Shake it Off

Rough morning.  Boys fighting over who gets to get dressed first, who gets to brush teeth first, who gets to stand on the bathroom stool and get hair combed first.  Craigsy, up at 5:30 (before I’m done getting myself ready), is uncharacteristically miserable all morning for some reason.  I lay out clothes while hollering, pack lunches while hollering, feed the dog while hollering, wash breakfast dishes while hollering, make bottles, fill backpacks, gather coats.  I put the kids in the car to drive to the bus stop since it is very cold and the baby doesn’t have a proper jacket.  Cannot find my keys.  Realize our afternoon nanny took my keys with her, and I don’t have my keys.  Late now, frantically I dump out the junk drawer where we keep a spare car key.  Eventually find it, then race with kids in the car, late, to the bus stop.  Minutes tick by and I’m afraid we missed it.  Then it comes but it’s a different bus driver with different kids and a different time, and I panic and think maybe I’ve put him on the bus to the middle school instead?  I call the school and am told that his normal bus driver is in today and he’s probably gone to the middle school and I need to go rescue him- then get an immediate call back that they were wrong, his bus driver is out and the sub is indeed a bearded man and everything is fine.  Meanwhile Craig is screaming in the back, for no real reason.  And Liam is wailing because Jack brushed his teeth first today.   I forgot to walk the dog and have to run back home and let him out.

The “flat tire” indicator comes on.

I “billed ahead” this week so I could maybe enjoy some partial days of Mardi Gras, and this flat tire has de-railed that.   I have a strong urge to stand in the street and scream as loudly as I can.  I think, again, for the millionth time, that this is not possible, one person can’t possibly do all of this.

But I do it.  I run home and walk the dog, clean up the junk drawer mess, get Liam some juice.  Back in the car once more, I go to the bank to get cash, then to the gas station, and leave the kids in the car to go in the service station and get change, stressing a moment because a cop is right there and could I get arrested for child abandonment?  But he doesn’t even seem to notice.  Quarters in hand, I traipse back out to the car to fill the tire, I cannot get the air hose to stop trying to retract itself.  I’m in a skirt suit, my hair flipping in the wind and covering my face, my shoes in a puddle of oil, this greasy air hose rubbing up against my legs and skirt and fighting me at every turn.  I’m rescued by a team of City workers dressed in reflective gear and work boots.  They come to my aid, curse at the stupid air hose that won’t let you effing pull it out of the effing thingy, fill the tire, and screw back on the cap.  I shake their hands and thank them.  Good men.  I could have done it myself but for the suit and heels . . . I was glad for the help.

I drive, fingers crossed, across the bay.  The tire holds up – it’s a slow leak.  Craig falls asleep.  Liam whines for a donut.  I remember that I forgot my coffee.  Once we arrive, I get them into their classrooms – Craig wails as soon as we walk in the door, clinging to me as I pass him over.  He has not taken this transition to his new daycare well, although I’m told he does fine once I’m gone, and he is always smiling and happy when the nanny picks him up at 2:30.

Back in the car, I check my phone.  It is 7:45.  I have twenty emails.

When a day starts like this, it can be hard to stay focused.  I’d love to treat myself to something like a manicure or haircut, but I have to be frugal until we get one of these kids out of daycare and maybe Anonymous decides to breach the student loan database and wipe everybody’s debt (OMG ANONYMOUS IF YOU CAN HEAR ME PLEASE DO THAT).  It’s a razor’s edge of both money and time, and you can’t walk a tightrope like that with little kids because their entire purpose in life is to throw you off balance.  Money or time, one or the other, but not both.

So anyway, thus crushed under the cruel grind of the three-kid-plus-flat-tire morning, I cannot shake the funk.  So here’s a blog post about it.  Thus it is purged, and I take deep breaths, try to feel grateful for my free (kind of gross) work coffee and the oatmeal I remembered to put in my office drawer for days like this when I forget to have breakfast before leaving.

I’m off to check the tire.  If it’s flat again, I’ve got to drive it to the tire place.  I’ll bill all night to make up the time.  Cross your fingers for me that it’s a very slow leak and I can do my billing in daylight hours, mmmkay?

Professor comes home tonight.  No travel this weekend, just Mardi Gras parties.  The hard part of the week’s over.