The early bird and I are friends. I enjoy the mornings and usually wake up in a good mood ready to start my day; but ever since Joe died and left me with all the morning responsibilities, including walking out the door by 7:10 a.m. to drive Cole to school, our mornings often run amuck.
Most week days my mornings follow this routine:
- Wake up at about 5:30 a.m.
- Brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair.
- Post El Morno on Facebook and Odd.
- Meet, greet and check in several early bird campers.
- Let my campers and my three pups outside.
- Cheerfully wake up my sleepy teen. Poke him a few times until I hear a reassuring groan.
- Feed everyone.
- Make Cole’s lunch.
- Take a few minutes to visit with my fascinating and funny Facebook friends. Oops, now we’re running late, and Cole is yelling at me for being on Facebook.
- Yell back, grab Rascal for the ride and head to the car.
- Cole almost always lags behind to put on his shoes.
This is pretty much how most days start at my house, and this past Wednesday was no exception. I hopped in my car and off we went. Cole and I usually don’t talk for the first 15 minutes of the ride—we just catch our breath and collect our thoughts in silence.
About a mile into Wednesday morning’s trip, Rascal jumped into the front seat. I reached over and patted her, and then I looked over and realized . . .
I had driven off without Cole!
I grab my phone to let Cole know I am coming back for him. When I arrived, he was patiently standing in front of the garage door. He slowly walked over to the car, opened the door, buckled up and then asked with a bewildered look, “Mom where did you go?”
“To school, where else would I go?” I answered.
“Without me?” he asks.
“Sort of,” I mumble
“You forgot me?” he asks, staring at me
“Hey, at least I never left you on top of the car in your car seat and drove off when you were a baby,” I say, in a feeble attempt to defend myself.
“Well, Dad was alive back then,” he answered back smugly.
The kid was right, but then divine Joe intervention gave me my reply.
“Well damn it, if you’d had your shoes on and had been in the car before me, I would never have left you. Do you have your lunch? We are late.”
Cole looked at me and grinned.
Naturally Cole told his teacher and friends . . . and I shared my morning on Facebook—feeling an obligation to let other moms who forget their children on the way to school know they are not alone.
At around 2:30 p.m. this message appears on my Facebook profile page:
Don’t forget to pick up Cole . . .
Wednesday at 2:28 p.m. . . . Like . . . See Friendship
It always amazes me how some people just don’t understand the value of Facebook.
So tell me how often do you forget your kids at home? Odd loves company.