It was 6:00 a.m. and I gracefully awoke from a full eight hours of rest and relaxation. I gingerly strolled to my computer to write a great and inspiring blog for mothers of large families. Prior to my blogging, I had a brief but meaningful devotion in which I thanked God for my wonderful husband and my five beautiful and bright children. After I completed devotion, I snacked on a cup of yogurt, along with granola bar, while sipping an ice cold drink of orange juice. Oh, the peace and quiet. And then I was awakened.
"Mommy, I think I have doctor's appointment at 9 a.m. for my physical and this is the third time we had to reschedule."
The groggy, half-conscious look must have caused her to kick in a little scare tactic. "And it's already 5 after 8 and the boys aren't even up yet."
That did it. My 11-year-old daughter knows exactly what to say.
I sat up in the bed so fast that I felt dizzy and all of the sudden the household machine kicked into the motion when the alarm sounded: "Everybody up. We have 25 minutes to get ready and get out of here. Let's get it poppin'." That's my daughter's allusion to Missy Elliott's "Gotta Get it Poppin'" or is that Nelly? Well, I don't know, but you gotta act like you're hip and in touch when you have a 5-foot-4-inch other woman living in your house, wearing the same size 9 shoe as you.
I splashed cold water on my face and started barking orders while I was in the bathroom getting on my clothes.
"Put some oatmeal in the microwave for the baby."
"Stop arm poofing at the breakfast table." (Poof is our nice way of saying farting.)
"No, you can't use your brother as a stepping stool to get a cup out of the cabinet." (My 8-year-old son couldn't possibly think about using a chair instead of his 6-year-old brother. No, that would be too much like...right.)
In less than 5 minutes, I was downstairs, making sure everyone had breakfast and at least three of the four were dressed. My 4-year-old daughter needs to contemplate her wardrobe and prefers to eat in her pajamas so she doesn't get her clothes all messy.
While they are eating, I grab a piece of toast, run upstairs, change the baby, put him in the high chair and let him eat his now-cooled oatmeal. I brush my teeth, try to find matching shoes for my 4-year-old daughter who likes to hide items in strange places like suitcases, backpacks and bathtubs. I have less than five minutes before we have to be out of the door so that I can be at the doctor's office on time.
With less than three minutes to spare, everyone knows the routine. "Line up and be silent." I take a mind-clearing cleansing breath, similar to the meditating strategies used by Martin Lawrence in Bad Boys 2, Whooo-Saaaaa. Whoo (breath in through the mouth), Saaa (breathe out though the mouth). Then I give final assignments, "Oldest Daughter, keys, library books to return." "Oldest Son, diaper bag." "Middle Son, only one rescue hero this time. It's almost 100 degrees and I'm not cleaning up any more melted action figures." "Youngest daughter, crayon box and paper." "I'll grab my purse and the baby." "Ready, troops." "Ready."
And as we march out, my husband comes down the stairs, dressed in his basketball gear, grabs a cold Gatorade from the fridge: "Hey, off to the gym. Have a good day."
As I speed down Liberty Rd., I realized I didn't have devotion. Lord, help us to arrive safely and protect us from all harm and when it's my time to go, have mercy on my soul and let me come back the next time as a MAN!
5min blog 4:3