The Daily Grind...

Some women seem to glide through their busy lives--juggling kids' activities, work commitments, and personal pursuits--displaying both infallible organization and unflappable calm, all while managing to appear attractively coiffed and fashionably accessorized. Although I envy them greatly, I am NOT one of these women. On a normal weekday, I'm lucky to tear out of the house with my hair brushed, wearing two matching socks (Bonus Points for remembering earrings, but only partial credit for skipping breakfast...again. Hey, coffee counts, right?). And why does this happen, you may wonder? Let's break down a typical morning at Casa WestEnders...

It begins at 7:45, the very latest Derek and Riley can be allowed to lounge in their beds and still have time to prepare for their school day. Husband does the first round, cheerfully calling "wakey, wakey!" as he opens the curtains to let in morning sunlight (which has absolutely no effect when the boys' heads are completely buried beneath their covers.) A few minutes later, I assume my first role of the day, Drill Sergeant, and threaten the kids with their worst nightmare (no time for breakfast--gasp!) if they don't get up right now. I then quickly switch to Short Order Cook/Waitress as the ravenous beasts demand their several-course morning repast. From there, I briefly play Meteorologist, reporting on the relevant weather news of the day: what the temperature is at the moment, what the "daily high" will be later, and whether any precipitation is expected. I also double as a Stylist during this segment, as the boys require advice as to appropriate clothing choices ("I don't care if you're not cold, it's November, put on some long pants" is a current recurring theme.)


At some point, I squeeze in a few moments as a Barista, making myself a crucial espresso (or two) and chugging it amidst the chaos. Then I hastily select and toss on an outfit from my own closet, apply enough makeup to look Reasonably Awake and Alert, brush my teeth, and rally the troops for the Big Exit. Of course, there's no time in the split-second itinerary to walk to the bus stop (it takes 3.5 minutes, and we haven't done it in the 6 years Derek has been in school so far), so we grab lunches, backpacks, jackets, etc. and pile into the car. Depending on how late we are, I may resemble the very craziest New York City Taxicab Driver--barreling down the street, scaring pedestrians onto the sidewalk, honking my horn--so desperate am I not to miss the bus. (Okay, before you call the police on me, this is a total exaggeration. Really, I'm only cursing like a taxicab driver...in my head, anyway...) Then, with Derek and Riley safely on their way to school, I can relax and become Professional Working Mom for a few hours.


Fast forward to when we all get home, and a new set of jobs awaits. First, there's Educational Support Staff: supervising homework, checking answers, signing papers, corralling assignments. Of course, the caged animals must be allowed to run free for a while after being stuck in a classroom all day, so they will require a Playground Monitor to mediate the inevitable backyard disagreements. All too soon, we must switch to Soccer Mode, in which they need a Trainer to help them gear up for practice--tying cleats, tightening shinguards, filling water bottles, finding balls. While they're gone, I go into Nutritionist Mode, using the time to throw dinner together and to plan what to serve for the rest of the week's hectic evening meals (hmm, will anyone notice if we eat pizza two nights this week?)


Finally, after all the hullabaloo winds down, the magical hour of the night arrives ("Almost-Made-It-To-Bedtime") when we all bring a book and climb into the King-sized bed in Mom and Dad's room, for Snuggle and Reading Time. Rest up, weary people, for tomorrow, the carousel starts spinning again at 7:45 sharp! (Tomorrow I will attempt: to eat breakfast; to leave the house calmly and make it to the bus stop with time to spare; and to actually grab the right shoes on my way out the door, so I don't spend the rest of the day worrying about how they clash with my pants. Lofty goals, I realize...Wish me luck!)