mya. I guess I will never really have this thing.
I try to drop my shoulders and take deep breaths as I return to the sometimes still propped door, like a mini meditation that will put back on the years that this stress is undoubtedly taking off, but usually by that time the breakfast calm has evaporated. No one wants to remember they can put on their own shoes or pee without an audience. Empty backpacks suddenly become far too heavy and toothbrushes far too complicated. And I try really hard not to scream as I politely repeat every step that is required to get from the kitchen to the car...which is essentially just grab your crap and walk folks. Then get in the ever loving car. And in your seat. YOUR seat. And don't kick your sister. And work on your buckle. Please. Just do the buckle. Or not, but don't scream about it. Please. For the love of God. And I hear this madness never stops. It really is a thing of beauty that we, as a nation, manage to get our children to school every day mostly without bloodshed.
I love preschool. And nap time. Which is nearly over.
