"I Had A Great Day"

It was one of THOSE mornings. You know, the kind where you seriously consider asking for a refund. And leaves you wondering how soon you'll be developing a nice, raging ulcer.

There was the usual stress of kids not getting up on time, of trying to keep an ADHD child whose meds haven't kicked in yet on task, and so forth, but a good deal of the stress on this morning came from a certain kindergartner who might also be known as The Daydreamer/The Princess/Drama Queen II/The Snail. I had just about given up trying to get her going (and her disclosure that she had a headache 10 minutes before she was supposed to leave almost sealed the deal), except that visions of the very nice letter the principal sent a couple of weeks ago letting us know that this child had reached the maximum number of absences she was allowed for the school to "make AYP" and that her tardies were excessive and could be "detrimental" to her progress kept dancing in my head. (I think when I received the letter, I retorted something like, "Well, then YOU come to my house and see if you can do any better at getting this child out the door fed and fully dressed and on time!")

The other children ran out the door, and The Snail finally decided that she needed to go to school (why NOW, not an hour ago!), and disappeared into her room to get dressed. I poured her a bowl of cereal, knowing I couldn't send her to school with an empty stomach if she really had a headache. The Snail came out dressed, except. . . "Where are your shoes?" I asked, feeling very much like a broken record. The Snail did not know. I marched into her room to find that not ONE pair of shoes belonging to her was in her closet. NOT ONE. I mean, usually, her closet is an interesting assortment of one shoe from each pair, but this time, not ONE pair was in there. However, we easily found her brand-new, shiny, bow-bedazzled white Sunday shoes, since they were up high and displayed proudly for all to see. But since those weren't an option, we were stuck. We looked high and low and miraculously found her shoes in her backpack (thank heavens for inspiration). She gulped down her cereal (very uncharacteristic) while I scratched out a quick note on the end of a notepad with a pen that didn't want to cooperate. (Thinking about this child handing the secretary a piece of cardboard as she came in the door was amusing, I have to admit.)

Then I drove her to the front doors of the school because the second I said the word "walk," I could see a meltdown coming on, and, since the goal was to get her to school for what remained of the kindergarten day (which would not happen if she went into meltdown mode), I felt it best to just drive her. I felt pretty silly, considering the school property is four houses away from our home (in my defense, the front doors, which are the only ones open after school starts, are almost two blocks away. . .). As my daughter jumped out of the car, Rapunzel hair trailing behind her, and yanked open the heavy doors and disappeared inside, my heart swelled a bit. For all the stress she causes, she certainly is a unique and wonderful individual, and I do love her. That helped me feel a bit better.

Then a dear friend exited the school and commiserated and laughed with me (what is it with children and shoes and tough mornings?), shared some fun and happy news, and basically took my mind off the stress of the morning. As I drove home in the sunshine, I took some deep breaths and arrived home much calmer and with my stomach tied in less knots.

My daughter bounced cheerfully through the door around 11:35 A.M. with a big smile on her face, chattered excitedly about the upcoming kindergarten "Plant Picnic," and skipped into the living room to see her brother, singing, "I had a greeaaat day, da-da-da dah dah. . ." I was tempted to ask, "So what was this morning all about?" But I didn't. After all, if she thought it was a great day, who am I to change her mind?

You Think You Know A Guy. . .

While on a family walk, we were walking around a historic church and well that are near our home. My kids found a huge, almost-full bottle of Gatorade that had been dumped in the grass near the well and thought they would like to keep it. Daddy and I quickly put that idea to rest, and they dumped it back in the grass. However, we decided it would be better if we put it in the bottom of the stroller and threw it away when we got home. So that's what we did--at least, we put it in the bottom of the stroller.

The next day, my husband noticed that the Gatorade was still in the bottom of the stroller, which was sitting outside in the carport. He mentioned that I might want to throw it away before one of the kids got the idea to drink it. Being the environmental steward that I am (okay, I didn't become a big recycler until we got recycling cans--newspapers and phone books were about the extent of my "green" habits), I started to unscrew the bottle to pour out the contents so I could throw the bottle in the recycling bin.

But I stopped, suddenly having visions of what else might be in there besides Gatorade. :) I said as much to my husband, saying something like, "You never know what some crazy kid or teenager might have put in there to bait some unsuspecting soul." "Um, yeah!" he replied, with the tone of, "well, duh!" The Gatorade went in the trash with a satisfying thud.

I looked carefully at my husband, departing for the gym, and added, "Of course, you were never a teenager like that, were you." There was no reply. Only a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his eye. And much laughter as I exclaimed, "Justin!" as he shut the door on his way out.

What? And tarnish his "perfect son" reputation? Naahhhh.