It's the end of an era. No longer am I a stay-at-home-mom. With Spawnling in school four days each week (beginning today) and I at the office for at least two of them, we are a family who hustles out the door with backpacks and jackets and hastily-brewed coffees in fancy travel mugs.
I'm feeling a bit nostalgic as I remember holding a wee gremlin's hand as we wished his older brother a happy first day of school. I miss signing up for playgroup and meeting new people who will undoubtedly become my groupies. I miss hanging out with my friends Maury and Oprah and Phil, and learning about the important things, like what makeup style is in this fall, or why I look fat in these jeans, or who Latisha's baby daddy is (or isn't). The good ol' days of very little scheduling, lots of parks, the blissful quiet of naptime.
I love that I stayed home with my boys. It's been a wonderful experience. I'm bottling up the good feelings from those times and storing them in the recesses of my cobwebbed mind so I can draw on them when I'm about to go batshit crazy over how busy life is going to get. And make no mistake: it's going to get all kinds crazy.
Some people panic when responsibilities are looming. I can see why. After a couple of months of sleeping in most days, drinking a leisurely coffee on the deck, and only half-assedly parenting, we are now getting three sleepy boys out the door before 8 a.m. four days a week - and thankfully only two out on Fridays.
Intrepid pretty much gets himself ready as long as you wake him up, but like most teens, we still need to remind him to bring his lunch, his backpack and his brain to school. Gutsy is a bit of a landmine - he's unpredictable as he's definitely not a morning person: I wake him up before anyone else so that he has time to eat cereal in bed, watch a show, get dressed, and slowly meander out the door for 7:45. He may or may not blow up in the process, but the likelihood increases as the week drags on. Spawnling will go back to sleep if I don't check up on him repeatedly. He's usually happy, but sloth-like. Since cattle prods are illegal to use on children (no idea why), I tend to entice him downstairs with promises of food. It's far more humane but involves me actually having to make him something. Dammit.
Now, with having my own schedule to keep that does not always allow for the wearing of yoga pants and scrunchies, I feel a little like a domestic air traffic controller. Thankfully, I only work two days a week right now and have a helpful husband. Still, I could see how this schedule could induce panic.
But I do not panic. Oh, no, I do not. Instead, I reach deep within, grab hold of my inner Virgo, and do what Virgos do best: organize, organize, organize.
As of 8:30 p.m. yesterday, I had the following tasks completed:
- Backpacks ready by the front door
- Spawnling's school supplies ready for his first day
- Gluten-free apple crisp cooling on the stove
- Gluten-free homemade crackers put into lunches
- All the lunches made and in the fridge
- Bacon cooking on the stove for breakfast
Well, before your call your employee therapy hotline, can I just point out a couple of things?
Let's talk about those crackers for a minute. I made them from scratch, and they're yummy. I even made them autumn-themed. Check it out:
|I should call myself "The Martha"|
Want to be even more impressed? I wrote everyone's names on some of them. (Please ignore the fact that I was tired of cutting out shapes and just smushed them down with my hands. Sort of takes away from the cutesy-ness a little bit.)
|I even made one for my boss (not shown here)|
But Martha I am not. A true sign of my crazy came through when I got a little tired of making happy faces on the pumpkin and apple-shaped crackers.
|My favourite one is obviously the bottom left. I made lots like him.|
After snack time today, the teachers are going to flag my children as coming from a troubled home-- or at least a troubled womb.
Does that make you feel better? It should. And if it doesn't, you can smile gleefully as I mention that, despite planning everything down to the minutest detail in my control-freakish way - getting everyone off to school on time with wholesome lunches, and even picking up a coffee in the process - I couldn't control just how much traffic was on the road and was 10 minutes late for work.
You're very welcome.