I Hate It When He's Right !

For the past couple of weeks, my husband has been warning me that when he starts his new job, I am going to run into problems getting everything done in the mornings.  Of course me, in my usual flippant manner, said "Whatever" and didn't give it another thought, until today.

The day doesn't get off to a good start when Lindsay realises she actually has to walk to school, and she is not happy. She is still in bed at 7:15, when I call up and gently remind her that the dishwasher needs emptying, which is one of her responsibilities. Two minutes later, she arrives in the kitchen and cupboard doors are flung open and banged shut, as she tosses dishes, mugs and glasses onto the shelves. My greeting of "Good morning darling" is met with a icy glare. After the dishwasher has been emptied and slammed shut, she stomps back up stairs to get ready for school, and that was the the last I saw of her. I think she said goodbye as she trudged out the door, but from her tone, it could just as easily have been "Up Yours !".

So having dealt successfully with daughter #1, I turn my attention to the other two. Sid has got up but is sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket.  This does not bode well.  Grady meanwhile has no intention of getting up. I am determined to keep a smile plastered on my face, but my continued requests for my son to get out of bed gradually turn nasty, until I'm issuing death threats with gay abandon. I still have to feed them and finish off their lunches. Beginning to think I should have got up earlier.

No matter what, I am determined to prove my husband wrong and keep everything moving on track. Force-feed Sid her breakfast, beat Grady over the head with a newspaper until he feeds the cats, and test both of them on their spelling which is due today.  So far, so good. I haven't lost my temper (I don't count the death threats) even though I have yet to finish my first, all important cup of coffee.

I was too quick to congratulate myself on a job well done, because I suddenly realised the kids were late for school. I yell at them to get a move on and race out to warm up the van. No sign of my keys, think! think! think!, I can't remember when I last used them, and I'm really hoping I hadn't locked them the van, which wouldn't be the first time. Finally discover them under a pile of newspapers, only now a fight has broken out between Sid and Grady because Sid can't find a glove. By this time they are really late and I'm wailing at them like some kind of demented banshee. The dog has taken cover under the kitchen table, as I'm gathering up kids, lunches and snowsuits and throwing them out the door. 

I don't like to admit it, but they were late for school and my husband was right. I really, really hate it when that happens.  And Sid's missing glove ? My darling son has just admitted that the reason Sid couldn't find it, was because he had hidden it. Next time I'll just let her pummel him.