This morning began with me pressing the snooze button 15 to 20 times. Normally my husband has been long gone for work by the time my alarm goes off, but if perchance he is still around on a morning when this is going down, he starts berating me relentlessly. He tells me he doesn’t even know why I bother setting the alarm as early as I do. Why not just set it at the time that I actually plan to get up?
He doesn’t understand that I need 15 to 20 opportunities to finally get my ass out of bed. I would be late if I set the alarm for anytime that doesn’t factor in the snooze time.
When I finally do get out of bed I step around the carefully placed work out clothes that I so diligently and ambitiously laid out the night before. Somehow, my pre-morning self thinks that my biggest issue is that I don’t know how to open up a drawer to put my workout clothes on. That’s why I’m not working out in the morning.
I come downstairs to discover that my son who set his alarm early and actually got up as soon as the alarm went off has been eating potato chips and Sprite for breakfast this morning. Again.
I ask him if he’s still hungry. He tells me he’s good.
I am visibly relieved. He takes note, feeling very proud of himself for his breakfast choice.
I then make myself a cup of coffee that I may or may not drink at all that day. I may or may not find it the next morning next to two other mugs of cold slimy moldy coffee that I have neglected to drink. This morning I decide to outsmart myself. I put my coffee straight into my travel mug so I can just grab and go when I finally get out of the house.
I will just put it here. Next to the other travel mugs on the counter that I have forgotten this week.
Hopefully I do not take a swig out of the wrong one.
I look to discover that my son is not yet dressed for the day. I go upstairs to try to find clothes for him. I would send him but I know that he’s going to tell me he can’t find anything. This is because I still have stuff that was not put away from the laundry basket from three days ago. Once again I decide to outsmart myself by going straight to the basket to pick out today’s outfit for him. I’ve already been doing that for the last three days and there is no clean clothing left in that basket. No problem. I’ll just look through the other 2 clean baskets of clothing (note to self: I am running out of baskets. Try to pick up another on the way home to put the dirty laundry in. The piles are building up in every room). Nope. Only towels and washcloths are left in all of the baskets. Plus a few mismatched socks. Actually… all the mismatched socks. I glance over to see my son still has his socks on from yesterday that he went to camp in. And slept in. Socks are socks.
I go downstairs to the laundry room and completely ignore my cats begging for food because we keep their dishes down there so the dog won’t sneak in and eat all of their food. It’s a moot point because they are still always starving to death because we neglect to feed them 90,000% of the time. But then we give them like five bowlfuls of food to counteract the neglect. (Note to self… Must remember to clean up the cat vomit.)
I am now taking all of that wonderful time I have in my morning to play the “let’s dig through the unfolded laundry game.” Sometimes it’s “let’s dig through the dryer game” which is always a good time as the clothing starts to tumble out and then somehow gets mixed up with the dirty laundry so I forget which is which and have to start all over again. I am like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up the mountain. Only, with laundry.
I search through more mismatched socks and about 20 sport bras. For the love of God… Did I throw all of my son’s dirty clothing into a dumpster somewhere??? Oh wait – here is a t-shirt and shorts. It might actually be MY t-shirt but hey, it’s a gender neutral color and it will fit him. I bring the clothes to him triumphantly. They are heavily wrinkled due to the fact that they have been sitting in the dryer for several days now. They also have a hint of a mildewy smell due to the fact that they might not have fully dried before sitting in the dryer for several days now. I am doing my part as a creative mom by teaching my son the multiple uses for Febreze. Someday his wife will thank me. I feel if I set the bar really low in terms of domestic skill, anybody my son will meet one day will be Martha Stewart in comparison. He will be so full of gratitude for her that she will think I actually raised him right. I didn’t, future Martha. But that’ll be my little secret.
Anyhoooo…. time to make lunch.
Oh yeah – I was going to do that the night before. That would’ve been a good idea. I don’t know why I never do that even though I always spend my mornings marveling at the genius of doing such a thing. I don’t know what I do most evenings.
It may or may not involve Words With Friends and Wentworth binging.
I go to find my son’s lunch bag. Now if I were my son’s lunch bag…. where would I be…..? Oh yeah! Still in the car from the day before. I take out the peanut butter smeared containers and hot as balls ice pack that has cooked in the car since yesterday afternoon and dig through the freezer for another one. Now if I were an ice pack where would I be……? Oh yeah – in MY lunch bag from yesterday.
In the car.
Ziploc baggy full of ice it is then.
I rummage through the Tupperware drawer (what? You don’t have a drawer full of Tupperware??) to find a good container to put the sandwich in.
I discover that I possess an infinite amount of containers.
I possess an infinite amount of covers.
I actually possess only 3 coordinating cover and container combos. I should get rid of the other hundred non-matching containers and covers but every time I do that their counterparts magically re-emerge like prisoners of my disorganized war heartbroken to find themselves alone in the world.
I already know via statistics that if I own 3 working Tupperware sets that I am already down 2 because of the dirty one I will not clean right now and the one that is still in my lunchbag. Which means I have to now search the dishwasher for the lone set.
