60 minutes that can make or break a day.

Good afternoon!

First of all, let me just say that I went to "Wicked" and I LOVED IT.  Dinner was great, Marie picked an awesome little Italian place.  The seats were great, the musical was great, and, (And I know you're all dying to know about this) my new shoes got me through the evening in a stylish and comfortable manner.  I may ever keep these, instead of, you know, returning them today.  (Wait, who does that????)

Now, on to our topic at hand.  The first sixty minutes of your day can pretty much define how you're going to view the rest of the day.  I've had some wild 60 minutes, but nothing quite like this.

First off, we didn't get home until almost 1 am.  On a school night, that's a big deal.  Skippy, theoretically, went to bed at 11:30, but I have my doubts.

Everything starts with getting Skippy out of bed.  He tells us he wants to be up at 5:20 so that he has time for a 40 minute shower, a ten minute beauty regimen, another 10 minutes of staring at a wall in his room, 45 seconds of eating half the breakfast I make him, and 15 seconds of storming out of the house and slamming the front door in time to pick up his buddy and get to school in time for an hour of "my parents stink" with his friends.

That would be fine, if he'd get up at 5:20 and get in the shower.  Then Hubby would get in about 6 and I'd have the shower by 6:20, which gives me enough time to shower, pretty up, get Peaches out of bed, make her breakfast, and lunch, and maybe a bit of breakfast for myself.

Here's how this really goes:  At 5:20, Hubby makes the first of four trips he's going to make down to Skippy's room to roust the dead.  By 6:00 there's a lot of shouting "GET UP!", which works as an alarm clock for me.  I hit the mental snooze because, as we all know now, it's going to be at least another 15 minutes before Skippy actually staggers upstairs for a shower.

(Hubby has learned.  He now showers BEFORE he begins the resurrection drama.) 

Once I roll out about 6:15, make Skippy some breakfast.  (Don't ask...I'm a believer in the adage, 'Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.'  I'm not so much a believer in the food pyramid as a rule.)  Generally by 6:25 he's storming through the kitchen to his room to stare at the wall.  He ignores the food, but that's okay because I know he'll get to those delicious sliced apples and pizza rolls.  (I told you not to ask.)  This morning Skippy was running extra late, and didn't get his wall staring time in, so he ate one, exactly one, pizza roll for breakfast.

The good news is, he didn't forget to slam the front door.

Hubby is out the door next, he packs his own lunch and manages a good balanced breakfast at Starbucks.  This morning, however, we were out of bread.  (I'm one of those people who always has plenty of wine, but toilet paper and bread tend to run out.)  I scrambled to the fridge before he did, grabbing the last hamburger bun in the house for Peaches' lunch.   SCORE for me! 

We're calling it "Chicken tartar"and you're going to love it in your lunch!



By now it's 6:45 and I have a choice to make.  I can take a quick shower, or I can just shape my hair with half a can of hair spray.  Since it's chilly in the bathroom  (we keep the windows open until the first snow flies) I opt for just slipping out of jammies and into a skull cap of hair spray.



I pop two toaster waffles into the toaster oven and head into Peaches' room to get her up.  Of course, on the way, I trip over the big box of Partylite candles that got delivered yesterday while I was off being a Theater person.  Even the cat is laughing at me at this point.  I get Peaches up, grab a waffle and get into the car.  I have the car started and pulled out of the driveway when I realize I don't have the checkbook.  This is vital for my day because, well, I have to write out some checks for some bills and stuff that are due today and they need to get in the mail.  (What, like you don't wait until the LAST POSSIBLE DAY to pay the cable bill?)

Back into the driveway and I run into the house.  What ensues is four minutes of frantic running around looking for the checkbook.  The problem is always the same:  If I tidy up, things go one way.  If Hubby does it, things go another.  I had to first remember who tidied last.

Finally, checkbook in hand I am on my way to work!  Since I like to be there by 7:30, I have given myself 8 minutes to get there.  Whoo hoo!

And then my phone rings.  I'm 1 mile into my 1.25 mile drive to work.  Apparently, when we picked her up for the play yesterday, she deposited her backpack into the trunk of the car.  And never got it out. 

So, back to the house, back into the driveway, and back into the house I go.

By the time I get to work, I've already put in half a days' worth of steps, I'm exhausted, and I've worked off the waffle I ate for breakfast. 

Oh, and there are no less than four emails from Bossman regarding things that absolutely must be done by the end of the week.  Since this is Friday, I guess I'll be running around all day.