One of those days...

This morning was a nightmare.

I know I promised that my next blog would be about my cool little guy, and I promise to get there tomorrow or the next day. But today was just one of those morning... and I have to share my pain.

I am On. My. Own. in the mornings. My wonderful husband leaves for work at six in the morning, which means I have to get myself and two little kids ready and out the door by 7:15 so that we can get to work/school on time. He is great about either making lunches and giving the little guy his medicine, but last night was hell and my husband and I overslept.

This means that I had to make lunches on top of my normal routine, which involves getting up at 5, doing pilates (or sleeping in until 5:30 and skipping pilates), eating breakfast, showering and getting ready, getting my daughter up and fed before settling her down in front of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and then getting my son up and fed before strapping them into their seats and heading over to their school. However, there was a different plan in effect today...

5:30: crawling out of bed, being careful not to wake up my daughter who came into our bed at some point during the night.

5:31: First hit of coffee.

5:32: I'm wondering if I will be a bad mom if I send my kids to school with two pieces of bread and some green beans for lunch.

5:42: Lunches made and in the car. I have also loaded up my lunch, my work bag, the kids' diapers, blankets, and change of clothes. So far, I'm only 2 minutes late.

5:43: Second hit of coffee, make breakfast.

5:44: Eat breakfast, check my email

5:47: Boyo starts screaming, an hour before he normally gets up. I dump breakfast down the drain and rock him back to sleep. Kiss my husband good bye.

6: Hop in the shower 10 minutes late.

6:02: My daughter stumbles into the bathroom, up 30 minutes before usual, to tell me that the bees are going to eat her. Oh, and her brother's screaming again.

6:03: Start cursing as shampoo gets in my eyes.

6:05: Red eyed, out of the shower, trying to get ready with a 32 lb baby on my hip and a toddler hanging on my leg.

6:40: Finally all ready for work. In the past 35 minutes, I have gotten myself ready and dressed, slapped on make up, taken make up away from my 2 year old, blow dried and styled my hair, and stopped my boy from trying to turn on the bathroom sink (5 times). Running 15 minutes behind. Third hit of coffee.

6:41: Begging my daughter to eat breakfast.

6:42: Still begging.

6:43: I am considering prying my daughter's mouth open and pouring the oatmeal down her throat.

6:44: Boyo dumps yogurt on my lap. Need to change. Set my daughter up in the living room with MMC and a cereal bar. Stamp down the twinge of guilt because that is her breakfast.

6:45: Boyo poops while I am changing. Poop gets on my shirt. Need to change again.

6:53: Finally get boyo changed and ready to go. He starts screaming and will only stop if I am holding him. I am now 20 minutes late.

6:57: Chase the dog out of the kitchen, where she is licking up spilled yogurt. Reconsider and let the dog back in so that I don't have to clean it up.

6:58: Tell my daughter it's time to get dressed. She tells me no. Power struggle ensues. She wins.

6:59: Boyo poops again.

7:02: Get my daughter out of her pajamas, but now she won't put on clothes.

7:05: Finally get my daughter in clothes. Power struggle ensues over whether or not she needs to wear shoes. I win.

7:07: Boyo poops for the third time.

7:12: My daughter poops too.

7:17: I start to cry. I am now 25 minutes late. My daughter comes over and says: "Momma, why you crying?" I consider telling her because she and her brother are being difficult but thankfully sanity prevails and I tell her because we are late. Her response? "It'll be okay, Momma." Sure. She doesn't have to work for a living.

7:29: My daughter throws a temper tantrum because she doesn't want to get in the car. I offer her a mini marshmallow if she gets in the car. Run back into the house to get the marshmallow.

7:35: Finally pull out of my garage. Take the kids to daycare, carrying my son, a box of diapers, extra clothes, and blankets. I feel like a pack mule.

7:42: My daughter throws a temper tantrum because she doesn't want to go into her classroom. I literally have to drag her into the room.

7:52: Get in my car to go to work. 13 miles. In rush hour traffic. I have 8 minutes to get there on time, and 23 minutes to get there before class starts.

8: Hear about an accident on the 91. Reroute myself down Lincoln Ave.

8:14:30: Get to work with 30 seconds to spare.