Not another Manic Monday, please!

Do you ever have those days that you just wish you could press the stop button, rewind and begin anew? This morning was one of those. It didn’t seem like a Tuesday at all, but more like another Manic Monday for sure. And all the cosmos were against me getting to work on time and in one piece.

Makenzie was awake until around 10:30 last night. As soon as I thought I heard the blessed silence, I found her hanging out in her bathroom on the potty (another of her classic stalling techniques when she doesn’t want to go to sleep).

Then she woke up this morning at 5:20 wanting a teething toy since we had no more pacis (see previous post). I lugged her 32 pounds up into our bed thinking she might forget about it and close her pretty little eyes (and mouth) for 1 more precious hour of sleep, but OH NO, I DON’T THINK SO!

Whining ensues and Daddy’s patience was frayed from being woken from his slumber. I suggested that he just dig the requested teething toy out of the mounds of blankets, bears and dolls in her bed and oblige her request, but he had something else in mind. He whisked her away to her bed where the whining ceased and all-out SHREAKING ensued. Did I mention Daddy’s patience was frayed? Well, at this point it was totally unwound. So he chose 5:32am this morning to teach Makenzie that she can’t always get her way. That translates into: NO SLEEP FOR ANYONE WITHIN 10 MILES.

So since the whole household is now up extra early on this beautiful Tuesday morning, Daddy got Makenzie dressed first. Lesson to anyone with a baby approaching toddlerhood: NEVER get a toddler dressed more than 5 minutes before you have to leave the house. Otherwise, you’re asking for a stain, rip or tear.

So I proceed to go to the master bathroom and begin my beautification routine for the morning. While my back is turned, Makenzie plucks a tube of moisturizer from my drawer and proceeds to squeeze a nice golf ball sized glob of it onto her clothes, the floor and her hands. There goes her nice clean clothes. Then she pulls her bow out and hands it to me—there goes the hair do.

I emerge from the bathroom sometime later ready for work and on my way to redo Makenzie’s hair, but with patience hanging by a thread. As I leave the bedroom, I grab Tim’s water cup to take downstairs. I turn the corner into the hall, and Tim bumps right into me. Water spills, I break a nail, and we argue about who ran into who.

We make it out of the house only 6 minutes late and then hit the traffic that is knee-deep at every intersection between our house and the daycare. Some lady honks at me when she thinks I’m about to turn into her lane (which I’m not) and I think to myself “Lady, be glad I’m not a road-rage type. You don’t know the morning I’ve had, and it’s only 7:30!”