Who am I kidding? I am too white and uptight to swirl my head and say, "Oh no, he did'n'" with sass.

While I have complained about my commute in the past, I am trying to find the serenity in it. The time that is my own with my thoughts.   As long as I can give myself the time, I can to girls in time.  And the Bluetooth feature helps immensely so I can listen to my own music off my phone.

The commute on Friday started like this.  Even with the bottleneck getting to get on the Pike that sucked up some time, I gave myself an extra 30 minutes so I wasn't panicked.   I said a little prayer, reminded myself to be kind (new thing--it kind of works), and settled into the commute very aware that it may take me 90 minutes to get both girls.  The same commute that on some nights takes 25 minutes.

But after the tollbooth, things went amok.  There was a car very, very close to my back bumper--so close that I couldn't see his headlights.  (That's right, I assumed right then and there that it was a guy.)  It was scaring the crap out of me. Dude, this car is new--I cannot be the first Wang to put a ding in it.  I couldn't even relax to my Kenny Loggins play list.  What the hell was this guy doing?  I couldn't get over to another lane--the traffic was quite thick and it was a very slow stop and go.  Even if he did get by me, there were several cars just like me just crawling along.

He finally passed me and gave me this look that clearly said "Dumb Bitch."  I will have none of that, serenity was tossed out of the window, and I flicked him off.  Then, "Oh no he did not"  (Who am I kidding? I am too white and uptight to swirl my head and say, "Oh no, he did'n'" with sass.), this mo'fo spit on my car.

Who does that?  Immediately, I start judging him...his crap car that is probably uninsured.  His three baby mamas and the assumption that he is a deadbeat father.  Maybe he is late for his job at Taco Bell.  I, then, kind of chuckle about how many other cars will have grossness spat at them too because traffic isn't good.  Perhaps if he is going to a food service job, it is probably a good thing that he is getting all his phlegm out now. 

I use my wiper fluid to get some of the guck off my windshield.  It's dark so I don't have to see any of it on the side.  I let it go.  I am not sure why or where it came from, but I let it go.  Maybe it's Michael McDonald of the Doobie Brothers....again, not sure.  It would be nice to think it was maturity.

Well, I didn't totally let it go because I am telling you now.  Also it snow/rained the next day--my car is now completely clean.

I have no time to think about this...I have Bertolli in a bag to heat at high heat for 4 minutes and let simmer for 8 and then dinner is made.

As I face my first pick up of both girls in the new school year, I wonder if it will feel different.  Will I be calmer?  Can I get both girls with time to spare?

The commute is packed but runs smoothly.  I talk to myself as usual.  Curse the guy in the work parking lot that had no inkling to look to his left as he screamed out of his parking space and could have hit me.  I realize that I am low on gas but have no idea where the gas latch is---JCW, when getting a new car, you should probably spend time on the basics before setting station favorites on the radio.  Yeah, this feels about the same.

I will pick up Rachel first.  She will sense the time crunch and hold me hostage showing everyone her "chicka chicka boom boom" dance.  Knowing that her cuteness can't be rushed, she then will invite four of her besties over for a play date.  I will push her out the door promising other parents a call or an e-mail since Rachel has now made me the host.

The whole city of Newton will be trying to get home at the same time.  And no one is using the main way; we will all try to get home faster by using side streets.  In this rush, I will decide that I will not be doing my standard grilled pork with sauteed kale and a couscous stuffed grilled yellow bell pepper.  Nope, I am doing Bertolli out of a bag.  I shouldn't because gluten has been kicking my ass lately.  But I will, to save time--more on that later.

We will finally reach Laurel's school with five minutes to spare.  Like Rachel, Laurel will also think she is the hostess with the mostest and want to invite everyone over too.  Including this one girl who's mom never returned my calls over the summer. It will get awkward when she does one of those weak..."Summer was so busy."  Whatev...I won't care.  Maybe you think Laurel is that kid in your household but I doubt that.  I have no time to think about this...I have Bertolli in a bag to heat at high heat for 4 minutes and let simmer for 8 and then dinner is made.

I will listen to Ching feeling wronged by some wild animal.  It's not the squirrels but raccoons now.  They were in the trash again (because the cans were not in the garage) and one left a poop present right on the lid. Nothing squicks Ching more than poop and now it's war.  He mentioned trapping them but at that point, I will tell myself to ignore and focus on my Bertolli in a bag.

As I rush to get dinner in front of everyone, the window guy will arrive.  That's right; Ching got sucked into a window installation demo at BJ's and now some guy is coming over to give an estimate.  This will suck--there is nothing worse than being at work all day in a sales job and then coming home and being the audience.  I will notice all of his confirmations that we are following his presentation.  (Seem okay?)  I will notice how he will try to ingratiate himself to me by cluing in on my Connecticut shirt and then asking me, what my major was?  What is this a freakin' frat party?   He will tell us how cute the girls are--tell me something that I don't know, Skippy.  While Ching has promised me that this will only be 30 minutes, I am pretty sure James the Window Guy will be here for two hours.

