Who Said That Mornings Get Better?

2000

Who said that mornings get better when the kids get older?
Oh no they don't!
Because, you forgot, you get older too!
This morning it was 5:30AM and then it was 6:45AM. What happened?
Exhaustion.
I have only been back at work for two days.
I yelled at the boy - "Roll over! I don't have time to nag you today! Get up! Now!
And I ran for coffee. Or, I moved as fast as a woman with stitches and tape all over her chest can move.
My special mocha mix I had found at Hickory Farms. And I had found it to be a solid lump when I opened it. I had, last night, put it in a blender and ground the lump back into the desired powered state.
Thank God!
So now I just needed decaf, mocha and French Vanilla and hot water. My special open your eyes morning cup. Usually taken with e-mail.
The French Vanilla is no fat no sugar decaf. The mocha is decaf. I think that subconsciously I believe that mixing them will get me caffeine.
The chocolate part certainly will.
Whatever.
I need that cup.
I can't move without it.
I put the dog out. She sleeps in my room at night. She goes out in the morning.
She proceeded to hurl herself against the door for the next 30 minutes.
Some sheep dog.
Doesn't like cold.
Should have connected.
It didn't.
I had my coffee, yelled at the dog, took my 26 pills (vitamins and thyroid), forgot my allergy spray, and unglued my eyeballs. I had no time to eat (ie., drink Medifast) nor offer something to the kid.
Who was not up.
No time for a shower and my hair is in curlers and still wet.
Of course.
Second clue I ignore.
I put the hair dryer to my head and pull the trigger.
I loosened the curlers and continued to blow. Three minutes. All I could allow.
I yelled at the kid.
Changed my underwear.
Began the makeup.
I yelled at the kid between layers. Bleach. Sunscreen. Foundation.
My face is still healing (only been 1.5 years). So they tell me.
My kid is propped up and reading something.
And he informed me on one of my forays near his room that he has a class Friday at 6:30PM.
Ouch.
He's going to work with me (and getting more art supplies and a blood test) on Friday - which means one more mad dash up the freeway. On a day I thought I didn't have to do that.
I remind him that I have a seminar. It's important. I am a student this week. This time. Advanced Chip Synthesis. I will be teaching this. Soon.
He rolls his eyes.
I put makeup on mine.
I step into my QVC Susan Graver velvet pants and Denim & Co. Velvet tank and patterned velvet big shirt. Slip into shoes.
As a first step, today I wear a light-weight girdle. A little firming.
No b odysuit.
No panty hose.
I am not ready for those just yet.
I am in my sports bra. The softer one.
I swear I can feel every stitch. Twenty One days and counting.
I don't comb my hair because I just died it last night (that snow white 1/2 inches of white at the roots was a little unnerving). Yes, I am naturally gray. Been there since I was 21.
I am now hunting car keys - which, on days I come home in a coma, I for some reason must loose. Seems to be a given.
The dog has now moved to hurl herself at my son's bedroom window.
He says I don't love her.
Ha!
I remind him that she needs to take a leak outside since they are cleaning the yard today and she will be in my bedroom. All day. Again.
And I like my new carpet.
We find my keys (under my jacket).
I am 30 minutes late in departing the house. I am greeted by frigid cold air.
Should have realized that the sheep dog was telling me something. (I don't know how she ever survived on a ranch!)
I am left to scrape the windows of the truck (nearly iced) while the garbage truck pulls up and dumps my recycling bucket - which the guys I hired to do cleanup had filled with leaves yesterday. Convenient. They will finish today and have an empty bucket. Worked out well.
I finally get the kid into the truck.
And remember that I am out of gas.
Of course.
I fill up and race to the traffic jam - my son complacent in the seat beside me. (No. He still is not driving. He still has to pass the written test.)
At Ohlone (a community college), he makes off with another $20 (smiling) and the two sandwiches I had made in my mad dash around the kitchen while drinking my coffee and hollering at the dog. He is on campus until 9PM tonight.
I yell, "Lower parking lot!"
I need to remind him.
He gets confused.
I made it to the seminar only 4 minutes late.
Not bad!
Not bad at all!