I’m an optimist, or maybe an idiot. I sometimes wonder if those two words are synonyms. I always think the morning will run smoother today. I think, somehow, that I have some sort of control over how things will move. Alright…I am going with idiot.

Lunches prepared. Check. Morning routines listed, laminated, and laid out. Check. Brushes of every kind primed and ready for my army of smelly, dirty, raggedy love bugs. Check. What could possibly go wrong, right?

But then they wake up….and that is why I look like this.

But today would go smoother. I decided. So, like magic, we hit our target time for morning take-off. Everyone was dressed and brushed and passed my low-standard smell test. (Mind you, I had not brushed or washed a single piece of my own morning mess, but I pretended the costume of motherhood would excuse my visual odor, and perhaps the pouring rain would wash away the rest.) On-the-go breakfasts were in hand. Even the baby had managed to sleep in, lending itself to an easy, tearless, transfer to the carseat. Hallelujah! I mean, actual miracle, HALLELUJAH!

But then we walked outside the sanctuary of our home…and that is why I look like this.

I was thrust back into reality as I remembered that there had not been a single space when parking the night prior and had had to leave our family limo (aka an ’06, Cheerio encrusted mega-van) at the end of the block. Now, with the thunderous down pouring, and my shivering four-pack threatening to pounce into the puddles that were sirening their names, my mighty mini-van now seemed miles away. So, I did what any good mother would do…I threatened them (lovingly) with the demand to not leave the imagined safety of the porch, and ran my hot-mess through the rain, drove it directly to my darlings, and sheltered each little time-leacher to their chariot one-at-a-time. No, I didn’t have an umbrella. That would have made too much sense.

So multiply my soggy, soaking existence by 4…and that is why I look like this.

After a millennium of musical chairs, they all managed to buckle in, when the wild one casually reflected that perhaps she might have put on her sister’s pants, only to unbuckle, stand up and reveal her princess panties, as the super-sized pants fall to the floor of the car. Explain to me how this fact might just come to you at THIS point in the morning. Really? Right now?

So I unbuckle, and brave the rainy battle one last time to grab a pair of fitting bottoms for my little, bare-bummed bundle…and that is why I look like this.

We finally get to Mama Bus Stop #1 and, of course, the school parking lot is flooded. As we circle the school, swirling in the flood of cars all equally frazzled by the morning, we find the only curb to cuddle is blocks from the drop off door. Luckily, just as I pulled in, my mommy brain provided me with the mental image of toteing four, for blocks, through the storm…and don’t forget about the siren song of the puddles.  So I made a mommy call, bumped the boy to final drop-off, and booked it, resulting in the inevitable Meltdown #1. This of course, worked magically as an alarm clock for the slumbering smallest, who immediately erupted into blood curdling screeching, which continued for the entire remainder of the 45-minute joy ride. Luckily, the neighboring wild one broke out into song…a show tunes version of a Christmas Carol soundtrack, complete with jazz hands. While her attempts to “calm” the baby never completed the task, it did lend itself to a beautiful layering of melodies including the meltdown, muffled by screeching, mixed with Rudolph the Broadway Reindeer.

And of course, not to be excluded from the trio, the 8-going-on-18-year-old belted out that she had a headache (ironic, as one would assume a headache would be worsened by belting out, but…), followed by a rhythmic series of “Uuuuuuughs” and groans of irritation…and that is why I look like this.

Don’t worry, the meltdowner calmed down…just long enough to announce the completion of his anti-e-sanitary-tablishment masterpiece he had created with his greek yogurt, all over the front of his pants. I absorbed the guilt of having attempted a healthier breakfast on-the-go, and assumed it had been a spill. However, he demanded the credit, stating it was an intentional effort and “his new style.”

And without a spare set of clothes in the car, well, fantastic…..and that is why I look like this.

And then, mid 405/mid storm, I hear these sweet words…”Mommy, I think I’m getting carsick!” So I did what any good mother would…rolled down my window, mid-freeway/mid storm, allowing buckets of rainwater to flood my car and pelt my children, in order to dump out my coffee (my only remaining lifeline), and toss the dirty cup back to the threatening puker, as a sad attempt at nurturing his needs…and that is why I look like this.

We survived. Tossed 1/2 of the mess to their teachers and saved the baby from the torture of carseat life for a brief break in the parking lot. I opted to boldly nurse the baby in the “comfort” of the car, smiling sweetly at the passers by, who seemed surprised by the free show, along with the bouncing brother, attempting gymnastics in the front seat as he “patiently” waited for our return trip through traffic. Finally, getting back on track, I buckle the boys, start the engine, and hear these sweet words…”Mommy, potty emergency!” So I load up the troops and brave the rain once again, because crap happens…and that is why I look like this.

I’m an optimist, or maybe an idiot. I sometimes wonder if those two words are synonyms. I always think the morning will run smoother today. I think, somehow, that I have some sort of control over how things will move. Alright…I am going with idiot.