5:15 AM
A series of complicated math problems scroll across the screen, the phone screaming at me and vibrating increasingly with each passing second. I wipe the crud from my eyes and tunnel my vision towards the flashing lights and I attempt to focus on the numbers in front of me. I can't see the screen no matter how hard I rub my eyes. Glasses, I need my glasses. The countdown starts at the top of the screen threatening to punish me with more math problems than I feel I've signed up for. Once the screaming is over, it takes everything inside of me to NOT fall back onto the bed and go back to sleep. Before I can slip my feet into my flip flops the screen starts flashing and screaming at me again. "Run, Bitch, Run!" Emojis of running woman flit across underneath the time. Looks like I'm going to need to put socks on instead.
5:40 AM
Beads of sweat drip down into my ear, down the wire of my earbuds. My heart is pounding. The smell of coffee? Intoxicating. I stumble off the elliptical and into the kitchen. Ice falls to the floor as I unsuccessfully scoop cup after cup full into my insulated tumbler. Coffee melts the ice as I pour it over, the creamer swirls and takes it from intolerable to tolerable. Lou's lunch and snacks are assembled and tucked away into his backpack, vitamins and bagels are lined up on the counter.
5:45 AM
"HELLO, SWEET BOY, GOOOOOOOD MORNING!" I slide through his door with arms spread wide. Lou rolls over on his bed to all fours and meows loudly at me. He tucks his kitty of the day up under his arm and climbs up my body to snuggle his sweet face into my neck. He's still drowsy, but every day is exactly the same. I'm so happy to see him, and he is equally as happy to be in mama's arms. But just as quickly as the moment comes to be, it passes and he leaps off the bed and dashes out of the room.
6:05 AM
I tell Siri to set an alarm for 20 minutes. This gives me just enough time to refill my coffee and snuggle with Lou who is now crabby and sweaty from fighting getting dressed. His least favorite part of the morning is putting socks and shoes on; Lou would much rather run around on all fours or tip toe around the house than suffocate his toes. I leave him to his tablet and begin gently waking Lillie up who is my bear. I turn on her bedside light and she hisses between her teeth that she doesn't want to get dressed. I tell her she has 30 minutes to get downstairs and if she's not downstairs by the time I come back inside from getting Lou on the bus, there'll be hell to pay. I say this lovingly, of course. Threats are best issued in a hush hush whisper voice whilst crouched down on their level.
6:25 AM
I sling Lou's backpack over my shoulder and reach my hand out with the other hand on the front door. "Time to go, buddy! Let's go ride the bus with Mr. Wayne!" He throws his head back and chucks his iPad across the living room. He is suddenly possessed by the wave of "NO NO NO NO NO NOT YET," monster. He storms upstairs to grab a different cat and slaps my tummy signalling a need to be held. It is a long, sweaty wait with a 4 year old at the bus stop during August in Georgia. I can feel gnats and no-see-ums nibbling at my flesh as Lou hums "the wheels on the bus" and laughs hysterically when he begins slipping in my arms. My back doesn't think any of this is hilarious. A big mischievous grin crosses his face as the blinking lights echo off the surrounding trees as the bus crests the hill into our neighborhood. When the doors open I place him on the second step and hand the bus assistant his backpack. It is in this 2 second window of time that he, without fail, leaps into my arms again and I have to hoist him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Every. Single. Day. I plop him into his seat and wish him a great day and tell the bus driver I'm praying for an easy week.
6:35 AM
I brace myself as my hand twists the door handle going back into the house. Seeing that Lillie is not downstairs I scream her full government name and refill my coffee again. I can see Logan's mouth hung open through the doorway of his room from the kitchen. His hair is floofed up with the longer portions flapping in the wind created from the fan by his bed. I can't understand how he can be comfortable with his legs at such an angle while sleeping. Nor can I understand how he can sleep through the insanity of getting his sister on the bus each morning. I poke my head around the wall to look into the living room and she's still not downstairs. I've learned from the house we're in that stairs are very much overrated, this fact is reiterated every time I have to vacuum them. It's worse when you have a daughter who is the VERY opposite of a morning person. I can hear her thumping overhead of me. I'm sure there are clothes being flung far and wide; the outfit we agreed to the night before long discarded. She officially has less than 15 minutes to be dressed, brushed in all the places needing brushing, medicated and out the door. I hold my coffee tumbler to my eye in hopes the twitching will stop with the pressure. News flash, not so much. She finally descends down the stairs. Her hair is wild as if she'd slept with a pack of rabid raccoons, yet another eclectically pieced together outfit consisting of a NASA tee shirt, black leggings, and a black sweatshirt with gold foil stars. At full volume she screams that she hates me and she knows I don't care about her or I'd actually take care of her. How she doesn't want me as her mother and she wishes she never had this family. She screams that she wishes her brother was dead and she's going to call DFCS herself because nobody in this house loves her. I hand her her vitamins and she slaps them out of my hand. She screams to not talk to her and stomps out of the house with her backpack unzipped, papers dropping one by one with each step she takes. I wonder to myself how she doesn't break a leg with the amount of aggression used to walk so hard. I wave to the neighbors as they walk up the street with their child and make sure to yell loud and proud, "I LOVE YOU, LILLIE!! MAKE IT A GREAT DAY!!"
