Fast Break

It's not a good sign when the clock strikes 7AM and you're already behind with your day.

My mission this morning, regardless of whether I chose to accept it: 

• Exit the house with both children in tow by 7:30AM
• so that I can drop my son off early at day-care
• and make it to my daughter's school in time for her parent-teacher conference at 8:05AM.

Variables to contend with:

• husband traveling for work;
• two aforementioned children.

Gameplan for last night:

• white board the to-do list;
• prep child that theoretically knows how to listen and take in information with the fact that the next morning's routine will be slightly off, and she needs to be on her A-game;
• pray.

Looks easy enough, right?  I mean, what's the big deal about leaving your house at a certain time.  Set your alarm, lay out your clothes if you really want to get serious about it, and use each of your two hands to drag each of your two children to the car.  Done.

Well no, cocky-pants, it's not that easy.  At least not for me.

And here's my theory for why.  I don't think it had anything to do with lack of planning on my part.  I had this morning scheduled to within an inch of its newly-dawned life.  I used to have a job where I had to plan and account for my day in 15 minute increments, and I used that illustrious skill to memorize exactly when I had to be downstairs packing lunches, when everyone had to be dressed by, and when children had to be locked and loaded in their respective car seats.  No, this morning didn't go to shit because of me.  My beautiful, work-of-art schedule was sabotaged by a cunning genius who goes by the title of My Daughter.

She thinks she's soooooo smart, but I've got her figured out.  I know what she did last night when she was "reading her books" and then "sleeping peacefully."  She was pacing the joint, figuring out ways to trip me up.  Lost shoes here, misplaced car keys there.  Then she moseyed on into her brother's room and brought him in on the action.

Sidled right up to his crib and, Shawshank style, she whispered through the rails:

"It's like this, see?  That ole Mami of ours [gesturing over shoulder with thumb and roll of the eyes], she thinks she can go changing our morning routine on US?!? Well, do we have news for her -- am I right?!?  Things change around here when WE say they change.  Last time I checked, this was a democracy, and we outnumber that crazy broad two-to-one.  So here's what we're gonna do, little man.  Here's what we're gonna do...."

Thus, children whose combined age is less than 5 hatched a diabolical plan.

Mateo woke up at 5:45, 45 minutes earlier than he usually does.  "Oh, hey Mami!  Fancy seeing you here!  Was it my low, continuous moan and hacking cough that brought you in?!?  Well, now that you're here, what do you say we sit down for a leisurely bottle??"

Out the window went all the prep work I planned to do when the house was still enjoying the magical euphoria of two peacefully sleeping children.

So I scrambled through 30 minutes of chores in about 5 minutes, got myself and Mateo dressed, and then started on Emilia.

Apparently subterfuge is exhausting, because she was enjoying the deepest sleep of her young life.  Began with the warnings at 7.  Repeated them in 5 minute intervals.  All I got in response was heavy breathing and drooling.  "Keep trying all you want, Mami.  I ain't budging until approximately 7:27.  Oh, what, last night's pep talk about being a good girl and getting a good night's sleep suddenly doesn't sound so good, does it?!?  Now you want me UP?  Hmmmm....I'll sleep on it."

With the seconds ticking by and overtime not an option, I finally just dragged her out of bed, co-opted her into some clothes, and plunked her, Mateo, and our 23 bags in the car. 

But we were already late, people.  Late.  Can't be late.

The ensuing 30 minutes passed in a blur. I have recollections of myself delivering stern messages about cooperating, moving quickly, and limiting all conversation to "Aye, aye, Captain."  But of course when we got to daycare, Emilia wanted to come in too.  I flagged her in with my arms flailing wildly -- picture John Calipari going ballistic telling his team to get back on defense.  Then, when we exited daycare, a school bus was pulling in, and Emilia most assuredly wanted to watch the children board the bus, which takes about 17 minutes.  Sweet Christ.  Now we've got 3 minutes to get to a place 10 minutes away.

Sweating and winded, I decide enough is enough.  I will no longer be played for a fool.  I RUN THE SHOW AROUND HERE!  So I pick Emilia up with one arm, scurry across the parking lot, and gun it out of there like I'm Ryan Gosling's (yummmmmyyyyyy) stunt double in Drive.

At least, I think Emilia was the kid I picked up.  I may have actually taken one of the other children at the bus stop and deposited him or her at Emilia's school.  I don't know.  It's all such a foggy memory.

The important thing is, I made it to the parent-teacher conference. And Emilia may have fulfilled her life's dream of riding on the school bus. 

I'll find out today at pick-up!