My morning started at 5:00 with a young fussy boy walking into my room, tearfully announcing, “I don’t like the storm snoring”, and then crawling into my arms, most likely with the hope of staying in our bed.
It didn’t make sense. For one, it wasn’t storming outside. Not at all. I comforted and reassured him and then carried him back to his room. His silent room. I still have no idea what noise prompted him to think that an imaginary storm was snoring.
I was next awakened at 6:15 by an alarm going off across the hall. I never know whether Daryl will pop right up and take his shower or wait for me to come rouse him, then arguing with me on whether it’s his day to take a shower. Today was a good day; he rushed to get ahead of his sister in the shower.
Hal, as usual, was not going to get up without encouragement. So I entered his room with a cheery voice and gently pulled his blanket off him. He smiled and I rubbed his belly while he stretched.
Suddenly, he cried out, “I am peeing in my tajamas again!”
What?! Sure enough, he had, right then, fully awake, wet his bed. It was past time to enlist additional parental support. I still needed to take my shower, after all. I flipped the light on in our room, and Daddy joined the fun while I got in the shower.
Once dressed, I asked him if he was picking up the kids from school. He usually does but he was firing the kiln and sometimes that changes things. When he answered in the affirmative, I explained that that was good because “if you want me to pick them up on kiln firing days, you have to let me know ahead of time so I can put in extra time earlier in the week.”
Something got missed in the communication. He looked at me like I was from Mars. I gave him a similar look in return. We had one of those “what’s wrong with you”, “nothing, what’s wrong with you” kind of spousal conversations before I went around the corner to brush my teeth, feeling agitated by the interaction.
Enter Jane, just slightly behind schedule. She announced “It’s 7:10 and I’m ready to go!” I knew that I could now expect regular updates every minute until Daddy and the kids were out the door. She would soon announce “It’s 7:11 and I’m ready to go!”
This time, she further muttered under her breath, “It’s going to be 7:20 again before we get out of here. Just like always.”
Holding my toothbrush, I walked back into the room to tell her, “You know, your brother wet his bed which forced him to take an unplanned shower. That’s going to run you guys behind. Crazy enough, you will still get to school on time if you leave at 7:20, so I wouldn’t sweat it.”
I got an exasperated teenager reply that fed my earlier agitation. This resulted in my muttering my own retort, “Wow, looks like I’m good at crossing people this morning. Can’t seem to make anyone happy.”
Right then, Hal came up the hall, wearing a shirt that was too small, needed to be ironed, and didn’t match his pants. I told him he needed to change shirts and reached forward to help him take it off. The reaction was predictable. He screamed and tried to jerk it back down.
“Honey, it’s too small. Go pick another one.” He headed down the hall shirtless and wailing that he wanted to wear that one. I called after him, “You have 400 other shirts. Pick another one that you love dearly and put it on.”
My husband began to laugh in the living room. Then I heard him address the older two, “Oh, come on. You know you want to laugh. That was funny. Both of you sitting there trying to act like you aren’t listening. Trying to fight back the urge to laugh. One of you sulking because we haven’t left yet.”
Then he called out to me, teasing, “You trying to cross everyone in the family today? Did you get Hal too?”
“I sure did! That just leaves Daryl. Hey, Daryl, what can I do to upset you this morning? Come on, give me something!”
Shortly after that, we decided that I could drop Hal off at the preschool so that Jane wouldn’t have an aneurysm. This, of course, caused Hal to have one because he wanted to ride with Daddy.
Still, I got him to the bathroom to brush his teeth, but then accidentally slipped the brush out of his mouth, leaving a path of toothpaste suds on his cheek. He seemed to find that funny so then I brushed his face: both cheeks and upper lip, commenting the whole time about how messy I was.
Crisis was averted and we were able to enjoy our trip into town. I don’t usually take any of the kids to school. Hal doesn’t usually wet his bed. My husband and I don’t usually bicker, even mildly. But there is always something going on. Hal can be relied on to pick something inappropriate to wear. You can count on Jane to get anxious about leaving on time. Then you can add in some sort of unexpected drama, just to keep it interesting. Yes, it was definitely a typical school day morning at our house.