Monday forecast: Cloudy with a vomit and tears; kidless with wine in the evening

Today’s daily digit: 6

This morning: Cloudy, vomit, lots of tears, one forgotten lunch.
Tonight: Kidless, evening class until 8:30, chance of wine — 90%
Tomorrow: Sunny, chance of toddler rejecting pants — near 100%

This morning started off well: I woke up before either of the kids, prepped breakfast, and brewed a pot a coffee before waking the kids. Found my seven-year-old daughter, Zora, lying face-down on the bed with tears welling up in her brown eyes. After twenty questions, I learned she feels nervous about a standardized test she has to take tomorrow. Successfully explained “assessment” vs. “judgement” (“You can’t be kicked out of second grade for not doing well”) to her and convinced her to get dressed and go downstairs.

Grabbed the two-year-old from his crib along with his clothes, brought him downstairs and plunked him next to his sister, who is staring at her cereal but not eating it. Two-year-old demands chocolate milk, not vanilla. Chewing ensues.

Next: Attempt to get toddler dressed, which is a lot like trying to catch pig and put clothes on it.

Get the pants on. Toddler starts coughing, then choking, then puking, then crying. Take toddler’s pants off. Toddler refuses to put on clean pants (“I no LIKE these”), so I try a pair pants, which he also rejects. I pin him down with my leg and yank the pants up and then convince him to wear a Thomas the Tank Engine shirt. Vomit pants go in the washing machine.

Walk out the door with both kids and see the car seat sitting on the front steps. We had taken it out so we could pick up my mother-in-law and her friend from the airport. Spend the next seven minutes cursing and installing the carseat in my car using its medieval system of nylon belts and metal buckles. Toss the kids into the car and strap them down and whoosh off to school. Get stuck behind a garbage truck and three school buses.

Zora’s Morning Stats

School arrival time: 7:56

Hairbrushed? No.

Backpack? No.

Lunch? No.

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