we'll call it "real motherhood" by jen

Our plan going forward is that whoever works, will drop the children off at school on their way out. Then, whomever is at home with Henry will pick them up at noon. Because the school is a 20-minute drive from our house, this arrangement will save one person from having to drive 80 minutes a day, dropping children off and picking them up again.

But today, because it was the first day of school, both Charlie and I participated in the drop-off ceremony. With all that we had to do to get prepared last night, we weren't in bed until 2 AM. So this morning, I felt like I was running behind from the get-go. My attire consisted of cargo pants, flip flops and a t-shirt that I'm fairly certain was clean. All the other parents that I saw dropping kids off were driving shiny European cars and wearing Gucci sunglasses that coordinated with their pumps.

After I dropped the children off, I drove 20 minutes home, took 15 minutes to update my blog with pictures, cleaned up from breakfast, made three beds, threw in a load of laundry, fed Henry lunch, read him a story, vacuumed two rooms, ate a handful of M&M's and it was time to drive the 20 minutes back to school to pick the children up.

There was no work out today.

No leisurely pedicure.

No strolling through the local farmer's market.

When I arrived at school this afternoon, I was late. I thought the children got out at noon. Turns out they are dismissed at 11:50. The kids were sitting on the little bench in front of the school with their teacher. All the other part-time students were gone. The kids were so excited, they were yelling "Mama! Dat was fun! I want to do dat again!!"

Meanwhile, here I come, late and feeling frazzled because what was intended to be a relaxing morning was anything but. I was holding what I thought to be a sweaty Henry in one arm, which it turns out, the wetness I was feeling was because my son had a poop monstrosity, the likes of which I have not seen since his newborn days.

All over me.

My arm. My shirt. My pants.

I didn't even notice. It was the kind director of the school who pointed out the explosion.

I don't want to have the title of the oblivious mother who shows up late covered in poop. So Wednesday when it is my turn to pick the children up again, I am going to arrive 10 minutes early and wear something fancy.

Or, maybe I'll just see about starting a new trend.