As a teacher, my husband pays attention to the school calendar and, since I pay attention to pretty much everything else, I let him own that piece of our lives. So, when Brad said, “Hey, Monday is an elementary teacher plan day and Hutton doesn’t have school,” I agreed that not only would he go to daycare with his younger siblings today, but that we would let Rusty skip preschool and have a play day at Aunt Mandy’s as well.
This meant that all we had to do this morning was get four kids ready to leave with Brad by 7:15, leaving me 15 minutes to get myself ready for work and take Keaton to school.
Then Joey lost her shoes and both boys couldn’t find their coats and one Kindle wasn’t charged and I yelled, “If everyone around here would just do things like I ask, none of this would happen!” right as Brad opened the fridge to grab leftovers for lunch and knocked an entire jar of pickles on the floor, which Roo walked through.
Damn it. Like, for the love of all that is holy, damn it.
When the circus from h-e-double hockey sticks finally left, I used the time I needed to get myself showered and dressed cleaning the floors, starting laundry and diapering the “mom yelled and now I’m going to leak everywhere” dog. I threw a coat on over my pajamas, ran Keaton to school (while receiving “hey, did you see my coffee cup in the driveway?” texts from my husband), then came back home to make myself presentable (thank you fresh-out-of the-dryer jeans for zipping easily after a weekend of gorging or that may have been my final straw) and, miraculously, pulled into the parking lot at about my normal time.
Of course, as I badged in, the security pad read something wrong on my ID and set off the “Alert! Alert! Please go to security!” alarm. I ran around the building, presented my license and my badge, and finally arrived at my desk.
Then my cell rang. It was the elementary school.
Secretary: “Good morning! I have Hutton marked absent. Is he sick?”
Bang head against cubicle wall: “Um, nope. My husband said today was a teacher plan day for elementary. Apparently not.”
Secretary (who has known me now for six years and understands I’m not crazy or neglectful, just scattered): “No, we’re here.”
“OK, well, I’m already at work and he’s playing, so he’s not going to be there today.”
Secretary: “Gotcha. And did you know you missed Kindergarten registration for Rustyn?”
Band head harder: “Dang it. What do I need to do?”
Secretary, laughing: “You filled out the transfer paperwork (because we attend a school outside our boundaries), right?”
“Yes! That I did do!”
Secretary: “OK, good. Just come in sometime then when I’m here and we’ll take care of the rest of it.”
“Great. Thank you!”
Hang up phone. Engage in flurry texts with Brad and my sister-in-law about how we seriously do not have our crap together, followed by stressed emails from Brad about plan periods and testing and track meets and kid schedules (which are, clearly, a struggle area for us) and how we really just need to go back and start the whole day over.
And, so, with any luck, we’ll all get home tonight in one piece with most of our belongings and toss kids outside for awhile and eat a simple “who wants macaroni and who wants a cheesy” supper and put everyone to bed early and drink a beer and go to sleep ourselves and try again tomorrow.
Because, right now, that’s the only idea I’ve got.