Monday, February 23, 2009

Our witching hour is 7-8AM. Yes, AM.

I struggle, I really do, to get out of the house on time when mornings when M is out of town. It would be so easy, if only I wasn't hung up on their safety or well-being. This morning L woke up before I got in the shower, and I tried so hard to entertain her while I showered, as my usual reliable source of her entertainment was still sleeping.

Both my girls have a habit of hanging out in the bathroom while I shower. E always sits down on the stool she uses for reaching the sink, and just talks to me. For L, though, I kept encouraging the sitting, but she was more interested in the toilet water splashing, and the garbage can finding, and the towels off the towel bar pulling. It was in vain, but I really repeatedly encouraged the stool.

Towel off, find clothes. Dress me. Change a diaper. Dress her. Hug E, who always wakes up screaming for a hug. Dress her. Really on the borderline of running late. Everybody into the girls' bathroom. E on the stool. L on the counter. Me hovering by the counter. Toothbrush with baby toothpaste. Toothbrush with children's toothpaste. Toothbrush with organic mint and baking soda toothpaste. One mouth brushing. Two mouths brushing. Three mou--

Mommy! Mama! Help! Help! I'm peeing!

Lift E into the bathtub. Strip her in the tub. Run enough bath water to splash her lower half. Pull L off of the countertop. Send E into her room for new clothes. Ignore her negotiations to keep the urine-soaked tights, even though it's true they're her really, really favorite. Gather urine-soaked tights and shirt and jumper and ironic diaper cover.

Turn around. Smile, because it's all in the timing. Laugh, because it's Monday. Guess who finally listened to Mama, and climbed up on the stool?

L's sitting on the stool. In the urine puddle.

Lift L into the bathtub. Strip her in the tub. Gather urine-soaked overalls and socks. Carry her into her room for new clothes. Ignore her negotiations to spend her day as a nudist.

One girl dressed. Two girls dressed. Downstairs. Pack school bag. Pack school bag. Make bagels for breakfast. Jacket, shoes. Jacket, shoes. One girl in the car. Two girls in the car. School bag. School bag. Bagels. Definitely running late.

Heavy traffic. Bagel distribution. Heavy traffic. Running precariously irrecoverably late. Think: hmm, never did wipe up the urine on the stool and floor.

E sings out, invoking her sister's appetite for her cause: We're sti-ill hun-gry. Let's look in the ba-ag. She attempts to open her school bag to find food and I think I might pull my hair out because whenever she opens her school bag in the car, she empties its contents entirely and I don't have a nanosecond to spare this morning; I can't take the time to repack it when we finally arrive.

Luckily, I found something on the front seat to distract and dissuade: a zippy bag leftover from a snack carried out of school one night last week, still mostly filled with Froot Loops. Pin It