Kid-Schleping Sherpa Seeks Sturdy Yak or a Twin

Yesterday was my sweet Jacob's first day of kindergarten. I didn't cry. Until I was in the hall. This is progress. Dylan started fifth grade which means he has had eight first-days-of-school (two years of preschool). I used to not be able to exit the classroom before my love took it's liquid form and spilled out of my face.

The passage of time is never more evident than when you are looking at your child dressed in his school uniform, at his big boy desk, half resisting the kiss you are trying to plant on his mouth. "Uh mom, don't e-barrass me." he says as he gives me the cheek. I sigh. Okay. But didn't I just push your little peanut body out of my own? Wasn't it just last week that you took those tentative first steps, clinging to the dog for balance? Wasn't it just last week that you mastered wiping your own butt? Oh yeah, that was last week. As for the rest of it...days gone by.

So now that the school year is officially in full swing I am busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest. I am a kid-schleping sherpa minus the Yak. I have a YUKon, does that qualify? I know things will settle down into a routine within a couple of weeks so for now I'm just gonna roll with it. Breathe deep, seek peace and let the universe help sort it out. That's my nature, in part.

I have had a lifelong tendency toward just making it up as I go along. Some would say I inherited that quality. My papa was a rolling stone. My momma was a gypsy. Between the both of them, they had about a lick of sense when it came to planning, structure, routine. Up until the time I had my first child I was content to follow suit. No structure. No routine. No plan. I was perfectly content just flying by the seat of my pants. That is if I was wearing pants and I didn't always. Those times needed a plan of an entirely different type and nature but let's not get off track. Children need structure, routine and a consistent bedtime. Seriously, look it up. Interestingly enough, so do I. So, the next couple of weeks will be spent reconstructing the family dynamic to include a screaming alarm clock, two breakfasts (four if you count the dog and the cat) before sunrise, lunch bags, backpacks, soccer stuff, and a twice a day twenty mile commute. Somewhere in there I'll squeeze in housework, bill paying, grocery shopping, leg shaving, eye brow waxing, yard work, dog washing, time with my husband and maybe, just maybe there will still be time to finish writing my book. For the moment I'm feeling like one of those contortionists that bend themselves like a pretzel then spin china plates on their fingertips. Tricky but not impossible.

When my daddy was having a particularly tender moment or if I'd made him exceptionally proud he'd look at me and say, "If I knew then what I know now I would have made you twins." The first thing that occurred to me is that I would have to share clothes with a bitch that looked just like me. No way.

But, it's days like this when the to-do list is as long as my leg that I contemplate how helpful it would be to have another "me." One of us could assume the domestic goddess role cooking like Betty Crocker and cleaning like Martha Stewart. The other could just be a goddess. She'd read and write and go to book stores and fill her pretty little head with knowledge. Maybe she'd learn Italian and then go to Italy. She'd definitely go to yoga and have time to play the guitar and garden and daydream the day away if she pleased. She'd have perfect toenails and post pics of them on facebook and she would never, ever, ever be too tired to rock it like a porn star under the covers. Big sigh. I need a pedicure.

Holy crap, it's time to get the kids. Being late for pick up is like a cardinal sin. Hell hath no fury like that unleashed upon the mother of the last child waiting on the sidewalk. You can bet it won't be me.