Partial Week in Review

This week, I’ve made a conscious effort to take notes about our life so that I could write on these one liners later. For all my effort, I wrote three notes. [Update, found an additional note on the grocery list in recycling. Must get better at keeping track of my notes.] One of the notes does not include enough words to spur my memory, but the other notes read "she's shooting up like a rocket,"  "no good reason at all," and "Monday, Monday."

Monday

Our Monday started with the same frazzled pace of waking up a few minutes late and taking a minute too long to wash my face before I made breakfast for one kid and packed lunches for both. Snatching the baby from her slumber I took her barefoot to the car seat, intent on beating the school drop off rush.

“Woah, Mom. What happened?” Our windshield is cracked. Two different impact points with the characteristic spiderweb pattern larger than two quarters. Silver dollars, perhaps.

“I have no idea Turner.” I touch it in disbelief, the splinters on the outside of the windshield but not the inside. We get in the car, buckle up, and get moving. Just as we get to the neighbor’s driveway he says, “You know? Julian and Tyler asked me yesterday if we heard a loud thump over here.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They were playing baseball with rocks.” For a half second, I thought perhaps a baby bear could have fallen out of our tree onto the car.

Fast forward through the day--meeting with the fire chief and graduate program coordinator to plan a class, marathon baseball, food on the go and never at the same time, baby reluctant to nap and gets in bed late with a winning ballgame). Andy stands in the kitchen watching Turner unpack things from his book bag.
“How was your day, son?”

Turner’s back fills with air, his chin bobs to his chest and he spins around with an exhale that would seem more appropriate if we had insulted him. Turner doesn’t say anything to Andy; he just casts another annoyed breath-heavy sound out into the space between us.

Andy immediately laughs, and looks at me in disbelief, rightfully taken aback by Turner’s disdain for interacting with us. Slowly, we entered into the landmine of misunderstanding and just finished my day tiredness. It’s 3:30 pm, and we’re all home trying not to wake the baby.

“I just told Mom all this . . . ” in the two minute car ride home from the bus stop.

“I totally get why Dad wants his own version, don’t you?”

“Fine.” He runs his hands over the laptop sitting on the bar as he thinks for a moment. “The most annoying thing today was ____ singing the song, ‘It’s Friday, It’s Friday’” and he snaps his fingers with a sway of the hips at the comma. Four or five times he sings the second verse, which I can no longer recall.

I’m looking at and attempting to process piles of paper populating the area around our computer--the beastly, disconnected reality of multitasking. Turner continues singing the Friday song. Andy asks, “I don’t understand. What’s so bad about that?” He's looking through today's mail.

“Everything! I mean, I like the song.” He sings it for us again. Clearly, he likes the song and that comma in the middle. “It’s just . . . Monday." He takes a long pause while we begin to understand his meaning. "Made me think about Friday and well you can’t sing that song on a Monday.” And my first thought was, Damn. It IS Monday. “It’s cruel.”
Andy puts his hands in the air, "Okay, alright. You don't have to talk to me anymore." He blinks a smile at me.
"Good. Thanks." Cue the baby as he walks down the hall.

Tuesday
First day of end of grade exams for Turner. We've received no fewer than ten versions of reminders. Phone calls, emails, paperwork home to sign and some to put on the fridge. Strict guidelines about breakfast including protein. Check, check, check. I go to bed Monday night a bit weary, but with a plan. In the morning, I enter the kitchen to find Turner huddled over a bowl of cold cereal. "Whoa dude. I'm making you scrambled eggs."
"Great. An egg burrito for lunch."
"No, you need to eat some of them this morning. Protein." I start water for my tea, lean against the oven, and take a deep breath. The starts shouting my name. She'll want to help me make breakfast for certain. Thirty minutes later, my plan is twenty minutes behind because there is, of course, a poopy issue. We still have plenty of time to get to school for "the most important of three tests of the entire fifth grade year."

Gathering, sorting, remembering, gathering, carrying and we are out the door. Immediately, I notice a slump to the truck. Closer inspection: Flat tire. Oh, Tuesday.

A friend takes Turner to school and delivers him safely on time with three bites of protein for breakfast and a massive burrito for lunch. Two hours later, a babysitter hired, we have four new tires on the truck and I revised six pages of text. Now, when it rains, I'm even more aware that our tires were quite unsafe for more than a few months.

Wednesday
Late to school for no good reason at all. Two of us out of bed before 7 am, and the other slept in so as to give us even more time. Eggs eaten before the cereal. Kid totally rested for testing. Lunches packed that include a fortune cookie and vegetable. We get in the car and somehow lose ten minutes. Bell rings as Turner's foot hits the pavement. Second day of "the most important of three tests of the entire fifth grade year."