It’s 6am, time to get up. After all, I’ve been in bed now for almost 5 hours. Groping in the dark, I find my robe, head down the hallway, searching for the light switch, dodging toys and stray laundry. I stop and head back to my bedroom, turn that light on and listen to the complaints from my better half as I return towards the children’s rooms. One by one, I turn on the lights in 3 rooms.
Shuffle down the stairs, fumble my way to the light switch in the kitchen. Still half asleep, I search the cupboards for ingredients to make coffee. Hot, strong coffee. Back up stairs, I turn the corner into the hallway again. Opening doors, I turn the lights on in my kid’s rooms. Wait, I already did that. They got up and turned them off again. Gee, that’s never happened before. I go in and shake them. It doesn’t really help, but that’s the process.
I find the same in my room. “Honey, you’re gonna be late for work.” I pull the blanket off his head, nudging him. “Coffee’s on.” Back down the hallway, I hear movement in my daughters room. I peek in. It’s her rolling over.
Something I’m forgetting.
Patiently, I work each of my 3 wonderful children into their clothes, down the hall into the bathroom, back to their rooms to finish dressing. My husband’s managed to make it into our bathroom. Knocking on the door, I hear snoring. “Honey, wake up. You have a meeting this morning, remember?” A grunt from the other side of the door tells me he is awake. Sort of.
I stop. I know I’m forgetting something.
The kids are dressed and awake. Or at least 2 of them, my oldest son is fully dressed, sleeping soundly on the bed. I send the other two down to eat. “What’s for breakfast, mom?” My daughter asks. Oh yeah, breakfast. Man, I need that coffee.
With crowbar like attitude, I get my son up and moving. “I’ll be down in a minute to fix breakfast.” I yell to the kids as I move towards my bedroom. I find my husband sitting on the edge of the bed. He has one sock on, his pants and a t-shirt. He looks up at me, “Have you seen my shoes?”
“You mean those?” I point at the dress shoes next to his night stand. Two feet from his sockless foot. He looks at me and smiles. I remember I have to fix some sort of breakfast, so I proceed down stairs.
I look around the room and think, I’m forgetting something, but what?
Into the kitchen, I find my son once again passed out, over the kitchen table while sitting in his seat. My youngest has pulled a gallon jug of milk from the refrigerator. It’s laying sideways on the floor and he’s trying to open it. I save him from disaster as my oldest decides she no longer has to wait for food and begins to whine about it. I wake the other up, again, grab 2 granola bars for each as I notice the time on the cook stove clock.
“Quick, take it with you. You’re gonna miss the bus.” Grabbing their backpacks, I give them out to the two older children and help the youngest get his on. Hand on their shoulders, I get them out the front door.
Finally, the kids are gone, I head upstairs to make sure my husband is moving forward. He’s finishing his tie. He grabs his briefcase, a quick kiss and down the stairs he jogs. “Did you say you had the coffee on?” He asks. I glance around the bedroom, knowing I’ve forgotten something. But what?
“Yeah, it’s ready, but I didn’t pour any yet.” I leave the room, following a short distance. “You’ll have to eat a couple of granola bars. I forgot to start breakfast.”
“No problem Baby. That’s fine.” I hear him ruffling through the granola selection as I enter the kitchen. I went to the cupboard and got his travel mug down. He slid two granola bars into his briefcase as I handed his cup to him filled with coffee. Another kiss and he flies out the door. I wave to him from the front door as he spins away. Turning into the house, I close the door behind me.
Sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee a moment later, I remembered. It’s Saturday.