You May Be #1

So after my post about putting myself back on the list, I felt committed to getting myself to the Y today.  The class I wanted to take was from 4:30-5:30.  And so long as the kids didn't have a monster nap I thought I'd be able to slide in just as class was starting.  But I was confused.  See I forgot that I am not in charge here.  And though I might make the decisions, the real power is in the hands of people who can scream at pitches that could deafen small animals.

It was 3:50 when Caden started talking.  Which snapped me out of my trance at the computer and reminded me that yes, I'd wanted to go to the Y.  I dashed to pack up some snack and threw some workout gear on.  By 4:00 Addison had opened her eyes, but she was still lying there.  All precious and cuddly.  But I'm tough.  Every now and then, I'm #1 right??  So I marched in there and got Caden up.  We had to go to the potty and back, change from our jammie pants into shorts and then put on short sleeves instead of the long sleeved T we wore this morning.  That was a BIG no go.  Screaming.  To keep his shirt.  Whatever, it was eighty degrees.  Let the boy wear long sleeves.  On to Addison.  I scoop her up, still all cuddly and repeat the process with her.  We potty, we change and we ALSO have screams and tears over our shirt.  Shirts stay.  We're ready to head downstairs when Caden looks at me and say, "Have poopie in da pants."  Seriously?  We stop change and head for the door once more.

We try and hurry downstairs and straight into the car which is packed and ready.  Only Addison does not want to come.  Caden and I go down the stairs and I send him to get his shoes.  One of two pairs that he's allowed to wear to preschool.  And I got back upstairs for Addison.  I have to carry her downstairs and send her off for her shoes.  Only to find that Caden is holding his Crocs.  The guaranteed trippers.  And he is NOT happy about having to switch.  So I just grab the two good pairs and toss them in the car.  He climbs in shoeless.  I toss her two pairs in as well and realize that her hair is in her eyes.  She hates pigtails.  And all I have is the elastic on my ring finger from pre-nap.  No brush?  No problem.  I'll just do it with my hands when we get there.

The ride is uneventful.  Except for me tying my shoes and picking up dropped snack cups at stop lights.  I probably would have started relaxing, given that we were on our way after all.  But instead I just watched the clock. There was no way we were getting there on time without teleporting.  And I'm ok with being late during the day when classes aren't full, but afternoon classes tend to be packed.  And late-comers find themselves up front or squished in by the door, if there's room at all.  And late we were.  Despite the good parking place we lucked into.  And the "fast feet" that the kids kicked in.  So helpful at the eleventh hour.  They even walked right into the nursery with nary a worry.  So I flew downstairs and found the only spot left.  Hugging the stereo in the front corner of the room.  So close to them mirrors that I could have applied makeup.  And so far forward that I had to actually look back over my right shoulder to see the instructor.  Did I mention that this was a step class, which means that I'm looking the whole time?  That and trying not to fall down since I've missed the entire warm up and first sequence.  The one the rest of the class builds on.

But I jump in and get busy working out.  When I return to get the kids I've stepped away just about all the frustrations of getting there.  The kids run to me with big smiles saying, "Mommy came back to get you!"  Which officially melts the last of them.  At which point Caden proudly announces, "Caden has poppie in da pants".  That little revelation, plus all of the above, and rush hour traffic, makes a one hour class at the Y take two hours out of my afternoon.  And about two months off my life.  Sometimes I wonder if it's worth getting bumped up the list.