I just now remembered. And it's Thursday already. Well, 59 minutes into it (give or take). Come to think of it, the garbage was supposed to go out to the street last night, because not only is Wednesday a WORD filled day, but it's also garbage day. We missed that too. I say WE, because I'm generally not the one to take the rolling cart to the edge of the road in the middle of the night (unless Mr Nice Guy is hospitalized and I'm feeling sorry for him), I'm just the one who
I keep telling myself that next week everything will be back to NORMAL. The kids are headed back to school (thank you JESUS!) and even my youngest will spend a few hours away from his
Here's how my week will look in the near future:
ON MONDAY: The children will arise to the heavenly smell of baking biscuits, which they will devour with blackberry honey and any number of freshly picked fruit or berries from our surrounding gardens. Juice or milk, whichever they desire, will flow freely into their nice clean glasses and bacon (turkey, of course) will tease their tastebuds into a delightful sense of awakefulness as will the farm fresh eggs cooked to order. Coordinating outfits laid out on the floor in "kid" shapes the night before will be put upon freshly washed bodies. Hair combed neatly. Teeth brushed squeaky clean. Lunches packed before I went to bed early the evening before will be taken from the refrigerator and placed in the well organized backpacks. Spiffy new jackets will adorn my four precious youngsters as they wave goodbye to me while I stand on the front porch in my workout gear and my new pair of Nike's. My second cup of coffee in hand, and my granola breakfast and banana eaten, I make my way to our "workout room" and spend 20 minutes on my stationary recumbent bike. What a great feeling... I haven't seen my bike since last Christmas.
The kids wake up to the sound of me hollering for the umpteenth time to get up or miss the bus and by the way I'm not driving them because it's nice weather and they can walk themselves to school. They trudge to the kitchen, the eldest child pours them all huge bowls of chocolate covered sugar bombs into somewhat clean bowls and dribbles over them whatever was left at the bottom of the milk carton. After pouring drinks, one of them will inevitably knock a cup of of juice over on the table, where they will then all proceed to watch as it spills off onto the floor in slow motion. Then they will all get up, walk through the juice and slop their way into the bathroom where they will yank a brush only halfway through their hair, making sure to leave more hair in the sink than on their heads. Then one by one, they will put a toothpasteless toothbrush in their mouths, if they remember to actually pick one up, and then proceed smoosh it around on their gums for six seconds. After that, they will spend a great deal of time bickering over whose brush is whose, and someone will end up crying that their hair things are in the wrong place and SOMEONE STOLE THEM. My youngest will retrieve his toothbrush from the toilet, where it fell in the commotion, and he will gingerly place it where his sisters toothbrush belongs, and they will all proceed to get dressed.
After looking in the dryer seven times for a matching pair of socks, an executive decision is handed down that all children will be wearing summer sandals as a special surprise for the day. Much huffing and whining takes place as they go to the deck to knock the beach sand from their sandals and then finish getting dressed. The sandals fit exceptionally well now that their feet have a sticky coating from who knows what. There is good news. Stripes and florals, accompanied by plaids are perfectly acceptable now, especially when it's all you've got left in the closet, so we got off easy. The bad news is that one son has no clean underwear and he's scratching at himself rather curiously. I stop to ponder when he got his last bath, but the date escapes me.
The school bus is heard coming down the next road, so I hysterically begin handing out backpacks and signing forgotten permission slips. As my son wanders around looking for his lunchbox, I steer him out the door with the others and sweetly tell them that they had lunch money left over from last year so as a treat they can buy lunch at school. They wave at me as I throw their jackets at them on their way down the drive. Good Bye. Have a nice day. I love you!
I slam the door quickly so the bus driver won't have to see my t-shirted, bra-less, medusa-haired horror show and the pup-tent sized pajama pants that are the fashion mistake of the century. I open the door back up a tiny sliver, just to make sure they actually GOT on the bus and that none of them were crying, and then I heave a giant sigh of relief. I walk back through the kitchen, curse the coffeemaker that has 3 day old grounds sitting in the filter and make a detour for the "workout room". Mysteriously, the recumbent bike has gotten lost under the avalanche from Mt. Washmore. Who's idea was it to shove excercise equipment in my laundry room anyway?? As if!
So, defeated and exhausted, I head to my cozy oversized recliner, pull up a laptop, and hunt down my favorite blogs. It's probably all I need to get me up and going for the day. I'm thinking that my "getting up and going" will happen sometime around 3:30 in the afternoon, when I hear that school bus coming down the next road, but that's our little secret.