Make the breakfast, feed the baby, ask the kids to get dressed, load the dishwasher, remind the kids that getting dressed includes wearing a shirt, calm the baby, calm the nine year old who can't find the right shirt, it's right there, right there on your bed, clear the table, ask the six year old if she thinks part of getting dressed includes the socks she's wearing on her hand (she does), rock the baby, tell your still half-naked children they are driving you mad, when they’re confused tell them you mean mad like crazy, but then maybe also mad like mad, ask them to get dressed again, not dressed again, rather dressed for once, for once when I ask you again to get dressed just get dressed, drink caffeine quietly behind the open fridge door, if you stay calm, they'll stay calm, immediately lose your ever loving mind when the nine year old rounds the corner dressed again...in her pajamas, pajamas she had to put back on using the same amount of effort she would have used to put on regular clothes, more really because you know she tossed her pajama top behind her bed, which means she shimmied under her bed to retrieve the pajama top instead of just reaching for the shirt and leggings you had neatly folded on top of the bed, remember you forgot where you set the baby (her swing, she's happy), for some reason (they're not without reasons just without reason) the children have decided finally to dress themselves with socks on feet and shirts over chests and pants over legs, okay, now. get your shoes on, help them get their shoes on (no one ever tells the happily expectant mother how many hours of her life she will spend whisper cursing while pulling tennis shoes onto tiny floppy feet), remember to pack up the baby, the baby who doesn’t wear shoes yet but someday will, her diaper feels a little wet but not too wet, not seeping through onesie wet, decide the diaper will hold, get down the stairs, remember you don’t have the keys, look for the keys while the baby cries and the girls yell about the baby crying, cry a little - the quiet cheek biting kind - until you find the keys in the car seat next to the baby’s now definitely too wet bum, the diaper didn’t hold, it’s not seeping, it’s sopped, everyone out! out the front door! first the middle and then the oldest and then you, keys in one hand, car seat in the other, the car seat bounces off the door jam and into your thigh, shit. mom, what did you say? nothing, nothing, get in the car, I'm coming, I'm coming, lock the door, turn
It’s morning, still. And you’ve pushed them out into the day. And they’ve dragged you out into the day. And that’s really pretty beautiful, if you think about it.
they will be at school until the afternoon. And that is beautiful, too.