A Morning in the Life

Every night before bed I think, "Tomorrow I will get up early. It'll be great! I won't have to rush to get ready, and I'll get to work early." The reality is that I'm just not a morning person. I love my sleep. Alarm clocks are not my friend. So, I wake up late, realizing that I forgot to turn on the evil alarm clock. I set Little Bit up in front of tv watching his favorite cartoons. I hurry through a shower, then find some khakis and one of my go-to tops to throw on. On the days when DH can take Little Bit to daycare, I don't end up quite so late to work, but I'm still late. The flextime excuse can only take you so far. When I have drop off Little Bit, there's an extra 30-45 minutes tacked onto my morning routine. First, I have to bargain with Little Bit to change his diaper. "If you want to keep watching cartoons, then we need to change your diaper." Next, I suggest a shirt for the day. If he insists on wearing his pajama shirt to daycare, oh, well. He's only two and a half. Try to find some clean pants for him. Are they in the dryer? Darn, forgot to run that load last night. OK, yesterday's jeans aren't too bad. Dust them off and wrestle them onto the boy. If Little Bit protests turning off the tv in order to leave, I offer him a job to do. He's still in that 'wants to help' stage, so I milk it for all it's worth encourage him. Would you like to feed the kitty cats? Or, would you like to carry my coffee cup? (Don't worry...it's empty. I tank up with coffee at the bagel shop on my way to work.) I drop Little Bit off at daycare. All the little girls (and the few boys) in his class crowd around him when we come into the room. He's already very popular (lord, help me when he's a teenager). They want to see what he's brought with him (sometimes he insists on bringing a stuffed animal). The classroom teacher asks if he's had any breakfast yet. The answer is usually no. I can feel the stink-eye she is giving me, while she's thinking, "You're bringing that boy in here this late and he *still* hasn't had breakfast?" Mommy FAIL. They now know to either save back a breakfast for him or plan to get him some cereal when he arrives. Oh, yeah, sometimes his hair doesn't even get combed before he gets dropped off. He *hates* to have his hair combed; it's not always a battle I want to fight. So, the cowlick sticking up in the back just adds to the overall pajama top, slightly dirty jeans look. He's going for a grunge vibe. Yeah, that's it. After a stop for bagel and coffee to go, I slink into work, hoping that it hasn't been noticed that I'm late. It is noticed on the mornings I slink into our weekly staff meeting after it's started. The topic -- how it's now expected for us to be in at 8am. No more lenient flextime. Awesome.