More Memories: An Eternity Later, We are On the Road

Entry from another morning when Alyssa and I are packing her snack:

"Do you still have snack?"

“Yes.  All I ate yesterday were three or four pretzels. (Pause.)  Do you think that today is still day 5, even though we had a snowday?  Because one time when we had a snowday, they skipped that day.”

Although it would be easier for me to lie and tell her that of course they skipped day 5, and it is now day 6: library—I tell her the sad truth: today is computer day.  She asks me to confirm this on the school district’s website.  I am making the boy a bottle for the road: four unpacked scoops of powder and eight ounces of cold filtered water from the Pur.  The soy formula smells terrible, like a stale water bucket that a mouse died in.  Peeking in to see the babies still fighting over toys in the den, I decide to vacuum.  As I mentioned earlier, they are already sporting lots of dog hair on their fuzzy fleece baby outfits.  After vacuuming the den and the sunroom, I park the cleaner.  I lint roll the babies to prevent them from re-hairing the carpet.  To Alyssa, who like the babies sits trance-like whenever I vacuum*: “Hellooo?!  We have to go soon.  Put on your boots and your coat.  Put your bookbag in the car.”

*Have you noticed this phenomenon?  Sometimes I just want to vacuum all day long...

The babies, sensing urgency, have skeedaddled to wander the house.  B is sucking on the end of G’s phone charger, which is plugged into the wall, and therefore probably an electrical safety hazard.  The boy is wandering frantically through the rooms, unable to keep up with me, his infant sneakers’ soles clunking erratically on the hardwood, his piercing screams of sheer panic filling the air with daggers.

A begins her final preparations, and I choose to pick up B first—as she is in mortal danger and closer by—and head to the car.  I notice first that she is missing a sock and second that she has pooped.  What the f***?  Seriously?  It is 8:28.  We were supposed to leave at 8:26.  I try to remain calm and focus on changing the second poopy diaper of my less than two-hour-old day.  The boy is still doing his vocal impression of a siren, looking for me.  A can’t find her Uggs.  She has also just remembered that she had homework that required the use of a ruler.  

 

“Where is a ruler?  I need a scissors?  Is there a pencil?  I can’t go to school without my homework, or Mrs. Hoover will be so mad.”  She is hysterical.  It is computer day, and she forgot to do her homework.

“You are going to have to try to do it in the car!”  I scream, trying to wipe a wriggling B’s butt, losing my battle with patience…sanity.

“Nooooo!  I can’t,” she wails.

“Get in the car!  NOW.”  She is crying loudly, but she goes to the car.  I am still changing B’s diaper.  She is crying now.  The boy has not stopped shrieking, although he is standing right beside me.  Finished changing the diaper, I grab B and rush for the car.  I strap her, crying, into the carseat, missing a sock and without a hat or jacket. 

Three crying kids in the car later, I get into the driver’s seat.  I turn on the car, strap myself in, and push the garage door.  Sh*t.  The garage door has been broken for a week.  I unstrap myself and go to the garage door and fling the bastard open.  I rush back to the car, back out of the garage with my door flung open and a foot hanging out.  Once clear of the door, I leap out again, push the door shut loudly, and get back in the car.  I back towards the main drive, the sunlight on the snow blinding me.  I forgot my sunglasses again.  Just as I’m nearing the main driveway, I see the school van coming in.  I have to wait for her to make her agonizingly slow trip back the snow-covered driveway.  An eternity later, we are on the road.