This morning did not get off to a good start. I hate mornings like that. Larissa’s speech therapist comes at 8:30 on Thursdays, which is 5 minutes after Wes and Eliza leave to get on the bus, so the entire morning I feel like I am scrambling around like a maniac trying to get everyone out the door while still leaving enough time to put on a bra.
In the 11th hour this morning, Eliza cannot find her snow pants. Mind you, I had my husband custom build cubbies for this house when we moved in so the kids would each have their own place to store coats, boots, hats, sports equipment, etc. However, the cubbies must have the same invisible force field around them that my laundry baskets have — the force field that prohibits people from placing items directly INSIDE, and instead only allows for items to lie mere inches from the receptacle itself. Every day, I find myself in the mudroom grumbling, “Why can’t anyone put anything away. I swear I am SO sick of cleaning up after everyone!!!” as I pick boots and scarves and backpacks off the floor and fling them into the cubbies (2 inches away).
Eliza is the worst offender. That kid is like a human tidal wave. She washes a layer of garbage onto whichever shore she crashes into. Most of our day is spent picking up her stuff. Therefore, the fact that she couldn’t find her snow pants this morning was no surprise - and I told her that much. Of course, that led to her crying and basically sitting in the middle of the floor insisting that I find her pants for her. Stupidly, I tried to take the 60 seconds before the bus came to try and give her the ol’ “A place for everything and everything in it’s place” speech, which went over like a lead balloon. Finally, I ended up snapping something along the lines of “This is MY morning too, and I have things to do!!” which meant that Eliza left sniffling her way to the bus stop, and I felt cruddy and guilty for not having handled things better. But seriously…can ANYONE other than me pick anything up around here?
Okay, I’ll stop with the Debbie Downer stuff and move on to something more cheery. Like crafts! Yeah! Crafts are happy! At least, that’s what I tell myself when I am elbow deep in melted chocolate at 9:00 at night. (more…)