7:00 AM
I create a rave effect with the lights in the small pantry hallway leading towards Logan's room and bang on the wall. "CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'VE SLEPT THROUGH ALL YOUR ALARMS! YOU HAVE 15 MINUTES BEFORE THE BUS ARRIVES!!" He groans and begs me to stop with the lights already as he rolls over and plops both feet onto the floor. I can hear his drawers opening and closing with increasing agitation. Lord Jesus no... HE'S WORN ALL OF HIS TRACK PANTS AND THERE ARE NO CLEAN ONES LEFT. The world has come to an end. His life is over. He pulls out the least stinky from the pile near his door and dances into them one leg at a time. Once his hair is thoroughly soaked in the sink and brushed to the side just right, he shoves a bagel into his mouth and bolts out the door while I chase him down with vitamins and his heart meds.
7:20 AM
The house is officially quiet again and the cat and I are left to stare at each other while I contemplate whether I need to wash my hair now or later and if I should do dishes or laundry. Pick up the floor or play makeup. Just kidding, the cat and I both know I don't wear makeup unless I'm required by law to be fancy.
8:30 AM
I'm in full on panic mode. How did an hour pass? Did I doze off? Did I stroke out or fall into a black hole? I'm blending my breakfast smoothie and chasing my meds with watered down coffee. I'm throwing random snacks, fruits and veg into my lunch bag and making sure I don't leave the house without my coffee... my keys... my phone... aforementioned lunch bag... it's always just ONE thing that I forget. I slide behind the steering wheel of the truck and toss my bags in the passenger seat. I can't tell if I'm wet from my shower still or if I've actually sweat THAT MUCH in the 10 minutes I hustled out the door. I check the rear view mirror, if it weren't for the sudden patches of sweat on my shirt I'd say I pulled off a cute outfit today. Meanwhile there's no saving my hair as it's already 80+ degrees outside, my hair is ALL THE IRISH and I have no A/C in my truck meaning I'm having to drive with my windows down. Another day another dollar dollar bill, y'all...
A series of complicated math problems scroll across the screen, the phone screaming at me and vibrating increasingly with each passing second. I wipe the crud from my eyes and tunnel my vision towards the flashing lights and I attempt to focus on the numbers in front of me. I can't see the screen no matter how hard I rub my eyes. Glasses, I need my glasses. The countdown starts at the top of the screen threatening to punish me with more math problems than I feel I've signed up for. Once the screaming is over, it takes everything inside of me to NOT fall back onto the bed and go back to sleep. Before I can slip my feet into my flip flops the screen starts flashing and screaming at me again. "Run, Bitch, Run!" Emojis of running woman flit across underneath the time. Looks like I'm going to need to put socks on instead.
5:40 AM
Beads of sweat drip down into my ear, down the wire of my earbuds. My heart is pounding. The smell of coffee? Intoxicating. I stumble off the elliptical and into the kitchen. Ice falls to the floor as I unsuccessfully scoop cup after cup full into my insulated tumbler. Coffee melts the ice as I pour it over, the creamer swirls and takes it from intolerable to tolerable. Lou's lunch and snacks are assembled and tucked away into his backpack, vitamins and bagels are lined up on the counter.
5:45 AM
"HELLO, SWEET BOY, GOOOOOOOD MORNING!" I slide through his door with arms spread wide. Lou rolls over on his bed to all fours and meows loudly at me. He tucks his kitty of the day up under his arm and climbs up my body to snuggle his sweet face into my neck. He's still drowsy, but every day is exactly the same. I'm so happy to see him, and he is equally as happy to be in mama's arms. But just as quickly as the moment comes to be, it passes and he leaps off the bed and dashes out of the room.
6:05 AM
I tell Siri to set an alarm for 20 minutes. This gives me just enough time to refill my coffee and snuggle with Lou who is now crabby and sweaty from fighting getting dressed. His least favorite part of the morning is putting socks and shoes on; Lou would much rather run around on all fours or tip toe around the house than suffocate his toes. I leave him to his tablet and begin gently waking Lillie up who is my bear. I turn on her bedside light and she hisses between her teeth that she doesn't want to get dressed. I tell her she has 30 minutes to get downstairs and if she's not downstairs by the time I come back inside from getting Lou on the bus, there'll be hell to pay. I say this lovingly, of course. Threats are best issued in a hush hush whisper voice whilst crouched down on their level.
