. . . and some days it doesn't

(click, that is)

This morning I woke up and reluctantly stumbled through the house to get to the bathroom. On the way, I saw the incredible (as in 'not believable') sight of the microwave clock reading 6:46. I assume it got stopped in the middle of a timer function, so I look at the stove.

The stove agrees with the microwave.

I tell myself it must be wrong--it can't possibly be time to leave in four minutes, I never heard an alarm--and stumble the rest of the way to the bathroom. There, thankfully, I wake up enough to be alarmed.

I shake both girls and let them know we're leaving in five minutes. Fortunately, they'd gotten cool new Halloween clothes yesterday and had asked to sleep in them, so they just had to put on shoes, glasses and brush their hair.

I throw some clothes on, brush my hair and put my shoes on. No glasses in sight. This is particularly amusing because yesterday, as I opened up the box of Halloween decorations, I found the pair of glasses I'd lost in July. How my glasses, in July, had gotten into a box of Halloween things in the attic, I have no idea. But I amuse myself for a moment with the idea that yesterday I had two pairs of glasses and today I have none.

I go the the room of the limp rag doll and dress his reluctant form as it makes every attempt to burrow itself further under the covers. Relenting, he plods sulkily into the dining room.

Three backpacks, three Poptarts and one dose of medicine later, we head out to PennyVann and begin the prayer to Mister Bus Driver. It goes something like this:

Slow down, Mister Bus Driver.
Don't leave, Mister Bus Driver.
Wait for us, Mister Bus Driver.

Two blocks from the school, I see that the girls' bus is pulling up to the school. A sigh of relief.

Somedays, like yesterday, I have this gig down to a science. This morning, I did not. But we made it nonetheless.