Suckitude, Part the First

As usual yesterday morning, things were a little chaotic around the house. Josh was up and out before 7 a.m., Jack woke at the ass-crack of 5:45 a.m. (after waking me up TWICE to go potty during the night) and Emmie was screaming in her crib at 6:40 a.m.

Can't we ever just start the day on a nice relaxing note? Why isn't my life like a Folger's commercial where I am awakened by the smell of brewing coffee in my crisp, clean 1,000-thread-count sheets with a breeze gently blowing the curtains back to reveal a glorious sunrise? I mean I don't drink coffee, my sheets aren't exactly crisp, we can't sleep with the windows open because we live on a busy street and I hate light in the room when I am trying to sleep, but other than those minor details, I would love to wake up like that just once.

I dragged my tired ass through the getting ready-breakfastmaking-lunchmaking-getting kids dressed routine and noticed Emmie was a little whiny. But I don't have time for drama in the morning when we have three people who need to be out the door by 8:25 a.m. for the brisk walk to school.

As I picked out clothes for Jack, she followed me around his room screaming. I calmly peeled her off my leg as I headed for her bedroom. As we walked in, she backed away from me, looked up and puked all over the rug. Oh for God's sake. I don't have time to clean up puke on this tight schedule, much less figure out how to take a puking 20-month-old along to drop her brother off at school.

Just as I was staring at the rug and trying to calm Emmie down, keep her away from the puddle of vomit and answer eleventy billion questions from Jack about why Emmie threw up, Josh called to tell me he needed me to read him something from a Post-it in his office two floors away or he could not function at work. That would be when my head exploded and my brains scattered all over the walls of Emmie's room.

After depositing Emmie in her crib so I could clean the rug, I shooed Jack into his room to continue getting dressed and ran downstairs to get the Post-it note info. I ran back upstairs, phone to ear, where I got Emmie dressed and corralled both kids downstairs to put on shoes and get everyone and the Hummer-sized stroller outside. We were running only three minutes behind, a feat of epic proportions considering what I went through moments before.

Emmie and I went about the rest of our day, grocery shopping and making a trip to Target. I figured her being in a stoller and not a cart would contain her pestilence somewhat and I really didn't care about other people's feelings because I really needed some organic turkey, damn it, and I wasn't going without my new favorite lunch -- grilled turkey and cheese.

Just as I was sitting down and blogging about my day, Jack's school phone number appeared on the caller ID. Was this Jack's mom? He had an accident.

CLIFFHANGER!

(More on this tomorrow, right now, I need to head out to an event involving adult beverages and no children. Plus, everyone likes a two-part blog post, right?)