Morning doesn't agree with Lexi. They are sworn enemies; it's a drag whenever they get together.
(If you do the math, the sun rises each day and the epic struggle continues.)
Zack bounces out of bed each day, races around, like he's secretly trading Lord of the Rings action figures for lattes out of his bedroom window. Like he's a closet coffee drinker.
My girl is sidetracked Suzy, flitting about, dreamy. The words from my lips, a figment.
She forgets to turn down the burner and her oatmeal sloshes on the stove top. I keep my cool; I am a Zen master. Still she panics.
I gently remind her what time it is. I strongly suggest she go outside.
The bus is long gone.
I dry my hair, brush my teeth and drive them to school. I calmly explain that we will be restructuring our morning routine next week. And all seems well.
As we step on the curb, Zack asks, "Where did Lexi go?" I look around and she has vanished. Is she picking clovers? Did she wander to the swings? Is she telling another Mom about her bangs? It's possible. I ask:
"Hey Lexi. Where are you?"
And around the corner she comes, permascowl in place, on the verge of tears. I try to hug her but she growls at me. Growls.
And then she mutters the words I knew would come, someday:
YOU EMBARRASSED ME IN FRONT OF MY FRIENDS.
Yes, I am guilty of the egregious act of walking and breathing on the shared sidewalk. I acknowledged her. For shame.
I wonder how she would feel about walking to school next time. I'm not above it. Then she will be late, and escorted by a stinky, sweaty Mom.
Excuse me while I plot my revenge.
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