I sit at the kitchen table at 7:04 a.m. (the a.m. is important), sipping the glorious dark liquid that breathes life into me every day out of my mug that declares me to be “Queen of Everything” while chaos swirls around me.
I “only” have 4 children to scoot out the door this morning. Yet somehow those 4 often create the most amount of drama. How tiny humans can be so dramatic about things like their favorite cereal being gone is beyond me. It’s as if they were completely absent in the consumption of the cereal.
This morning we have to also concern ourselves with curling hair because… school pictures.
It doesn’t seem to matter that I remind them I don’t ever buy them. And I always promise that THIS is the year we will get new family pictures.
But maybe this IS the year. I mean, we do have new people to add to our family picture.
I tell the 7 year old to release the 4 legged beast. He happily abandons his efforts to irritate his sisters and lets the dog out. It’s a whole new level of chaos, this dog thing we did. I grew up with cats. The dog has been an adjustment. They are SO needy.
Like a furry toddler that chews on everything.
The morning moves along as it does. I kiss my husband goodbye (somehow it’s still strange to say the word husband again), and scoot kids into the car. My tiny squirrel doesn’t have shoes on, of course. Or her lunch. Or her backpack.
I will never understand what she does in the morning.
We survive the drive to school with minimal embarrassment, though I did regale them with my best Peter Cetera because Chicago came on the radio. It’s my job to sing loudly to old songs the children find appalling. It came with the job description.
It’s just a Thursday. But it’s also the day they go to their dad’s for the weekend. It’s this strange mixture of sadness and relief.
I miss them and welcome the break all at the same time.
Welcome to divorced parenting.