Today was my kids’ first day of school.
Last night I packed snacks and organized folders. I baked their favorite gluten-free, dairy-free chocolate chip banana muffins in little heart-shaped molds till after midnight so their little bellies would be all happy this morning. Crawling into bed, I set the alarm as late as possible, because I’d already prepared for the morning, and what could go wrong?
Ugh.
A handful of minutes before the alarm played its eerie sci-fi sounds that tell me it’s time to get up and fight aliens, my darling, precious daughter woke me up to ask if she could take off her pull-up. My brain doesn’t work without coffee, so I mumbled, “Sure, of course, that sounds reasonable,” and a few minutes later, it occurred to me that this was out of the ordinary and I should go see what’s going down in her room.
As I crossed the threshold of her room crime scene, I fought the urge to dry heave and asked her if she’d possibly thrown up, or maybe an animal died under her bed three weeks ago and we’re just now finding it?
She Mount Vesuviused in her pants, and there were butt prints on the toilet seat (Great job, sweetie, sitting on the potty. It’s a little too late, but big ol’ A for effort, girl.).
As the smell overtook the entire top floor, I thought about the muffins downstairs and new lunch boxes and how I was so freaking ready for school today.
Quick shower for her where I hosed her down with the sprayer, kids ready, eating muffins, and I Lysoled the bathroom, threw clothes in the wash, and scoured my hands about sixty times. I don’t know if it was dairy, three-year-old preschool stress, or Satan got out of her buttocks (That’s a reference to 1980s SNL, not a doctrinal statement. Anybody remember the Church Lady with Rob Lowe?!).
All the cleanup time cut into my big plans for a shower and actual clothes, so on the first day of school, while all the other moms were outside the school in their ironed capris and hoop earrings taking photos of their children, I slouched down in the front seat of my van hoping the teacher helping my kids in the carpool line wouldn’t notice that I was wearing my nightgown.
Not even a decent pair of drawstring jammie pants. No, nightgown. In a hurry to not be late on the first day, I pulled bike shorts underneath, shoved my feet into my plaid rain boots, and headed out the door, pulling a baggy sweatshirt over my head to cover up the fact that I couldn’t find my bra.
We made it through the line, my kids’ teachers none the wiser, and I might’ve gotten off scott-free if my husband hadn’t called on the way home, asking me to run by the grocery for eggs so he could make breakfast. Gulp.
Sure, honey. (Have I mentioned how much I love this man?)
Grabbing a bag of grapes on the way through the sliding doors, I held them over my inappropriately girded decolletage, slunk over to the eggs, and made a beeline for the checkout.
Annnnndddddd you guessed it. I was still wearing my jammies when I picked up the kids a few short hours later.
If this is the first day of school, when we’re all supposed to be at our best, then my flapping around town in my gown and galoshes does not bode well for the rest of the year.
Is there anyone else out there who was not a shining paragon of first day of school preparedness?!?!
