It was one of those "OH MY GOSH" mornings...
It was one of those "OMG" mornings—I was feeling icky and didn't want to get out of bed. My kids were buried under three feet of blankets, and no amount of light flickering or alarm clock blaring was stirring them. My neighbor had been texting me since 7 AM asking if she could send her children down to my house for a ride to school, and I didn't notice that my husband had unplugged my coffee pot last night to charge his cell phone—all the ingredients for a parenting nightmare.
OK—deep breath, turn on the radio, plug in Mr. Coffee and get on with it!
Then the neighbors arrive…
Now I have 4 kids with attitude (one with an advanced degree in preteen) screaming and scrambling though my kitchen. Everyone is yelling at each other and trying to talk at once, except for the tween—he's just telling me how much I suck for not letting him eat a butterfinger and cake for breakfast.
I bark at them to drop the attitudes and one of the neighbor kids starts crying. I try to explain that I'm only like this for one week a month, but they don't get it and I'm not about to go down that road.
Just when I've had all I could take, the neighbor girl (who is obviously offended by my lack of parenting skills) gets ready to tell us what she truly thinks about our morning routine. She starts with, "You know what STINKS?" to which I reply, "Farts?"
The kids are now rolling on the floor laughing, cereal falling out of their mouths and milk coming out of their happy little noses. I couldn't be more thrilled!
My husband comes downstairs to our laugh fest and starts telling lame kid jokes which tickles them even more, and before we know it, they are tossing their backpacks over their shoulders and laughing all the way to the car.
"Have a fantastic day!" I yell out the door. "We will! Love you Mom!"
OK, deep breath and back to the kitchen to clean up. This is going to be a great day!
It's amazing what one "fart" can do!
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This article was originally published at . Reprinted with permission from the author.