So there’s something you should know about me. I often struggle to make it somewhere on time. But really, the struggle doesn’t lie with me. It’s embodied in the precious, two little somebodies who are in my life.
It drives my husband bonkers when we are late somewhere. And I guess I should own up to my half of the problem. It really wasn’t until a few months ago that I realized Oh. I can actually show up somewhere early.
And so to bless my husband, I have been making the conscious effort to try to get places. Early.
Bet you can guess where this is going.
Perhaps there is nowhere the Time Crunch Beast is felt more keenly in our home than on a Wednesday evening. My husband goes straight from work to his master’s class, so getting the kids out the door to Wednesday church activities relies solely on me.
Which brings me to today. When the Smoothie almost killed me.
In order to make it our evening activity on time (which is really ten minutes early, remember), we need to leave at 6:00pm. Which means I have a timer go off at 5:50pm to remind the children to get on their shoes, grab their bags and jackets, and put on seatbelts.
Yes, it takes ten minutes.
Which means dinner really needs to be served at 5:30pm. So, you can imagine my panic when I looked up at the clock at 5:27pm and realized we needed to eat dinner… and nothing was planned.
I had before me two options. The healthy one: a smoothie with fresh spinach, large avocado, three types of berries, ripe banana, and homemade yogurt.
My mom guilt plagued on me. Should I really justify one more night of Cheerios for my kids? I need to step it up. Be one of those Good Moms. So I chose the healthy option.
Friends, never ever choose the healthy option.
Triumphantly, I poured the delicious smoothie goodness into our large cups. But as I was putting lid on the second extremely full cup, the cup jolted out of my hands and rocketed onto the counter, spewing smoothie like a toddler eating canned pea puree.
Instinctively, I threw my body in front of the mess, shielding my children from the splatter. Which meant that my leg took a nasty hit. A 10” stream of dark purple smoothie oozed down my pant leg.
And this is when I realized my problem. I own only one pair of pants.
You may recoil in horror. I know it’s a risk that I take. I have worn the same pair of jeans since last October – which is when the heavens parted and I finally found a pair of jeans that fit. Of course, the smart person would buy more than one pair. Which, I did. But I never got around to hemming the other pair of pants 4.5” shorter – and then it got lost in our move.
Don’t worry. I wash my only pair of pants regularly. In fact, I had just taken them out of the dryer this morning.
Curse you, Smoothie.
So I’m frantically taking a towel and wiping purplicious smoothie off my leg. When I hear a faint wail rise up from my sensitive 6yo daughter. You see, it is her smoothie that I have heartlessly destroyed.
“What am I going to eat?!” she asked, with lip quivering as she pondered her plight of starvation.
Sacrificially, I told her I would split her 3yo brother’s smoothie with her. Because mama ain’t going hungry.
I redistribute the smoothies, snap on the lids, shove in straws, and command my children: EAT.
I begin scooping bright purple smoothie from the counter into the trash. I grab a nearby left-over frozen broccoli bag (see, dear husband, it’s good I don’t throw trash away when I’m done with it) and begin lapping the oozing mass from the counter into the bag.
Next time, I will make sure the bag doesn’t have a hole in it.
As I’m tossing smoothie into the trash can, I notice I’m leaving giganticus blobs of healthy goo all over my floor. I quickly grab napkins and begin wiping like a crazy person, hoping to beat my 3yo who has a fascination with jumping in puddles, no matter what the color.
I look back to the counter and see that Zombie Smoothie has now dripped over the counter edge and into the my spice drawer. I begin frantically wiping the sides of the counter, throw open the spice drawer, and yell NOT TODAY!
I look up at the clock. We are now behind schedule.
I command my children: Get on your shoes! Grab your jacket! Get your bags! Go! Go! Go!
My children, sensing none of my urgentness, proceed to play a little game we call “Where Did My Shoes Go.” Nevermind that I have laid them out in advance by the front door. It still takes 5 minutes for them to find them and adorn their feet.
I have my back turned to my 3yo when I hear words no parent should hear. It comes very quietly from my littlest child.
“Where are my pants?”
I spin around, in horror.
He is fully clothed. He was merely quoting the Lego Movie. Crisis averted.
My second phone alarm goes off (aka – the GET IN THE CAR NOW alarm). My alarm is actually set to a song where Cubbie Bear joyfully sings about being “happy all day long.”
So I put a smile on my face while my 3yo jumps and dances in time to the music, while I try to muster his flailing arms into his jacket.
I give up. We leave the jacket at home.
I finally get the kids in the car when my oldest informs me it’s a “Special Night” tonight. “Mommy, we are supposed to bring food to donate to the Food Pantry tonight!”
Pushing away the urge to donate a trashcan full of smoothie, I run back inside the house to raid the pantry. I grab two boxes of Annie’s Homegrown Organic Mac and Cheese (never choose the healthy option, friends). As I’m rounding the kitchen, I discover the last vestige of smoothie ooze that I had missed.
And it was dripping onto my 3yo son’s backpack. There were no napkins in sight.
So without thinking I grabbed his backpack. And licked it.
I licked my son’s dirty backpack.
Because that’s what we mother’s do.
We lick the unlickable. To save our children from Demon Smoothies.
I run back out of the house and we take off. We will not be late. We will not be late. We will not be late.
I accidentally let a car with it’s blinker on merge ahead of me and realize it’s a Driver’s Ed car. We pull onto the highway at the impressive speed of 40 mph. But I am not worried.
My children are fed. I have proven victorious over the Evil Smoothie. Everyone is alive. And I didn’t yell too much.
I smile at my little victory.
And then I look down at my shirt. I was so focused on my pants, I forgot to look at my shirt … which has forevermore been ruined by bright purple stain of organic spinach, strawberries, and hand-harvested blueberries.
Which is when I also notice that my shirt is covered in holes. I can’t even.
We finally pull into the parking lot for our activity. With ten minutes to spare. Miracles do exist. We are on time! Which is actually ten minutes early!
And it is then that with great sincerity and panic that my 6yo informs me: WE FORGOT TO WEAR OUR COSTUMES!!!
Don’t worry, kids. I’m going to go as Purple Healthy Girl.
Next week, we’re eating Cheerios.