Are We There Yet?

Getting ready to go anywhere is a major ordeal, mostly because I am just plain disorganized. Also, I am easily distracted by shiny objects. So I am usually rushing around, trying to get myself ready, Zane ready, all the little things that Zane will have to have ready, and get out the door not too late for whatever it is we are supposed to be punctual.

I am not a morning person. This is actually the understatement of the century. Grass is more sentient than I am before ten in the morning. I usually don't even speak until I've had at least two cups of coffee. Yet somehow I ended up being responsible for getting the entire household up and ready for the day.

I try. I really, really try. Those books on organization make it all sound so easy. I lay clothes out the night before. I get the coffeemaker ready the night before. I put Zane's clothes out, get my lunch ready, gather up my work-related items, etc., all the night before, so I don't have to worry about them in the morning. I do this in the mistaken belief that this will make us all magically become better people who are actually on time.

What usually ends up happening:

I get up ten minutes after I am supposed to because I don't hear the alarm which is right next to my head. I go to wake up Larry so he can get into the shower. He swats at me, and mumbles something incoherent, which I wrongly interpret as "I am awake, my love. I will get out of this bed post haste." I go downstairs and make coffee, make Larry a cup and go back upstairs to find him still asleep. I try again, punching him in his hip and pulling the covers off of him. Larry again mumbles, and I hear his mumble as "I am so very sorry that I did not immediately get out of bed the last time you were up here, darling. I will endeavor to obey your every wish from this moment forward." I go back downstairs.

About halfway through my second cup I realize that Larry is still not awake and go back up stairs. This time I whisper-yell his name, trying not to wake up Zane. Larry shoots straight up in bed and acts like he's having a major coronary, then gets mad at me for "scaring" him. I stand over him until he actually gets out of bed.

I get my lunch from the fridge, put it by the door. I pour Zane a glass of apple juice, pour a cup of coffee into a travel mug for Larry. I eat a quick breakfast of whatever is handy, and inevitably the second I sit down, Larry comes down the stairs and starts yelling at me to hurry up or we are going to be late.

I run around frantically trying to get ready. I rush downstairs. Zane is ready to go, Larry is ready to go, I am ready to go. We open the door to leave and--Zena runs out the door. We have to go and get her. We corral under a car and finally succeed in snaring her. We pick her up, put her in the house and--

"Want apple juice," my son says. *sigh* I unlock the door, Zena explodes from inside the house to the Great Outdoors. I go in the house to get more juice. I bring it out to my son, who is now strapped into his seat.

"Oh, I forgot I'm supposed to bring a movie for after the test," my husband says. "I'll be right back." He goes in, says but can't find it. I know exactly where "it" is; on the shelf in the laundry room. I tell Larry this. Larry goes back in, and comes back out again to tell me that he still couldn't find what was needed. I usually end up going back in the house to get the item, which is exactly where I said it was. By the time we finally get to where we are going, it's time to go home!