3/14/12
Ever since my wife went back to work from maternity leave, I've been the responsible adult in the household for the morning. I get the kids up, feed them breakfast, and take them to daycare on the way to school. Most of the time it's pretty mellow and drama free. Not this morning.
To start, it has been a few days since we set the clocks forward, and today it hit all of us. Usually Miles is awake when Tegan leaves around 6:45 or so, then Isla reads him books until I get some caffeine in my system and get dressed. It's a pretty good system, I'm a big fan. Today, however, Miles didn't stir until about 8:30 or so, and we have to be out of the house by 9. This was a problem. I jumped out of bed and dunked my head in the sink to wake up - threw on my clothes, and gulped coffee straight out of the pot. Now it was 8:45, and I still had to deal with getting some clothes on Isla & Miles, as well as breakfast. I hustled the kids into their room, assembled one of my famous layering ensembles on Miles - lots of browns and greens and oranges - kind of like a kid's puke after Halloween.
This is a good time to point out that it was pouring outside, and really windy. It had been raining for the past 24 hours as well, so it's pretty sodden outside. Isla has no idea what the word "cold" means, nor "pants," or "sweater." Because of this outrageous fact, we have this dance every morning where she tries to convince me that a sleeveless pink summer dress is the best uniform to wear on the way to find the Northwest Passage, while I counter with the assertion that it's highly likely she will come down with frostbite and possibly gangrene on her legs without some sort of cloth covering. She then rebuts by crying on her bed that I am squashing her dreams because no princess would ever be caught dead in tights, or pants under her dress, or a freaking JACKET IN THE RAIN. At any rate, I rarely lose this battle, because I am the dad, and she was in a pair of pink pants and a sweater by 8:59. Sweet. Organic poptarts in the toaster (because somehow the fact that they are organic counters the frosting and sprinkles on top, right?) and we're out the door.
Remember, it's raining, really hard. I put the top over Mile's carrier, and ran out to the car, throwing Isla's door open in the process so she could climb in out of the rain. As I was fastening Mile's seat, I heard a clunking sound from the other side of the car, then a splash. Like a diving into the pool splash. I run over to the other side, where Isla is in about a foot of puddle, her Mercer Mayer book floating down toward the drain, and the poptart hanging precariously out of the door. "Daddy!" she screams, "grab the poptart!"
Nice priorities, Isla.
I get her out of the puddle, every inch of her body soaked. Now, we are late, and I face the prospect of another pants battle inside, but defying all expectations, Isla looks at me and says - "Daddy, I'm all wet and itchy. Can I wear the black pants and the strawberry shirt?" This is coupled with big doe eyes, of course.
Were those raindrops on my cheeks? who's to say.
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