Things I am Not

1. Organized
2. A good housewife
3. Skinny enough to fit into my skinny jeans (but I squeeze myself in them anyway)
4. Young
5. Perfect

That last one is the one that always trips me up. My lack of perfection grates on my nerves, usually when I am in the midst of something that isn't going exactly the way I'd envisioned it. For example, in the morning, I set my alarm for 5:45 am therefore I force myself out of the bed at 6:45 am, quietly panicking because I haven't made any lunches or washed any uniforms or clothes. Then I try to rally the troops. In my perfect world scenario, I'd have 3 compliant children who joyfully awake with smiles on their faces and songs in their hearts, brush their teeth, get dressed, pack their backpacks and come to the breakfast table (after having helped prepare breakfast).

This is what actually happens:

I fake calmness and sincerity and go and lovingly wake my children up with a silly song or reminding them of an exciting event planned for the day. I let the dogs out and make a pot of coffee. I stare at the pile of dishes in the sink and curse myself for not taking care of it the night before. I go back in for the second attempt at rousing them, still attempting sweetness, but with a bit more alarm in my voice ("we're going to be late" said in my sing-songiest voice). I go back to the kitchen and set up the lunch making assembly line. About half way through shoving things into eco-unfriendly plastic baggies I look at the clock and it's now 7 am. I've had enough with the nice mommy facade so I start shouting from the kitchen "Get up! We're going to be late!" but I'm still not using my mean voice. I hear nothing from their bedrooms. I unscrew equally eco-unfriendly mini water bottles so they don't spill at the lunch table (common hazard with smallish hands-when attempting to open, they squeeze them and water comes shooting out the top and then the lunch ladies get pissed) and in my mind I sort out who likes cheese sticks and who thinks they are gross, who is embarrassed by Activia yogurt and who likes it (and flavor preference), who wants their apples cut and who doesn't like oranges at school (only at home) and now the clock says 7:05 am and no one has budged, so now I bring on the full-fledged bitch-mommy scream, "Get out of bed! NOW!" with no remaining vestiges of sweetness in my voice. Finally the coffee is ready and I pour myself a cup. By this point the three dogs have been let in and out about 37 different times in various couplings and I've had to yell about seven thousand times to stop barking. Forget feeding them. Finally, they emerge from their bedrooms (the children, not the dogs) one by one and have the audacity to ask if they can take a shower. It's 7:10 am and we have to leave in 15 minutes, so obviously I say...."Fine, but it had better be quick!". At 7:15 am I am banging on the bathroom door yelling at my oldest to get out of the shower and asking my younger two if they really did brush their teeth (who lies about brushing their teeth? How is it an unsavory enough task that you have to lie about it?). Generally at least two of them come out and tell me they can't find various articles of clothes and do I know where they are and have I washed them. I'm almost always vilified for my lack of clothes washing expediency although sometimes the housekeeper gets blamed. Socks are usually the culprit and this is mainly due to the fact that both boys can only wear one specific brand of socks (and not the same between the two). So even if there are 12,000 pairs of socks in their drawers, if they aren't THE socks that they want. Now I've let the dogs out another 32 times and had to listen to their complaints about the lack of kibble in their bowls. My husband then emerges from the bedroom after taking a cold shower because the 3 kids used all the hot water and asks if I have taken in the dry cleaning yet. (That would be a negatory). He lets the dogs out again. It is now 7:25 and lunches are made, kids are mainly clothed (middle kid usually wears the same thing several days in a row, so it makes the clothes picking easy for him. We only have to ask him if he has changed his underwear in the last several days. And he isn't opposed to wearing yesterday's socks) and the process of shoving shit into backpacks takes place. Seventy-five percent of the time there is a forgotten packet of homework that has to be signed and upon rushing to flip through the grades, a 67% is buried within the packet (thus, the reason it was "forgotten") and I'm too anxious to shove them all out the door that don't even care about the grade. I get them out the door but not after one or two of them volley back for a jacket, a forgotten lunch, or tri-board project (the heinous tri-board project, the curse of parents everywhere and a subject all to itself) and I lock the top lock and lean my back against the door and sink to the ground. I've only had to hear I'm a mean mom about 12 times this morning and only seen a pair of eye-rolling 3 times and "Geez!" about 8 times. It's a good morning. The dogs are scratching at the back door to get back in, so I get up and let them in, but not till I wipe the mud off of 12 paws. At last I get to go drink my cup of coffee that is now cold but easily fixed by 30 seconds in the microwave. Amazingly, as soon as I get them out the door, I remember how much I love them and how lucky I am and really this only lasts for a little while.