(More than) Fourinarow.net

You would think, with school five days a week and the SAME ROUTINE every day, that mornings would run a little more smoothly.

Ha.

Yesterday, I’m trying to herd everyone out the door, and trailing behind is Luke.  Who can’t find his shoes.  How can this be?  My children are suposed to remove their shoes upon entering the house and place them directly into cubbies (not on, near, or in the same room as the cubbies, but IN A CUBBY).  If you’ve been here, then you know I don’t ask other people to take off their shoes at the door. Heck, I have five kids, a dog and floors that are 70 years old.  But, I do require that MY children remove their shoes, for the SOLE purpose of being able to find them when we need to leave the house.

While the other kids are getting into the van and Luke is wandering around the house praying to St. Anthony, Andrew brings me HIS shoes.  And sits down, demanding with gestures that I put them on.  Of all days, the baby who rarely walks ’cause he’s always toted around, needs to have his shoes on!  At least he knew where his were.

After taking care of Andrew, I finally found Luke’s shoes.  In my room.  Of course, he has NO IDEA how they got there, since he certainly didn’t put them there.  (No doubt a sibling put them there just to make him late.)

Upon arriving at school (finally) there was a great commotion in the back seat.  ”Mom!” Maria demands.  ”You need to move Sam’s seat again.  He never lets me get by unless I give him the password.  It’s ‘Pizza Pie,’ and I can never remember!”

Okaaaaaay.  Is this normal, you think?

I shoved everyone out of the van, tossed their lunches at them, yelled “have a nice day!” and was just about to squeal out of there when Sam came running back to the car.  He forgot to kiss his baby brother good-bye.  Which would be cute if it wasn’t so annoying (as I’m sure the people lined up behind me thought).

Finally, I was outta there.  Just me and Andrew.  As I pulled into the driveway I saw the front door standing wide open.  Sheesh.  I guess it’s a good thing we a) have an attack dog; and b) nothing worthy to steal.

I was so tired (bridge was the night before) I could’ve cried.  My plan was to lock myself in the basement with Andrew and take a nap.  More easily said than done.  Despite a plethora of toys, with no playmates Andrew had trouble entertaining himself.  Which meant I was constantly poked and prodded and climbed upon.  Needless to say, no nap for me!

In no time, it was time to get Sam from kindergarten and then the others from school.  Except Luke, who went home with a friend.

We got homework knocked out and I started on dinner while trying to entertain a crabby Andrew (who didn’t get a nap either).  The phone rang around 5:15.  ”Hmmmm… What could she want?” I thought when I saw the name on my caller ID. Then, almost simultaneously, I was doing an Oh-Shit because I realized I had FORGOTTEN TO PICK UP MY SON.

Mother of the Year, here.

Thank goodness Dan’s perfect, or we’d really be screwed.