I’m not talking a full length feature film, just one of those little bonus short films.
The following happened between the hours of 6 AM and 7 AM:
I throw the oldest in the shower while the youngest mopes around in bed — in MY bed even, where he came in the middle of the night when scared of a potential house fire. (There was no fire or threat of fire. It’s fire safety week at school, and while teaching fire safety to young kids is super important, so far all it’s done to Caden is plant the idea in his head that our house could catch on fire. He’s been worried all week about smoke alarms and screens on windows and who would carry him out, etc.)
So, the oldest is in the shower, which I still help with, so I’m there scrubbing hair and rinsing and handing towel. He’s done and is sent to room to get dressed.
Now for No. 2. Finally get him wrangled into the shower and again scrub the head, rinse him off, scoop him out, dry him off, send him to his room to get dressed.
In the mean time, the oldest is dressed and is digging in his piggy bank. It’s been book fair week at school and in addition to books he’s bought a few uniquely-shaped erasers … and some Airheads. For some reason, the book fair sells Airhead candy. “Are you getting money out of your piggy bank to spend at the book fair?” I ask. With a slight deer-in-the-headlights, caught-red-handed look on his face and a definite tone of attitude in his voice he replies, “No.” Just so you get the full affect, this “no” sounded exactly like the way we used to say “duh” back when “duh” was something we said. (Do people still say duh?) “The book fair closed yesterday,” he continued.
“So then why are you getting money out of your piggy bank?” I say, while now towel drying his brother’s hair. I can see him trying to come up with what he’s going to say that’s going to both get my approval and not be a lie. His eyes are still kinda wide like that deer’s when he says, “Well, the library sells these little erasers ….” See! I knew it had something to do with erasers!
In his hand is several quarters and nickels, so I reply. “OK.” But then I add, like good parents do, “It’s your piggy bank money. Spend it how you’d like. When it’s gone it’s gone.”
Part of this conversation has taken place while I am dressing the kindergartner and the oldest is in the hallway because the kindergartner doesn’t want his brother peeking at him while he’s getting dressed.
Now for the backpacks. I write notes to the teachers that the boys will be checked out early today and then the last minute crisis: it’s Caden’s show and tell day and he wants to take a light-up Rinzler (from Tron) but the batteries that make him light up are dead. I bought new batteries but have yet to get them installed. The thing takes 3 watch batteries! At $4 each I could’ve possibly just bought a new Rinzler! So, with minutes before the bus is to arrive I remove Rinzler’s battery cover, insert the new batteries and … nothing happens. Ugh, I must have them in upside down. So I now take the small flathead screw driver to pry them out. Do that, flip them all the other direction and … nothing happens. What?!?
It’s time for the bus. “Boys, go outside and wait for the bus and I’ll keep working on Rinzler.” In the mean time I had sent Caden to get a back-up show-and-tell toy just in case time ran out on fixing Rinzler.
Sure enough, the bus comes, Rinzler is in my hand still not lighting up, so I wave goodbye and holler I’m sorry I wasn’t able to fix him in time and that I’ll see them at lunch.
I come in the house, lock the door behind me, feeling like a failure of a mom, and come sit on my bed to figure out why the batteries are not working either way I put them in. I had asked Caden if there was a certain button to push to make him light up. No, he had said, just have this switch to “ON.” I flip the batteries around more time, now in the orientation I first had them, the switch is set to “ON” and then I see it. There’s a little black button under Rinzler’s arm that when you push it — guess what — he lights up. I wanted to go run after the bus, but of course it was too late for that, and wouldn’t that make me an even worse mom to embarrass my kids by chasing after the bus in my pink pajama pants? They’re very cute pajama pants, mind you, but I don’t think kids care about how cute the pajama pants are when telling stories like “And then Finn’s mom came running after the bus wearing pink pajama pants. Hahahahaha.”
This is the part in the “if my morning were a movie” where you’d hate the ending, because wouldn’t it have been better to have figured out about the little black underarm button, like two minutes earlier? In the movies they always clip the bomb wire or stop the bad guy just in the nick of time. Ideally I could’ve fixed the Rinzler just in time, too. But I didn’t. Are those rotten tomatoes you’re throwing at me? ;)