What the heck? Well, as I went back toward the bathroom to clean myself up (again), I figured it out: The pen that I use on my wall calendar apparently leaked. Everywhere. And it had dripped onto me while I was still in my jammies.
By the time I left for work, the calendar had a very dense, wet line of link running all the way down it. It was rather striking and I thought Ray might get a kick out of it when he gets back home late tomorrow. So I left it alone.
This morning. I had a Walking Dead dream, which was kind of strange. I do watch the show but we're several weeks behind, thanks to our decision to cancel cable at the beginning of the year.
In my dream, which was probably more of a nightmare I suppose, I was running from some zombies and was scratched, which is essentially a death sentence if you're not familiar with the show. I had to ask someone who was running with me to "put me down" so to speak.
Anyhow, I woke up disoriented but the numbers on the clock quickly brought me to the present: 6:42 a.m.
Exactly 35 minutes past when I'm supposed to get up. The alarm never went off?
What the heck? And then I remembered spending 45 minutes last night adjusting my phone (as in adding back deleted contacts, fixing the wallpaper, making it so I can see my own texts instead of just everyone else's, etc.) after letting Millie entertain herself with it while Lola was at gymnastics yesterday. I never even thought to check the alarm clock.
So I was up, quickly trying to get the girls awake, vertical, and into the kitchen for breakfast. It was as chaotic as you'd expect, since we had exactly 30 minutes to leave for the bus.
Ten minutes in, we were right on schedule and I was thoroughly proud of myself.Lola was dragging her feet a little bit, but we made a game out of it all and she was slowly coming out of her sleepiness.
And then, with about 12 minutes to go, I went and got Millie dressed.
As I came into the hallway, I found this:
Ink everywhere. Apparently it hadn't dried since yesterday and someone's little fingers managed to spread it all over the wall.
"Millie!" I turned and checked her fingers. Clean.
I turned toward Lola's room, where the 5-year-old stood in the doorway trembling a bit, "I, I, I didn't know what it was!"
Her lip started to quiver and she knew she was in trouble.
"I couldn't get it off," she whimpered, and she held out her fingers, covered in ink.
Nine minutes to go...
We had a tough morning Monday, Lola and me. We were just about out the door when she told me that she'd lost her mittens and then we couldn't find her snowboots (even though they should always be in the exact same spot every day...). We did eventually find them but we had to, quite literally, run for the bus, which was already at the stop down the street. I was mad, Lola was feeling bad. It left her rattled, it left me shaken all day. Not the best way to start the day, much less the whole week...
So, this morning, today, I took a breath, and I laughed. I crouched down and gave her a hug and told her it was OK, that right now, the only thing we had to worry about was getting ready for school.
And she relaxed.
She got dressed for school, then asked to change, then asked to change a third time.
And I let her. What was the harm?
Well, eight minutes later, as we walked out the door right on time, I remembered, Millie's meds. And I ran back inside. And then, Garbage day, and I ran that out to the curb, pushing the stupid garbage can over the stupid snow and the stupid ice, nearly slipping the entire time. And then, Millie's drink, and I ran back inside to get her some apple juice for daycare.
By the time we actually left the driveway, we were running about four minutes late.
Luckily, the bus was running about six minutes late.
- Bethany :)