My mornings are normally like something out of a scene from the movie Groundhog Day.
little kid comes in to snuggle me, he starts getting ready, I have coffee, Mr. Ashley wakes Big Kid up, he gets himself ready as I drive little kid to school, I come home and get Big Kid and drive almost the same route I just drove to drop him off at his school and return home the same way.
I'm leaving town tomorrow and my brain was full of to-do lists so I started my morning productively, packing and gathering what I needed instead of waiting until even more last minute than I already had. I did some laundry, cleaned the house, and was doing stuff in my bathroom when I heard footsteps.
I knew I was home alone. I also knew no one had opened any of the doors. I froze for a moment to see if it was the cats and my overactive imagination and the footsteps continued to approach.
My heart hammered in my chest and I looked for my phone which was out on the bed, which would put me in line of sight of where I thought the footsteps were. Someone must have come in the unlocked house when I was dropping the kids off and was now waiting for me, and I was trapped and defenseless.
Once in Key West a stranger cornered me while I was alone in a bathroom stall and flashed me, with the intent to do more. In my trapped panic, I charged straight towards him and pushed by him -- laughing hysterically, which I guess was a weird and convenient side effect of my shocked terror since it wasn't funny but it definitely is now -- and he was so taken aback that he flinched a little, allowing my escape.
So the plan was to scream like a maniac, hoping the grandpa next door would hear and come to my rescue, and charge this motherfucker in a flurry of fists and fingernails and feet.
The footsteps paused at the threshold of my room and my blood was roaring in my veins and I took a deep breath and leaned forward on my toes -- and saw a sleepy and confused Big Kid.
Mr. Ashley never woke him up and my brain forgot the second part of my trip.
"Oh my God. You just scared the crap out of me, I almost attacked you."
"What's going on?"
"I forgot about you."
"You're telling me."
Much to his dismay, I made him get ready and go to school anyway. As we pulled up, I offered to go inside and explain why he was tardy.
"What would you say?"
"That I forgot I had two kids today and I'm sorry."
"No, that's okay, I'll just tell them I overslept."
Then I had to call my husband and explain.
"What the hell, Ashley?"
"Can't we just all be thankful that I didn't punch him in the face?"
But no, I guess not.
"There was a change in routine! This is how babies get left in cars, at least he was at home in bed."
"Well, and he's 13, I mean, even if you left him in the car..."
"Right. This isn't really a problem at all. Glad we agree."
Parent of the year right here. And by year I mean decade. Plus three years. And those 10 months of pregnancy.
It's a lot to remember, guys.