A Morning Story

Most mornings I do not drive my older children to school.  My mom and husband usually share that responsibility, for which I am beyond grateful.  However, a recent schedule change with my husband’s job now requires that I do the Tuesday morning drop-off; and not only is Tuesday drop-off the earliest of the week (given my oldest daughter's violin group that meets forty-five minutes before school starts) but me taking two school-aged children out also means getting three toddler/pre-schoolers ready to get out the door in a timely fashion.

On a typical morning, my three younger children, ages 4, 3, and 2, rise with the older children (around 6:30). This particular Tuesday morning, however, the younger ones decided to sleep longer than usual.  I convinced myself this was ok - they need their rest, right? (Problem #1).  They could eat breakfast after the early drop-off, and just wear their pajamas. But of course, this was the morning that the 3-year-old (with an entire year’s practice in the “terrible twos”) woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  Drama #1 – older brother is not in the bedroom when he wakes up; drama #2– he needs to blow his nose; drama #3 – he doesn’t think wearing pj’s for the drop-off is a good idea; drama #4 – he doesn’t want to 'go potty' before we leave; drama #5 – he wants to take TWO stuffed puppies with him – he only owns one.

We FINALLY got shoes and coats on everybody (because it’s 30 degrees outside) and headed out to the van.  The first thing I notice when I started up the van was the orange light in the shape of a gas pump well-lit on the dashboard.  I flipped through the digital menu looking for the “distance until empty” stat: 35 miles – good.  I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that was plenty for the trip to school, as long as I stopped right after the drop-off to ensure I wasn't  out of gas, in the cold, with three little children still in their pajamas.  As I pulled out of the garage and back down the driveway, I spotted neat piles of garbage outside everybody’s house . . . except ours.  How could we forget trash day!  So I mentally formulate a new plan 1) drop off kids, 2) get gas, 3) go home, 4) take garbage to the curb, 5) feed children breakfast.  About a mile from home I hear the four-year old tell the fourteen-year old, “I have to go potty.”  Of course I’m gonna have a messy booster seat and wet set of pj’s to clean up when I get home (but at least the washing machine was repaired last night).


Thankfully, we pulled up to the school door 2 minutes before violin start time.  Good news.  We pulled out of the driveway at school, and I checked the “distance ‘til empty” stat:14 miles left.  “Phew,” I thought, “we’ll make it to the gas station.”  After arriving at the gas station, and (in the cold) pumping the gas, I heard a knock on the van window coming from the inside.  My four-year-old is hollaring, “I have to go potty!”  Since this was the second declaration of this problem, I figured doing something about it now would make life “easier” in the long run.  I finished filling up the gas tank with gas, and got back into the van to move to a parking spot  since the gas station was busy, and somebody was waiting to use the pump I had just used.

Drama #6 – the previously mentioned child who woke up in a disturbed state begins a meltdown about his seatbelt.  I explained that we were going inside to use the restroom.  He doesn’t seem to understand.  Not really wanting to go into the busy gas station with a screaming child, I tried to reason through the situation, while the 4 year old did a little dance as she waited to go potty - and then three-year-old decides he needs to go potty too.  I'm sure we were a sight to behold as we marched up to the gas station: me carrying the newly turned 2-year-old, holding the hand of the experienced 3-year-old, and being pulled by the 4-year-old.  We located the bathroom, and the four of us were able to take care of the necessary business.  My next step in the plan is making it home and successfully getting the garbage out to the curb.  As I pulled onto our street, I was thrilled to see that the garbage men had not come yet. It's the little things that I'm thankful for.  

So now, after taking all coats and shoes off and helping ourselves to some well-desired cereal, I checked the clock: 8:30a.m.  Might be a long day.