Only…. I forgot if the dishes in the dishwasher are clean or dirty. I haven’t emptied it in a while, and because I never rinse the dishes off before loading the dishes in to be cleaned, everything still possesses a low level of filth when I open up the washer anyway. After a while it all becomes confusing and I am once again Sisyphus. Only this time with dishes.
Found it! What is that crusted to the cover though? That doesn’t even look like food….
I use the sink extension to rinse off the cover. I have to do that because the dish is full of for real filthy dishes that I have yet to load into the dishwasher. This is only because I am still trying to figure out if I need to rewash the dishes in the dishwasher again, or wash them for the first time. Apparently this takes a lot of thinking that I have yet to do.
I look at the clock and am now pleasantly surprised that I actually still have a few extra minutes available!!
Wait…. WHY do I have a few extra minutes available???
That just doesn’t seem right.
And then the dog looks wistfully at me.
I need to walk the fucking dog.
Don’t get me wrong. I adore the shit out of my fucking dog.
But not when I have a precious 10 minutes that I could have used to sit down and actually drink the coffee that I forgot where I even put by now.
So…. I go and walk the fucking dog. I am pulling him along because he insists on sniffing every god damn thing around the block without excreting anything. I realize that I really don’t remember the last time my dog took a shit. I am hoping he’s not stickpiling his little poops in some secret area that I will discover months from now and will then need to simply move out.
Yay – I now have a whole 2 minutes left to my morning! What will I do with all of that time!
Oh – maybe have breakfast!
I rally to make my morning smoothie. This means moving the dead flowers out of the way of the blender base and looking for all the parts with which I need to make my smoothie.
Most of these parts are buried in the sink.
Or in the dishwasher.
I return the dead flowers back to the front of the base of the blender .
I opt for a half of a browning banana instead.
There may or may not be some fruit flies buzzing around it
And… It is now time to get my son to camp. Because camp schedules are so convenient and accommodating for working parents, I must now shuttle my son to various friends throughout the week whose kids also go to the same camp as him. Every morning my son enters a fugue state where he forgets every aspect of his life. He repeatedly asks me who is bringing him to camp that day. Who’s house am I bringing him to right now. We banter back and forth like an unfunny “Who’s on first what’s on second” sketch as I am yelling at him ala Lou Costello “That’s what I am trying to TELL YOU…” as I continue to explain to him who is bringing him today, picking him up tomorrow, and where he sleeping that night .
Turns out I have a concert to go to tonight with my husband and stepdaughters. In Brooklyn.
2 hours away.
We shuffle to the car. We somehow lost about 7 minutes and I have no idea how. Those 7 minutes quantum leaped their asses out of my life forever and are never, ever, ever coming back. I swear if I added up all of those minutes that disappeared like that, I am sure they’d add up to about ten years of my life. I think they just show up as gray hair and crow’s feet.
I open up my car door. I move the yoga mat (BAAA HAAAA HAAA yoga class!!! Yeah RIGHT!) out of the way to make room for my work stuff. (Note to self – it has been 3 weeks. Bring the yoga mat inside later so it sits in the foyer so it can cushion my 80 year old ass someday when I drop dead because it will never move from that spot once I take it in. Ever.)
I also move aside the dry cleaning I was supposed to drop off 2 months ago and the bag of unread library books I never even took out of the car and am now receiving death notices from my library on every time I open up my mailbox (which I thankfully do only like twice a week.) I can’t face my librarian anymore. I either have to move (which might happen if I ever do find that mound of dogshit) or I’ll need to remortgage the house to pay the library fees.
Maybe when they find my dead 80 year old carcass curled up on my yoga mat in the foyer they’ll call it even and dig them out of the car for me. One can only hope.
After rearranging my entire passenger side of the car to make room for more shit, I go to put my coffee cup (see???!!! I remembered my coffee cup!!) in the holder. But now I remember the 2 older cups of half drunk coffee from (ummm a few days ago…?) still holding court there. Like a boss I decide to balance today’s coffee onto the center console as I try to remove both cups of old coffee from the cup holders. It takes a few seconds because there is something sticky holding onto them.
Oh yeah – there’s my son’s chewed up gum I meant to throw away.
And…. I manage to spill a little of all 3 cups worth of coffee onto the car seat. (SAVE the Louis Vuitton bag first!!)
I don’t know what time it is. But I do know I do not have anymore time to run in to the house and get a towel (despite the basket full of them right at the front door) so I find some crumpled up napkins on the floor of my car and start sopping it all up. I take the old cops and bring them to the steps of my porch. I will take care of them later.
(I may or may not take care of them later.)
By now I have huge sweat rings under my armpits. My hair is still up in a messy bun. I forgot to put my earrings in. I am pretty sure that my make up job looks like Harley Quinn by now.
I determinedly make a resolution that today will be the day that I will get all the shit done when I get home from work.
There is a strong possibility I will not.
And, that is my Monday folks. And all of the other days of my week.