Excuses & Embarrassment

Well, I was going for a bigger record than 5 days, but then things started getting crazy...

On Monday, Clemson fired our head coach, Tommy Bowden, right about the time I started working on my blog. Needless to say, I totally got sidetracked and didn't make it past logging in.

On Tuesday, I went shopping with Mary, Laney, and Sam. By the time we got back and picked up Ethan from school, it was time to get ready for soccer. By the time that was over and the kids were in bed, I wasn't very coherent.

On Wednesday, Mary and I took Sam and Laney shopping again in order to finish picking up what I didn't get on Tuesday. Shopping with Mom & 2 kids sometimes takes longer than anticipated.

So here it is. Thursday. Let me tell you how my morning has started.

First, my house looks like one of those you see on "Clean House" or another of those intervention-type shows. After two days of shopping -- which involved carrying Sam in one of those baby-backpack type things and managing Laney the Diva--, I didn't feel like doing much... so I didn't. Last night, I decided that today would be cleaning day.

I intended for it to start early, but I fell asleep on the couch last night around 9:30. K apparently fell asleep shortly thereafter because at 3:30 this morning, Sam woke both of us up... and we were still on the couches.

K went to bed. I, having gotten 6 hours of sleep, was wide awake.

For the record, there's not much going on here at that time of night/morning.

So...I research nursery bedding (as we still haven't done anything to Sam's nursery) until my eyes cross and finally fall asleep somewhere around 5 am... only to have the cursed alarm clock go off at 5:30.

Have I mentioned that the alarm clock is on my side of the bed? That means I have to turn it off because nothing wakes up Narcalepto, my insanely sleep-talented husband.

About that time, Laney starts bellowing from the top of the stairs. She -- after a year of climbing up and down the stairs just fine -- picks this morning to develop a crippling fear of coming downstairs by herself.

BUT -- she fully intends to have someone come get her and bring her downstairs to get in our bed.

Any guesses who that someone might be?

I'll give you a hint: It was not Narcalepto.

Once we finally get settled, she snuggles up next to me and falls asleep (which totally makes me forget that she is a voracious beast because she is so precious when she sleeps)...right about the time I realize my arm is pinned underneath her.

I have no other choice but to try to fall asleep before my arm does because I know better than to risk awakening the sleeping goblin unless I want to wake the rest of the house as well.

I drift off to sleep, my sweet girl in my arms, only to wake up approximately 2.5 seconds later to the sound of the alarm, signaling time to begin the morning mission of ejecting Narcalepto from the bed.

I am only semi-conscious at this point, so I don't know if I said the nasty things running through my head or just thought them.

To make a long story a little shorter, I realize moments later that I had done nothing to get ready for today... so I had to squeeze last night's prep into this morning's lack of time and patience. After getting Ethan up, I proceed to break out my Super-Mom cape and find suitable clothes, make breakfast & lunch & coffee, sign papers, accomplish homework tasks, pack bags, brush hair & teeth, corral younger siblings, and get into the car.

Proud of myself, I glance at the clock as I pull out of the driveway to take E to school... and realize we may be late.

Unless I engage the turbo-boosters.

So I floor it.

The MV roars off into the sunrise as I try to dodge squirrels and morning walkers, and I think we may have made it as we careen into the school parking lot on two wheels, barely missing the crossing guard.

When we pull up to the drop-off area, other kids are getting out of their cars and going in... but the doors are closed and there are no adults there to greet them.

Ethan, the ever-eager beaver, hops out of the car and takes off for the door right about the time my inner-honor student kicks in, and I start to panic.

Should I walk him in? Is he going to get in trouble? Oh my gosh -- is he late or not?!?!

Still, other kids are skipping in with no parents, but Ethan is little. He's in kindergarten. What if he gets lost? Should I go in, just to make sure he's ok?

I cruise slowly by the front door, craning my neck to see if he's crying in the office or something while simultaneously holding up traffic. Finally, my inner-honor student wins, and I pull into a parking space to go check on him. I know he's already gone to class, but I just have to make sure I don't need to sign him in or something.

It is at this moment that I realize being late is only the beginning of my problems.

1-- I let Laney pick out her own clothes because we weren't going to be getting out of the car -- or so I thought. I can't, of course, leave her in the car while I run into the school. Not because I am responsible but because she follows directions about as well as the tree in our backyard, and I have no doubt that she would wait until I got in the school to let herself out of the van and go play in traffic.

I say all of that to say that Laney is wearing a long-sleeved, multi-colored, striped, velour shirt embellished with a butterfly. The top itself is cute, but when paired with plaid shorts that are too small so her belly hangs out over the top and scuffed white tennis shoes with no socks -- not to mention her CRAZY morning hair-- the look is not flattering.

