The Universe mocks me in the morning.

Can I just preface this with a confession – I ABHOR lateness.

If we agree on 5 pm for a glass of wine and chat some place, I am the girl who is there at 4:55.

That being said – I suck at mornings. I SUPER SUCK at mornings.

I do everything right the night before: clothes for Jr and myself selected and ready, lunches packed, bags together… I am on top of it.

And then sometime in the middle of the night, shit must just go off the rails. Because come dawn’s early light, getting out the door seems suddenly as difficult as climbing a 14er in a too tight pencil skirt and stilettos.  I can’t get out the damn door in anything even brushing up against the definition of a timely fashion in the mornings.

 

Stuff just happens.

 

This morning we have managed to get coats, hats, gloves, etc on and secured, and I am loading bags out the door and into the car, SO CLOSE to departure that if this was a plane the flight attendants would be in their seats, and Jr declares “MY CAR SNACKS!!”

So I run back though the house to the kitchen to grab his go-cup of Cherrios, just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of Binky-the-wonder-dog starting to throw up… somewhere… off in the distance.

I track down the barf and start cleaning it up, bags still hanging off of every arm – determined to push through and get on the road.

Standing over me, watching this display and snacking down his cereal, Jr inquires “Mom, everyone throws up, right?”

“Yep that is true buddy, everyone is sick sometimes, even doggies.”

“Just like everybody poops? “   Errr…. Ok…. “I’m pooping right now,” he says, standing over me, 4 feet away from the bathroom door.

Add another item to the “to be cleaned up “ list.

 

I sigh and put all of the bags down.

One dumps its contents all over the floor.

Yep.

 

Getting out the door is nothing short of an epic trudge every damn day. You can pack the lunches the night before, but you can’t plan for the poop, people.

Poop happens. And barf. And horrific coffee spills. And “NOT THAT SHIRT, I WANT THE RED SHIRT” wardrobe meltdowns. (Sometimes even from Jr. HA!)

I inevitably end up in the parking lot of Jr’s school taking my first conference call of the day while picking the remnants of a cheerio explosion out of my messy top-knot (sure, we can call that “intentional” messiness. You betcha.)

I have tried getting up earlier. I have tried getting Jr up earlier.

You know what I determined about getting up earlier?   There is just more time for shit to hit the fan and slow you down.

Screw it – I’m sleeping in. Maybe I can get out the door before the universe notices we are even up one of these days.

 

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I’m not inclined to try but… Just Sayin’

Look, if I wore anything other than a Broncos shirt and flannel pants for a Sunday morning Big City Burrito run, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.
Now I’m not usually inclined to TRY and fit in when it comes to suburban fashion choices.
BUT, in this case, I’m all in.

‘Cause comfy, yo.

Just Sayin’.

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Not even Sour Patch Kids. Just sayin’.

Dear Husband,
That was the worst Toddler bedtime the history of crappy bedtimes…

I mean EVER.
Drank 2 martinis….

Ate all of your sugar-coated, NOT-SOUR, gummy bear thingys. It was a lot.

Don’t ever ask about them, k?

Love you.

Just Sayin’.

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Hah-penis! Just Sayin’.

So I say “penis” a lot lately.
WAY more in the past month or two than in my entire life before.

“Please don’t squeeze your penis so hard, buddy.”

“It doesn’t really matter if your penis is bigger than/smaller than/rounder than etc Billy’s, or Johnny’s, or Joey’s… every penis is different. ” (‘Every penis is different’ is now I thing I’ve actually said. And you can’t unsay that shit.)

“Point your penis down to the water… POINT YOUR PENIS DOWN!!!”

“I’m not supposed to have a penis, buddy. It’s ok”

And on and on…. and on and on and on.

It’s like saying “hat” to me at this point. “Son don’t twist your hat like that, m’kay?”

Yep.

Just Sayin’.

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The Many Ways You Piss Me Off While Driving

So Jr is 3-and-a-half, which means he repeats the EVERYTHING.

