Friday Morning Mayhem

Friday morning was worse than any Monday by a long shot. Looking back now, it's pretty comical, which is why I'm writing it down for your amusement. I should explain that Monday through Thursday I am at work at 6:50am and the C-man takes the kids to school. My work is done once I get the kids out of bed, get them started on their breakfast and give them the usual reminders we moms don't trust the dads to remember: "Brush your teeth! Your backpack is right here, snack in the front pocket!" My husband is not an idiot, so I don't really know why I feel the need to give the same reminders every day, but let's face it - moms and dads have different priorities, so I need to make sure the kids get to school relatively clean and orderly. And so it goes throughout the week. Until Friday.

Friday is my morning of bliss. I get to sleep a bit later, get to drop the kids off at school - a task I really do enjoy - and arrive at work a bit later, feeling rested and ready for a busy day. Wait a minute, am I dreaming? That's how Fridays are supposed to go. They don't always. A few Fridays ago I had gone into the living room in the middle of the night so I could get some sleep. The C-man is not a fun person to share the bed with - he tosses and turns and even kicks his legs up and down on the mattress like he's running a marathon. All while sleeping peacefully. So I choose the couch. But I digress... This Friday several weeks ago C-man decides to get up early - about 5:30 - which never happens. He came into the living room and woke me up to ask if I were oversleeping. Very considerate of him. Really. I quite politely ask him to remember that Friday is my one day to sleep in. He apologizes and moves into the kitchen. Our kitchen and living room are only separated by a half-wall, so it's all open. He proceeds to grind coffee. And grind it, and grind it, and grind it. Whrrrrrr, whrrrr... Whrrrrr! Whrrrrr!!

Whrrrrrrrr!!!!!!

Every time I thought he was done he would do it again. I honestly thought, 'If I cram it up his behind will it keep whirring??? At least it would be muffled...' He got a good wifely evil glare and I moved into the bedroom, where it was impossible for me to go back to sleep due to my seething. We had a little talk about my Friday mornings, and I had a run of about three Fridays that were wonderful. Then, a few days ago, my Friday bliss broke down altogether.....

Things were going so well that morning - I got up at 5:45, which is a bit late for me. I took HRV's school folder out and took out yesterday's papers. That's when I found her homework. The homework she told me she didn't have. I woke her up and gave her a few minutes to get up and get going. When I presented her with her homework, she commenced to pitching the fit. Wailing and moaning, flailing her arms, throwing her body on the floor - all over three minutes worth of homework. I was very patient and kind - after all, it was Friday! My good day! - until her flailing arms caused me to get stabbed with her sharp pencil. Oooo, that hurt! At this point I was steaming mad and tired of the fit. I finally got her to finish the work and get dressed. I barely got them out the door on time, but no worries - I saved a good 5 minutes by throwing a couple of muffins at them and telling them to eat in the car. I'm so smart!!

Off to school we go, arriving first at the elementary school. HRV hops out and the principal and teachers wave hello. Kisses and hugs and promises to bring home a "G" for the day, and WMV gets out to climb into the front seat. That's when I saw it.

W. had sat on his muffin.

His chocolate muffin - yes, that's right, chocolate - muffin had been squashed and smeared all over the butt of his khaki shorts. "W!!! You sat in chocolate!!!" I shrieked. Behind me I could here the teachers laugh - they all have kids, too. Now I'm losing my mind. "Get in the car!" I cry. We pull away and W. is saying, "I'm sorry, Mom, I'm sorry!" and I'm ranting and raving, "How did this even happen? How do you get half a muffin underneath your bottom while you're strapped in and sitting down??? How? HOW???" Now he's almost crying. "I don't know, Mom, I'm sorry!" I'm trying to calm down, but it's very, very difficult. We're racing back toward the house and I'm trying to figure out what to do. You see, WMV only had one pair of clean uniform shorts. Why would he need another? It's Friday! I explain his options: a clean pair that's a bit too small or a dirty pair that fits just right. He opts for the small pair, followed by a tangle of shorts and shoes and I'm snatching the shorts off of him with a bottle of Spray 'n Wash in my hand. I'm begging him to hurry, and evaluating the shorts - are they too small to wear? He assures me they're fine, so we sprint back to the car. It's now 7:31 and I'm due at work at 7:30. *Sigh*

Okay, so I'm late. I'm the boss, so who's going to yell at me, right? But I have this thing about being late - it's almost OCD in it's intensity for me. Nothing stresses me out more than being late. I worked one job for 8 years and was only late ONCE. I still remember that day... I'm digressing again...

I finally arrive at the middle school and drop off the boy. I smile and tell him it's all okay, I love him and I know accidents happen. I am successfully squashing the urge to push him out of the car and mow down the car rider traffic director in my attempt to get to work. I'm already late - adding a felony will do nothing to improve the situation. At long last I pull away and am headed to work.

That's when the gas light came on. I'm looking forward to Monday morning. I'm not sure my nerves can take another Friday.