My Morning

Yeah, so this is how my day started.

Of course, I still can’t breathe due to the massive congestion of my nose so I slept horribly even while being as heavily medicated as I can be in my condition. Then, after snoozing for 10 minutes AFTER the last possible second I could to still make it to school on time, I drag my snot filled head out of bed. Mason who was sleeping next to me in bed, woke up and as he was stumbling to go watch Higglytown Heroes, stubs his toe on the foot of our bed and immediately starts screaming. So I carry him to the couch trying to soothe him without screaming “Just stop crying already, seriously!” and place him on the couch, still crying. I get in the shower and am enjoying the nice warm powerful shower when I reach for my shampoo. Not there. No conditioner either. Saying words I shouldn’t, I jerk open the shower curtain, wrap a towel around me and march to our room. Making as much noise as I possibly can to let my sleeping husband know how very unhappy I was with him, yank MY shampoo and MYconditioner out of HIS shower, slam the shower door in his bathroom and head back to my shower. Well, meeting me at my bathroom is a still sobbing and now limping Mason. I with as much sympathy as I can pull from the depths of my soul, ask why he is limping. “My leg hurts.” (he gets growing pains every once in a while and this is how he describes it.) I tell him to sit on the stool while I get him medicine that he probably doesn’t really need but it has been proven in the past to stop the crying. I, still hair dripping, wrapped in a towel, with mascara pouring down my cheeks, jerk open the medicine cabinet. No children’s Tylenol. So I gave my son cough medicine for a hurt leg. I know. I get back in the shower, finally, and the entire time I am supposed to be enjoying the peace and serenity of my morning shower, my son is still crying, now on the stool just a foot from the shower. Once I get out, I console him, plop him on the couch as I notice that the Little Einsteins are already singing “Pat, pat. Pat...” which means it is at least 7:10 and I am still naked and dripping wet, but finally, Mason is no longer crying. Then I go to my room to do what I thought would be fun – put on my pajamas because we are having a pajama day at our school. Well, apparently my butt is catching up to my stomach because the two pairs of pajama pants that I have that aren’t Christmas themed, covered in paint, or with stripes of bleach poured on them from an unfortunate cleaning incident, are hideously tight around every party of my upper leg. So I grumbling and mumbling and wishing to the Lord above that the day would just end before it started, jerk on some jeans and grab a shirt from my closet. I start the process of make up and hair doing. Ick. And then put on the black shirt I picked out. Yep, managed to get deodorant marks all down one side. I march back to my closet, grab another shirt, and try not to notice how tight it is EVERYWHERE and continue the process of getting ready. Finally, I look at the mirror with my dry, but insanely frizzy, uncurly and not straightened hair, the make up barely on, and just accept the fact that this is as good as it is going to get. Then I have to make a decision between walking to school or getting my still sniffling son dressed for school so that Troy, after I wake him up, can drive us to school. I walked. So here I am. 6 minutes to the bell, snot pouring from my nose, wearing clothes I hate, wishing I could just go back to bed and start over…but on Saturday.

I just want to survive the day…