2 -- Sam's blanket does not match his outfit. (While not a big deal to most, please remember that I am a little OCD about things matching or at least complementing... and the outfit/blanket faux pas is bad -- navy on the outfit while there's black on the blanket -- huge problem for me. I am president of the Black and Navy Do Not Go Together club.)

3 -- I have not brushed my teeth.

4 -- I have a ball cap jammed on top of my unbrushed hair...which I wore curly yesterday... which translates to a rat's nest today.

5 -- (This is by far the worst.)
I am wearing a Tiger Town Tavern tshirt.
Leftover from my 21st birthday.
Which was 10 years ago.

Now, I love this tshirt. It is one of the most comfortable items of clothing that I own. It is not, however, something I wear out in public. First, it is ragged. Second, it has holes. Third, the back is decorated with a large tiger lounging in an even bigger beer mug framed by the words "21st BIRTHDAY! I'M LEGAL!!!"

This is not the way I want to present myself to the office staff at my son's school.

I have no choice, however, because I am paranoid that he won't be admitted to school because we were late.

I take a deep (unbrushed teeth) breath and get out of the van. After I unbuckle Sam, who is unable to defend himself in light of the outfit/blanket fashion disaster, I get Laney the Ultimate Fashion Victim out of the car and start across the parking lot.

I'm pretty sure the other parents were staring, pointing, and taking pictures with their cell phones to forward to their friends.

I am mortified.

While I have relaxed my personal appearance standards since becoming a mom, I am not a sloth, and I do not make public appearances while inappropriately groomed. I brush my teeth. I at least pull my hair up in a casual-yet-somewhat-chic bun or ponytail. I don't put on full make-up, but I at least throw on some clear gloss and powder.

And I don't wear shirts with big beer mugs on them to any sort of school function.

Not only that, but my children look like I just picked them up from the homeless shelter... which is where I probably left them while I went out trolling bars and picking up ratty tshirts.

The walk across the parking lot is bad enough. I hope that I can just duck in and duck out without garnering any more attention, but of course, that would be too easy.

And, so, it gets worse.

The first set of doors of the school lead into a small foyer, where there are a second set of doors and a door to the office. The second set of doors stays locked during the school hours, so all visitors really have to go to the front office.... meaning there are about 10 people in the front office at this point.

We walk in, and all of them -- including the kids -- turn around and stare.

I'm not kidding.

After waiting in line for what seems like hours, it is my turn to talk to the staff.

I can almost see the fright on their faces.

I start explaining why I am there and, in typical Amy fashion, become totally flustered because a) I realize I sound crazy and b) I know that I -- as well as my kids -- look crazy... and the women behind the counter are looking at me like they are ready to call the police while using the tones of voice that crisis negotiators use to keep crazy hostage-takers from going over the edge.

I try to explain that I dropped Ethan off in the drop-off zone right around 7:50 and watched him walk into the school, only to realize I might need to sign him in... but I don't see him, so I'm assuming that he's made it into school...

And I realize that I sound like I pushed him out of the car while driving by but came back to make sure he actually went into school instead of playing hooky to burn down a local barn or something.

The secretary gives the school nurse a look, and they both start looking through their sign-in sheets and pass booklets, saying they don't think they signed him in.

I know they didn't sign him in because he went on into the school; I just want to know if I need to sign him in anyway.

So I start trying to re-explain, which only makes matters worse, and Laney is standing there, making loud sucking noises on her pacifier (which I didn't take away from her before we left because she'd just gotten up), looking like the poster child for a charity case next to her me, her mother, who looks like an illustration out of the Bad Mom manual that DSS gives out... and finally I just stop talking.

I realize that people in the office are looking at Laney and Sam and thinking, "It's not their fault, bless them. Look at their mama!" (In my head, I hear them saying this in Mary's voice because Mary has much sympathy and compassion for disadvantaged children and much disdain for lazy, good-for-nothing parents... and I'm pretty sure these people think we fall into these categories.)

I want to say, "Look. I wasn't planning on getting out of the car. I dressed in ratty clothes because I'm going home to clean house. My kids are not homeless or disadvantaged. I am a clothes-nazi, and they've never made public appearances before today in mismatched clothes or with unbrushed hair. I don't drink excessively in college bars while my kids sit outside in the car. I am a teacher, with a college education, on maternity leave because I just had my third child in 5 years because I am Fertile Myrtle, and I've been up all hours of the night because I couldn't sleep, and I am not irresponsible or a bad parent or a social derelict! I'm just having a bad morning!"

Right before I open my mouth to begin my tirade, I realize that saying all of this will only make me look more guilty... and so finally, with the school nurse looking at me with concern from behind the counter, I just mumble my thanks, back out of the office (so as not to give anyone behind the counter a full view of the Tiger in a Beer Mug graphic), and practically run to the car, Sam and Laney tow, cheeks aflame.

I'm not sure, but I'm thinking I won't be asked to be a class mom this year...