Last night after the Superbowl party (where I knit socks, watched commercials and drank only one glass of red wine), I thoughtfully started a load of jeans in the washing machine. I included the pair that I wore to the party. This morning, I realized that I only thought that I started the laundry. I cursed and pushed the start button firmly about 7:00 am. The husband left for work about 7:15 am. The kids ate breakfast and I started trying to find clothes for them to wear to school. (I made mental notes to myself about NEW and BETTER morning routines.) At 7:50 am, I realized that all of my jeans were wet. I contemplated driving the kids to school in my PJs. I decided against it. I opted instead for a pair of clean cut off jeans that I wear when I paint. (I momentarily forgot why I had cut off the jeans.) Throwing on one old sweatshirt, a pair of green socks, and two Birkenstocks, I dressed quickly. I did not brush my hair. I couldn't find the hair brush. I started looking for my daughter's tennis shoes. By 8:04 am, I found the shoes. (Note: We live exactly eight minutes from the schools. I take the children to two separate elementary schools, one K-2nd center and one 3rd -6th center. The tardy bell rings at 8:15 am. The math was starting to worry me.)
Grabbing backpacks and lunch boxes, I rushed the kids into the car. As I sat down in the driver's seat of my VW, I heard a rip. I remembered why I had cut off the jeans. Holes. Several small holes in the bottom of the jeans. Now, I had several small holes and one rather large hole in the back of my jeans. I stood up and wondered if I should wear my PJs instead. I pulled my sweatshirt down, established that it covered by bottom, glanced at the clock and decided that I would rather be in jeans - albeit torn jeans - than my pyjamas if I had to take one (maybe both) of the kids into the school to sign tardy slips. We drove to school. I didn't get into any wrecks. I did have one near miss after I dropped off my son. We made it to my daughter's school with about 90 seconds to spare before the bell. (I've thoughtfully synchronized my clock with the school clock.) My Beetle was about eight cars deep in the drop off line. Regretfully sacrificing my mother-of-the-year nomination, I told my daughter to run for it. As she sprinted away, I promised that I'd park and walk in if she wasn't in the building before the bell rang. She just made it. I didn't have to show my bottom to the world but it was a near thing...
