Shoes. Just shoes.

I will admit that I'm not the most cool-tempered parent out there.  I lose my head sometimes.  I get annoyed.  There are times when, if Shawn is home, I lock myself in my bedroom for ten minutes with a ball of yarn and a crochet hook just so I don't have to talk to anyone-- and I think those ten minutes are glorious.  Of course, there are other (brief... fleeting) moments when I think I'm doing all right, and I'm patient enough, and good enough, and maybe I have a decent handle on having three kids.

But nothing (NOTHING!!!) makes me crazy quite as fast as watching my children try to get their shit together in the morning.  ('Try' is a very generous word.)  I have Colton's lunch made and his planner signed and sitting on the table with his homework.  Casey's preschool bucket has its own designated spot by the front door, which, conveniently, is right next to the basket for kid shoes.  On the other side of the front door is a kid-sized coat hanger with pegs and everything.  In theory, we're set up for maximum efficiency and it should take two minutes to get out the door. 

HOWEVER.  For some reason, every morning looks like this instead:


ME:   Guys, it's time to go!

CASEY:  Do I have to go to school today?

ME:  Yes, it's Friday.  And we just talked about this five minutes ago.

CASEY:  But does Colton have to go to school today?

ME:  Colton goes to school every day.  Get your shoes on.

CASEY:  *slowly looks around, appears dazed, sits on the stairs*

ME:  You need your shoes before you sit down.  COLTON!  I said it's time to go!

COLTON:  *kicks balloon around house, appears to be missing his pants*

ME:  Dude, where are your pants?  Casey, where are your shoes?

CASEY:  (staring absently at shoe basket) But... I had them last year.

ME:  Well, they're gone this year, so think about what you were doing last year and go find them.

COLTON:  Mom, where's my jacket?

ME:  Colton, where are your PANTS?

MACKENZIE:  MOM!  WHERE MY JUICE GO?!  STOP IT, COTE-UN!!  *shrieks like her arm was just ripped off her body*

ME:  *mad*  COLTON!  Did I tell you to put your pants on or did I tell you to bug your sister?

CASEY:  Moooomm?  Do I have to go to school this year?  Is it show and tell today?

ME:  Yah, go grab a toy.  And check to see if your shoes are in the toy room.

COLTON:  *is now wearing pants, but has gone back to kicking the balloon*  

ME:   SHOES, JACKETS, BACKPACK, BUCKET, NOW!  *standing by door like a soldier of efficiency with wallet, keys, phone, a 2-year-old and her juice, and a freshly brewed cup of coffee, READY TO GO*

CASEY:  *appears with an old sticker in his hand, is still shoeless*

ME:  Did you look for your shoes?.............................. Casey?  Did you look for your shoes?

CASEY:  I found this sticker, can I take this sticker for show and tell?

ME:  Really?  Why?  Yah.  I don't care.  Which jacket are you wearing?

CASEY:  I only want to wear the skeleton jacket that is upstairs, buried beneath bins of toys in the closet of my messy room, but it may be somewhere else entirely, including possibly outside, lost in the woods, and that particular jacket is the only jacket that is acceptable to me at this time.

(Maybe that's not exactly what he said, but that's what I gathered from our conversation.)

ME:  Okay, that's not happening.  Wear your Seahawks sweatshirt.  *walks to toy room, finds Casey's shoes in plain sight, lined up neatly where he left them*

After about five more minutes of this and eventually becoming entirely convinced that my kids I need to be medicated, they are shooed out the door with pants and shoes and everything with the clear message "GET IN THE CAR" practically tattooed on their foreheads.  I set the alarm, lock the door, head to the car, and I then see that they have listened like good little angels and they are sitting in their respective car/booster seats.

Naw, I'm totally kidding.  They're actually 30 feet away from the car, throwing rocks into a giant, muddy puddle and it's splashing all over their clean pants that they finally managed to put on.

ME:   In my head-- ARE YOU FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW??   And out loud--  ARE YOU KIDDING ME??  GET IN THE CAR!  THE CAR!  GET IN!  Good LORD!!

CASEY:  (finally buckled into his car seat)  Mom?  I have to go poop really bad. 

COLTON:  Mom?  I'm still hungry.

Aaaaaaannnd Scene.