Just Another Day in Paradise

My morning started with my nine year old son waking me up twelve minutes before my alarm was set to go off. Twelve minutes, that's precious sleep time! He was up early, overly excited to tell me "Happy St. Patrick's Day!" and he couldn't find his green shirt, which he had to wear, because not wearing green on St. Patrick's Day is like a sin or somethin'.

So down to the basement I go. The laundry room smells kinda bad, and there are two loads of clothes, dumped out on the folding table... unfolded. After sifting through the two big piles of wrinkled (yet clean) clothes, I finally find the green shirt at the bottom of the second pile. Sweet success!

I make three breakfasts, three lunches, and pour myself a cup of steaming hot coffee. I thank God for giving me a husband who gets up early and makes coffee. I sit down at the table to drink it but before I can take my first sip, the phone rings. It is my husband telling me he forgot to feed the dog before he went to work. I feed the dog, sit back down, and teenager #1 tells me she can't find any sport bras which she needs for soccer practice after school. I go back to the basement, sort through the wrinkled (yet clean) pile of clothes, find a sports bra, and bring it up to her. "I don't like this one," she complains. I stare at her for a minute, she sighs, throws it in her bag, and I leave.

I sit back down with my cup of coffee, which is no longer steaming. Teenager #2 yells down that she doesn't know where the straightening iron is. I yell back at her that I have no idea either. Then she yells down that she has cramps, but doesn't know where the Motrin is. I get up, find a bottle in the cabinet, and march it up the stairs to her with a glass of water. "Can I stay home?" she asks. "Maybe you can sign me in late?" I stare at her for a minute, she sighs, swallows the Motrin, and I leave.

The nine year old boy in green gives me a big hug and sloppy kiss, tells me "Happy St. Patrick's Day" for the eighth time, and runs out the door to the bus fifteen minutes early. "Where are you going? Do you have a water bottle? Did you brush your teeth?" I yell after him. But he is gone.

My coffee is no longer hot, and neither are the remaining two breakfasts on the table. The younger teenager finally comes downstairs and takes a bite out of her egg sandwich. "Where's your green?" I ask her. She looks at me incredulously. "I don't have anything green," she pouts. "Besides, who cares about St. Patrick's Day?" To think that just four years ago she was nine.

The other teenager comes down in a green dress. She looks beautiful. I tell her so. She pretends she doesn't hear me, gives me a quick hug, and leaves.

The first teenager is back upstairs. I yell up that she is about to miss her bus. No answer. I go up to her room, there is literally a sea of clothing on the floor, and I back away in fear. For a brief moment I worry that my daughter might some day be featured on Hoarders.

"I can't find a green shirt," she explains.
"I thought St. Patrick's Day was stupid anyway?" I ask.
She rolls her eyes. "It is stupid. And I don't feel good. Can you sign me in late?"
I tell her to get moving and I go back downstairs to my now ice cold coffee.

A few minutes later my daughter, wearing a khaki-kind-of-greenish sweater runs out the door. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and count to twenty. Then she is back.

"I missed my bus," she pants. "Can you sign me in late?"

Just another typical morning at our house.
Next year there will only be two breakfasts and two lunches to make. The thought of this brings a lump to my throat, and I wish I would have gotten up extra early to make green pancakes.