6:25 AM
I sling Lou's backpack over my shoulder and reach my hand out with the other hand on the front door. "Time to go, buddy! Let's go ride the bus with Mr. Wayne!" He throws his head back and chucks his iPad across the living room. He is suddenly possessed by the wave of "NO NO NO NO NO NOT YET," monster. He storms upstairs to grab a different cat and slaps my tummy signalling a need to be held. It is a long, sweaty wait with a 4 year old at the bus stop during August in Georgia. I can feel gnats and no-see-ums nibbling at my flesh as Lou hums "the wheels on the bus" and laughs hysterically when he begins slipping in my arms. My back doesn't think any of this is hilarious. A big mischievous grin crosses his face as the blinking lights echo off the surrounding trees as the bus crests the hill into our neighborhood. When the doors open I place him on the second step and hand the bus assistant his backpack. It is in this 2 second window of time that he, without fail, leaps into my arms again and I have to hoist him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Every. Single. Day. I plop him into his seat and wish him a great day and tell the bus driver I'm praying for an easy week.
6:35 AM
I brace myself as my hand twists the door handle going back into the house. Seeing that Lillie is not downstairs I scream her full government name and refill my coffee again. I can see Logan's mouth hung open through the doorway of his room from the kitchen. His hair is floofed up with the longer portions flapping in the wind created from the fan by his bed. I can't understand how he can be comfortable with his legs at such an angle while sleeping. Nor can I understand how he can sleep through the insanity of getting his sister on the bus each morning. I poke my head around the wall to look into the living room and she's still not downstairs. I've learned from the house we're in that stairs are very much overrated, this fact is reiterated every time I have to vacuum them. It's worse when you have a daughter who is the VERY opposite of a morning person. I can hear her thumping overhead of me. I'm sure there are clothes being flung far and wide; the outfit we agreed to the night before long discarded. She officially has less than 15 minutes to be dressed, brushed in all the places needing brushing, medicated and out the door. I hold my coffee tumbler to my eye in hopes the twitching will stop with the pressure. News flash, not so much. She finally descends down the stairs. Her hair is wild as if she'd slept with a pack of rabid raccoons, yet another eclectically pieced together outfit consisting of a NASA tee shirt, black leggings, and a black sweatshirt with gold foil stars. At full volume she screams that she hates me and she knows I don't care about her or I'd actually take care of her. How she doesn't want me as her mother and she wishes she never had this family. She screams that she wishes her brother was dead and she's going to call DFCS herself because nobody in this house loves her. I hand her her vitamins and she slaps them out of my hand. She screams to not talk to her and stomps out of the house with her backpack unzipped, papers dropping one by one with each step she takes. I wonder to myself how she doesn't break a leg with the amount of aggression used to walk so hard. I wave to the neighbors as they walk up the street with their child and make sure to yell loud and proud, "I LOVE YOU, LILLIE!! MAKE IT A GREAT DAY!!"
7:00 AM
I create a rave effect with the lights in the small pantry hallway leading towards Logan's room and bang on the wall. "CONGRATULATIONS, YOU'VE SLEPT THROUGH ALL YOUR ALARMS! YOU HAVE 15 MINUTES BEFORE THE BUS ARRIVES!!" He groans and begs me to stop with the lights already as he rolls over and plops both feet onto the floor. I can hear his drawers opening and closing with increasing agitation. Lord Jesus no... HE'S WORN ALL OF HIS TRACK PANTS AND THERE ARE NO CLEAN ONES LEFT. The world has come to an end. His life is over. He pulls out the least stinky from the pile near his door and dances into them one leg at a time. Once his hair is thoroughly soaked in the sink and brushed to the side just right, he shoves a bagel into his mouth and bolts out the door while I chase him down with vitamins and his heart meds.
7:20 AM
The house is officially quiet again and the cat and I are left to stare at each other while I contemplate whether I need to wash my hair now or later and if I should do dishes or laundry. Pick up the floor or play makeup. Just kidding, the cat and I both know I don't wear makeup unless I'm required by law to be fancy.
8:30 AM
I'm in full on panic mode. How did an hour pass? Did I doze off? Did I stroke out or fall into a black hole? I'm blending my breakfast smoothie and chasing my meds with watered down coffee. I'm throwing random snacks, fruits and veg into my lunch bag and making sure I don't leave the house without my coffee... my keys... my phone... aforementioned lunch bag... it's always just ONE thing that I forget. I slide behind the steering wheel of the truck and toss my bags in the passenger seat. I can't tell if I'm wet from my shower still or if I've actually sweat THAT MUCH in the 10 minutes I hustled out the door. I check the rear view mirror, if it weren't for the sudden patches of sweat on my shirt I'd say I pulled off a cute outfit today. Meanwhile there's no saving my hair as it's already 80+ degrees outside, my hair is ALL THE IRISH and I have no A/C in my truck meaning I'm having to drive with my windows down. Another day another dollar dollar bill, y'all...
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