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Monday Morning

Trying to get out the door in the morning or afternoon or evening is a spectacle in and of itself. My kids are early risers so we often do our errands right away, before Walmart gets too busy and before I have to wait at four traffic lights on my way to and from wherever I'm going.

This morning, we had to tip-toe around the house as not to wake the sleeping giant, who had returned at 4:30am from an overnight ride-a-long with the cops for a school assignment. Avery emerged wearing her favorite dress, stained and wrinkled and filthy from wearing it day after day, and I'm pretty confident she pulled it out of her dirty basket. Her hair, which used to be a cute A-line bob, is now growing out and requires a team of experts just to get it presentable in the morning. It doesn't help that a section right in the front "just fell out" after she borrowed a pair of my scissors. Needless to say, it wasn't cute.

"Avery, go comb your hair."
"Is it hideous?" she asks.
"Pretty much." I say.
"Will the lady at Walmart think I'm an ugly woman?"  she wonders.
"I don't know. Just go comb it."
"Is that lady at Walmart the one with holes in her ears?"  she asks.
"What lady? Never mind, just go comb your hair."
Tucker, cruising around holding three trains, was looking for his other thip-thop. He was having a hard time, as each time he bent down to look under something, one or two of the trains would fall from his grasp and he'd throw a fit. He wouldn't dream of setting down the trains somewhere safe before performing a task. The trains follow us everywhere we go. When I'm eating, I have Percy, Thomas and James staring at me. When I'm driving, I look back and see Percy, Thomas and James peering at me. When I'm blow-drying my hair, who's staring at me from the dirty bathroom floor? We can't leave the house without the trains. He can't go to sleep without the trains. Guess what he wants to be when he grows up? A train. I suppose trains don't say much, and neither does he.

"Tucker, let's go bye-bye."  I say.
"Ok." he mumbles.
(Sniff.) "Who has poop?"  I ask.
"Not me."
"Are you ready to go?" I ask.
"Yup."  he says.
"Can you help me clean up the living room before we go?"  I ask.
"Nope."  

 Fine.

Piper, running around screaming, doesn't seem understand the term 'pipe down'. When she's happy, she screams. When she's upset, she screams. When she's so-so, she screams. (I don't know where she got this gene from. Chet and I are both certainly calm individuals.)

"Piper, get out of the bathroom."  
"SCREAM!"
"I'm going to tickle you!"
"SCREAM!"
"Sit down and let's put your shoes on."
"SCREAM!"
"Piper, the Dow fell 500 points today."
"SCREAM!"

We got to the store in one piece, after the kids fought over who got to the van first. A lady marveled at my bunch but then her eyes fell out of her head when she saw my big pregnant belly. Just wait a few years, lady. You ain't seen nothin' yet.

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