In an effort to prevent him from repeating a string-of-cuss overly colorful recounting of the trip to preschool to his teachers and classmates each day, I have been biting tongue until it bleeds to keep from narrating the transgressions coming against us as we motor those few miles each day.

It is a total bitch.

(One of the MANY words I REALLY like to say that I can’t say anymore, because he has outgrown the portion of toddlerhood where he buys the “oh mommy said witch… you know like Room on the  Broom?” bait-and-switch to a lame G rated word.)

I have a A LOT of pent up pet-peeve in me right now, and if this plan is going to work out long-term, Suburbia, Im’ma need you to PLEASE work with me here and STOP doing the following things:

-Using real plates/glasses/UTENSILS etc, in the car.  Why do you have your ceramic “World’s Greatest Mom” coffee mug in the car?  Why is your kid drinking OJ out of a glass with no top that is made OUT OF GLASS?  WTF people – get a damn travel mug. That is going to spill.  Or break.  Or both.

-Eating full-on meals in the car. This kind of goes with the last one, but I am BEYOND confused by it. When I look over at a stop light and see a dude using his knife and fork to cut  piece of smothered breakfast burrito on the family Corelle, I feel uncomfortably like I am at his breakfast table. Andplusalso, ” hands at 10 and 2 “(or 9 and 3, depending on when you took Drivers Ed,) NOT “hands on knife and fork.”  If you have to eat (and I get, better than most, the urge to eat while doing all the things,) then try a McMuffin like a normal person.  I hear Taco Bell wraps up all that stuff you have on your plate in a tortilla and smashes it shut with a sammie press.  Try that, yo?

-Having special time with the family pet. I love my dog to an extreme degree.  I have covered that already.  But cuddling your Great Dane on your lap with his head out your driver’s side window while navigating the main drag across town is kind of a recipe for distracted driving.  And Fido needs a doggie harness, too.  Love = strapping ‘em in, pet owners.

-Practicing personal hygine. I am not in your kitchen, and I am not in your freaking bathroom either.  I didn’t see very much of this on my drive to work when we lived in the city, but it is rampant out here.  Is it because people have farther to go, so you just leave earlier and take the entire contents of your bathroom cabinet with you in your Honda? It isn’t just the over-played bit about women doing mascara in the rearview (although that does happen,)
it is toothbrushing, and hair geling, and face shaving, and curler removal, and full on foundation application.  At 45 MPH. RIGHT behind me as you roll up to a red light.   Just stop it.

*special snowflake – when I say “you” I really mean “them” as in “those bastard offenders.”  Unless them is you. In which case, I MEAN YOU.

-Oh, and this garbage

-And this

-And also this and this because winter is coming so begin planning now

-PWP- Parenting While Piloting.  You know who you are.  I am not talking about telling Billy to stop smacking his sister, or handing Jane a tissue behind you.  You are the one who is somehow miraculously behind the wheel AND in the back seat physically breaking up that fight or Nose Friedaing that toddler while driving NOT AT ALL in your lane right beside me. That shit can wait. Use your “Swagger Wagon” DVD player to stifle the brood until you get to school and drive.

-Picture taking.  I don’t care if it is the most beautiful sunrise ever in the history of time.  Or if the aforementioned Great Dane is “wearing” your infinity scarf (hashtag, HILARIOUS!) Put your damn iPhone down before iScream or youCrash.

Seriously…  whatever it is that you have to do with your hands, just don’t do it in the car. 
Sing along with the radio.  Watch the guy next to you pick his nose at the stop light instead of checking your phone.

And above all else, pay attention to where I am, on the road, with my kid, who is WAY more important than your stupid lipstick…. Because if you thump us with that minivan or sedan or whatever, I will NOT be biting my tongue to protect my rep around Jr’s school.  I have MONTHS of pent up cuss…

I. Will. End. You.

Safe Travels, now.

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