Today started out the same as every morning. I was lying in bed half comatose watching Matt Lauer on the Today Show, putting off getting up as long as possible. Nina came in asking me to open a container of fingernail polish, knowing full well that I am completely incapable of rational decisions before 8 a.m.. I opened the polish and sent her on her way, lest she interrupt too much of my time with Matt Lauer. When I finally rolled out of bed, Addie modeled her new look, courtesy of Nina - metallic blue toenails, pink sparkly fingernails, bright pink cheeks, topped off with glossy purple lips. Nice. My three year old looks like a hooker, and I'm still not quite awake. I got dressed, told Nina for the 18th time to get herself dressed, and shuffled downstairs to start making lunches.
We have jelly issues in this house. I don't do grape. I'm a Trader Joe's cherry preserves kind of girl. The rest of the family likes boring old grape for reasons I'll never understand. I have been banned from buying their jelly though because I buy jam instead of jelly or jelly instead of jam. I can't keep them straight. They are both jars of purple glop...what's the difference? Anyway, that is just a little background into the jelly situation. J.C. used to buy the ginormous 8000 oz jars from Sam's Club, but by the time we would get to the bottom third of the jar, the lid would be so glued to the jar that we couldn't get it open. Recently, he switched to squeeze jelly, thinking it would be easier for the girls to use. Have you ever tried squeeze jelly? It isn't like toothpaste or ketchup or mustard that works well in a squeeze container. The purple glop adheres itself to the bottom of the container and is impossible to squeeze out. I worked on making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cursing the squeeze jelly all the while. J.C. strutted over to defend his jelly saying, "I'll fix it. You just have to shake the jelly down." Then, in one powerful shake, jelly was EV.ER.Y.WHERE....on the ceiling, on the walls, on the floor, on J.C.'s back, on the cabinets, on a wall hanging. I don't think he could have sprayed jelly farther if he was trying. Then Addison burst in to tears, wailing, "I don't like jelly on the ceeeeiiiiillllliiiinnnnggg." J.C. started cleaning up his sticky purple goop while I consoled the poor jelly-terrified child. Then from the upper level, we heard screams of "OWWW!! Don't kick me!", "You kicked me first!" "But I didn't kick you hard." When I finally calmed Addie down, assuring her that her Daddy would get all the jelly off the ceiling, it was time to get her dressed. That can't be accomplished without tantrums (from both her and me), but I came out victorious, managing to dress her in everything but shoes.
Fortunately, I had a well-timed morning meeting, so I got to race off to work, leaving J.C. to get everyone off to camp and preschool with lunches, blankets, jackets, snacks, water bottles, assorted necklaces, coins, rubber frogs, and other necessary paraphernalia.
Can you see why I'm not a morning person? Do your mornings resemble ours? Or are we the only ones with sticky ceilings and three year old hookers in the mornings? Why does every day have to start with a morning?
I'm heading off to bed now, where I plan to stay until noon. No more mornings for me. I just can't take them any more.