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Thursday, November 15, 2012

How to Get Your Kids Ready for School


How to Get Your Kids Ready for School
Subtitle: I’m writing this more for myself, in the hopes that while I do this I will take my own advice.
Fat chance.

36 days now. That’s like a month. Are you watching Doomsday Preppers? Ya should, just a suggestion.

Step 1: Have your significant other pack lunch since they have to get up an hour before you do. This lets you sleep longer, but also pawns off some work on your other because there was a point in your life where you went to parties, did crazy things, drove to strange places in the middle of the night, were the life of whatever event you were at but now you are a Room-mother and a Girl Scout mom while your husband (yes, it is usually the man - sorry) still manages to be the same person he has been for years so yes, he needs to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Gives you more Daniel time too...

Step 2: Use the Snooze button. Ok, maybe step one should have been go to bed before one a.m. or so but dammit, the house was so quiet that it was hard not to stay awake and just sit enjoying silence, beautiful, peaceful silence, like you are right now, the lingering Daniel Jackson dream still playing out in your head, his lips, his touch, his...

 “MOM!!!! WILL CALLED ME A BUTT CHICKEN AND YOU SAID WE COULDN’T SAY BUTT CHICKEN ANYMORE!!! 

This, my friends, is the reason I’m a fan girl. To escape THAT. 

Step 3: Coffee. Drag yourself up but even though your wonderful spousage most likely made those lunches, you will need to pack and repack their backpacks FIFTEEN times because for some unknown reason they have decided that there is a bouncy ball that they earned from the prize box, that you somehow missed because you would have taken that bitch out and HID it, that they needed this morning, right now, no waiting, while you were trying to tell yourself that you really were asleep wrapped in Daniel’s arms. Now, their homework, binder, everything is ALL OVER THE PLACE. Oh yeah, the coffee. That’s important. That’s what’s making you not just go back to bed and let them fend for themselves. 

Step 4: Don’t feed the cat the night before. Ok, fine, this should go before step one, but I’m only about a quarter of the way into my coffee and it really is seven in the morning as a I write this and the ONLY time I’m up at seven in the morning voluntarily is when I’ve been up all night shopping. Because, without fail, this morning, right now, as you are seriously contemplated running away to Vancouver to kidnap your celebrity love obsession, the cleanest creature living in your house by far will have decided to puke. Right in front of the silverware drawer. Seconds before Adorable Nerd needs a spoon for his cereal. And you will step right in it. It’s still warm. I’ve got coffee, anyone got an whiskey?

Step 5: Showers should be taken the night before because adding anything to the morning other than putting on clothes should be nixed. Just lay off of me for the list today, you can print it, cut and paste and reorder on your own damn time it is now seven in the morning for crying out loud! I have nothing else to say other than if coffee doesn’t wake you up having your six year old rolling in the floor laughing because she just pulled your seven year old’s towel off, as he is running upstairs naked holding his junk while she screams that she hid his tightie whities, that sure as hell will. But not in a good way. I need more coffee. Can I just go back to Daniel? 

Step 6: Start the countdown twenty minutes out to AIS. If you never watched “Everybody Loves Raymond” AIS = Ass in Seat. It is the exact moment when my ass will be in the driver’s seat putting the car into reverse so if you do not want to walk you need to get your ass into the passenger seat. This is how it goes down EVERY morning. 

Me: 20 minutes to bus.
Kids: Ok
Me (5 minutes later): 15 minutes to bus. 
Kids: Ok
Clare: Will stop watching TV. 
Me: (turns TV off). Go get your shoes on and brush your teeth. 
Me (5 minutes later): 10 minutes to bus. 
Will: Clare won’t go away. 
Me: What’s she hurting?
Will: Her presence makes me move slower. 
Me: Clare, go to the kitchen.
Me (5 minutes later): 5 minutes to bus. Are those teeth brushed? How about your hair?
Kids: We’re ready. 
Me: (Walking out the door): I am walking out of the door right now.
Will: WHERE ARE MY SHOES!!!
Clare: I HATE YOU WILL YOU ARE GOING TO MAKE ME MISS SCHOOL. MOM CAN I HAVE A NEW BROTHER. 

The definition of insanity is repeating the same thing over and over again expecting a different result. Where’s my jacket? 


Step 7: Do not let them play with their pets. EVER. Even if by some miracle of Athena they’re ready to go twenty minutes early keep them away from anything furry including vomit cat. Because if not, they will pull the tail off the the gerbil, in a panic, as you give the AIS last call up the stairs, and then come downstairs screaming with a gerbil tail in their hand while the creature it is supposed to be attached to is upstairs, loose and bleeding. Trust me, nothing says parenthood like crawling all over the floor after a scared bloody gerbil that you have to wrap in a dishtowel to take with you to the bus stop only to come home and spend most of the day on the phone trying to figure out if this beloved pet is going to die. No worries, he’s fine - my sister is the president of her 4H club and works at a pet store, she fixed him right up. I just call him Stumpy. 

Step 8: Drive like the wind, maybe with a bloody animal in your hands, down your insane long OMA why do we live out here like this driveway, around the potholes your neighbors won’t have filled in because they cannot grasp the basic concept of road maintenance and are too stupid to just buy gravel and shovel themselves to drive over the plastic speed bumps installed by the stupidest of your stupid neighbors, because really SPEED is an issue in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, while lead stupid neighbor pulls out in front of you, slowing to a crawl and then stares down the bus driver like she does not belong on our private road picking up MY kids. I really hate these people, like madly, can someone PLEASE make them go away. And bring me another coffee. And Daniel. 

Step 9: Get on the bus. Kiss. Hug. I love you too. Go, no, go Mrs. T is waiting. Go, wait, where’s your coat? Did you brush your hair? Your teeth are yellow? No, I didn’t have time to get your coat, I was retrieving your gerbil who is bleeding on my yoga pants. Get on the bus, I will see you at three. Wait, Stumpy, stay in the dish towel!!!

Step 10: We know what this step SHOULD say but it is seven thirty a.m. I want wine. Badly. I want Daniel. More than words can express. I want to go back to bed but I have to log into work and deal with someone else’s kids.  So, let’s do some math. It’s gotta be 5 p.m. somewhere, right? One of your international readers? Have a glass, please, for me, and tweet me a pic. 

My twitter handle is @ladiosabri 

Thanks in advance. 

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