And I am as right as rain on almost everything--the gluten filled Bertolli didn't kicked my ass.  The bag stated 2 servings but it was really only a regular Ching serving and small Rachel serving. (Laurel ate something totally different.)   I ate left over quinoa and grilled chicken.   The people behind me on the treadmill tomorrow will totally appreciate this.  I know...because I just seem to know the routine.

So it's 5:02, and I am armed with a small baggie of Goldfish and a half a snack bag of Cheetos

So it's 5:02, I am in my CRV armed with a small baggie of Goldfish and a half a snack bag of Cheetos. (I know, I probably shouldn't give my girls anything that spells cheese as "cheez" but these things are good!) It's Monday and I have to pick up both girls by 6:00.  Usually this happens once a week and I hate it.  I have to sprint out of work at about 4:57 and the anxiety of getting them both in time makes my hair frizz.  Technically it sounds easy but I have to maneuver through Pike West traffic and figure out if I should get off at the further exit and pick up Rachel first, then double back through three sections of Newton to get Laurel.  Or should I choose the closer exit, go through the shittiest rotary known to man, get Laurel and then sprint through the three sections of Newton to get Rachel.

The two arguments banter back and forth through my head like Prude and Rude and holy shit..the car next to me just saw me actively talk out loud in the car.  The way I argue with myself and grip the wheel, they know it ain't Bluetooth.  If I get Rachel first, I have to put her in her car seat twice--once at her school and once at Laurel's school.  Freakin' daylight savings--it's now light out during the pick up and there is no way I could leave her in a locked car while I sprint in to get Laurel.  (Yeah, I know..judge if you must..)  I also don't know what type of mood she will be in..she might want to go right away or be very "difficult".  This is where the Goldfish and Cheetos come in to play.  These mere morsels are supposed to lure her in the seat.  While I am absolutely not afraid of her I do think I should mention that this weekend, she pounced on Laurel and knocked two teeth (albeit all ready loose) out.  Practically, I think I make better time getting Rachel and then Laurel..but I also like my teeth.

Getting Laurel first..the traffic is an absolute nightmare off of the closer exit.  While Laurel knows that we have to hustle to get her sister, she has the CCW pokey gene.  It takes her forever to get her stuff and then she has to say to goodbye to everyone..especially that Paul.  Then on to the drive over to Rachel, Laurel is complaining that she is so hungry there is absolutely no way she will make it home.  (I thank God everyday that there are no McD's between both schools.)  Again, this is where the Goldfish and Cheetos come in play (along with her daily fruit snacks).  While I have all ready admitted to wanting to leave Rachel in a locked car for just a few minutes, I might as well admit this.  Laurel peppers me with the most unanswerable questions in the shortest about of time.  Rachel is quieter..lets me navigate in peace.

So I decide to get Rachel first.  Luckily she is in a great mood, playing outside and runs to me with glee.  (Rachel runs with this chubbiness that just makes me melt.  Her body twists as she runs, one arm to her side and the other swinging in the breeze.)  We get her stuff and immediately, I drop the fishy reference..like butter in the seat (and my teeth are safe.)

We get Laurel at 5:35 and true to form she wants to get her stuff out of her locker on her own while I wait in the main entrance.  While it takes her a short four minutes to get her stuff, she says goodbye to three girls in her path.  (Avoid the boy, Laurel..avoid the boy.  She doesn't avoid boy.... Oh my God, he is as gay as the 1920's.  Laurel, take your time.)  I lure her with the Cheetos..but I do explain that she needs to give a few to Rachel.

And we get home by 5:52.  What I didn't count on was Rachel not crunching into the Cheetos.  She was sucking them..Cheeto goo all over.  And that suit is going to the cleaners.

I wasn't naughty but not exactly nice...

Dear Santa,
I haven't been naughty this year but perhaps there were instances of not being that nice.  But I'm still hoping that you could help me out with few Christmas wishes:
1.  Laurel's palette needs to expand.  I don't know if I can take another year of rotating angel hair pasta, macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets and the occasional grilled cheese at dinnertime.
2.  Serenity during my morning drive/commute would be nice.  I need to stop gauging my day by how many times I use my horn in the morning (less horn, better day) and letting people know they are #1.
3.  Could Rachel stop looking at me with such disgust?  I expected this look at 16, not 16 months.  I swear when her verbal skills advance she is going to refer to me as her ol' lady instead of mommy.
4.  Laurel needs to start sleeping later on the weekends.  Really, 6:30?
5.  Rachel needs some hair.  If one more idiot refers to her as little fella (while she is dressed in pink), I will call them a dumbass and the eyeroll will be blatent.  (Not my normal style of behind their back).

(PS--I would suggest updating your look.  The red is nice but the beard?  You sure about that? When I was a kid, beards scared the shit out of me. Perhaps that is why some many kids cry in your lap?  Anyway, just a
thought.)

Happy Holidays!