Freaky Friday

It took me a few days to get over Friday.

OK, I wasn't my best on Friday. I was still getting over Thursday. And Wednesday and Tuesday. You know how it goes. And if you don't, too bad. I'm not getting into it right now. I'll just say that I wasn't at my best.

The thing about Friday is that Nick has violin. It meets at 7:30. And by 7:30, I mean AM, as in Before School. I'm awake by 5:30, but for some reason we've never yet been able to make it out the door so that we get to school in time.

Not that it matters. No one else makes it on time, either. But still, I like to be punctual, even when others are not. Especially as I have to bring the other two boys. I have no one here to leave them with, and if I try to drive back home we usually make it just in time for the school bus to bring them right back again, only with stops. It may be boring for them, but at least they don't have to be in a vehicle.

Anyway, I usually shorten my workout, give the boys cereal and fruit for breakfast (no eggs or toast or oatmeal) and then get the boys upstairs to get dressed as quickly as possible. This Friday I was sure we were going to make it. I was in the shower before 7am, and the boys were dressed and just needed shoes.

When I hopped out of the shower at a little past 7, I shouted out to the boys to put on shoes and get ready to go.

When I got downstairs I noticed Nate's folder on the counter. "You didn't log your reading!" I said.

"I've already logged out with my teacher for the week," he said. "I don't want to write down anything else!"

"Nonsense!" I said. "You read for so long yesterday! You can write it down during the violin class!"

I walked into the living room to turn off the light. Andy was still in there, trying to put on his shoes. He screamed and cried. (It was before 7:30, you see. So it was still dark out.

I said something about needing to get into the car to go and the fact that he'd had 20 minutes to put on shoes.

I walked into the kitchen to find Nathan had removed his reading log from his folder and was painstakingly logging his "Notebook Of Doom" reading.

I started speaking very loudly about getting into the car. Nathan started speaking loudly back, because hadn't I just SAID he should write down.... etc.

I told Nate to hurry and ushered the other two boys into the car. Nick was trying to tell me about how Gunther had bumped into him and all the pages had come out of his 3-ring binder. I realized it was raining and I had to get the trash barrels.

I reached behind me and flicked off the light to the kitchen.

Nate screamed, because he was now alone in the house and it was dark.

"Well, hurry up and get out of the house, then!" I yelled. And I headed out up the driveway in the rain to retrieve the empty trash barrels before the wind blew them into the street.

When I came back, Nate was still standing in the doorway, still crying, still hadn't packed his backpack.

And again, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is one of life's tests.

Because what I want to do at moments like these, what I have a very strong urge to do and indeed what I believe I have a right to do and may be justified in doing, is scream louder. No, louder than that. I want to shake that kid and thrown things and stomp my feet and shout obscenities I haven't even learned yet. We need to go. Get in the car. We don't have TIME for this GARBAGE (only instead of 'garbage' it's something else, and also every other word is illegal.) I mean, come ON! He knows where the light switch is, if he feels he needs it.

But honestly, Nate was already a mess. He was already screaming and crying so hard he couldn't do what he was supposed to, which was to pack his backpack and sit his behind in the car.

I could have reacted better, I suppose. I could have calmed down completely and kindly taken the time to comfort him and get him to do those things on his own. And by then Nick would have missed his violin quiz, and there would be no point in even trying to make the class.

I steered Nate inside. I reminded him where the light switch was. I reminded him where his backpack was. I reminded him of how his backpack was supposed to be packed. Then I told him to get his body inside the car.

At this point steam was coming out of my ears. We were late AGAIN! We were almost not late. We were almost on time. So close.

As we pulled into the school parking lot I suddenly remembered something. "Oh no! Andy, do you have your backpack?" Andy sometimes forgets, see? Because he's so young and doesn't carry homework back and forth.

"Yes!" he said. "It's right here, see?"

And then Nate shouted, "But I forgot my coat."

How.

How can you freakin' forget a COAT? It's 30 degrees out, it's pouring rain. And you forget a COAT?

I should have just shrugged my shoulders and let him be cold, but I have this fear that the school is going to report me to Family Services for not dressing my kids and also for turning off the lights in rooms I feel should have been vacated but haven't yet been.

It all worked out, anyway. As I picked up all of the loose pages from Nick's 3-ring binder, the one Gunther bumped into and broke open, but that Nick apparently never learned to close, I realized he'd forgotten his actual book, the one with the notes in it, at home. SO I got to drive home and pick that up along with his brother's coat.

All this before... well, it was after 7:30am.

But it was before 8am.