You know that feeling when you get out of bed in the morning and your foot has fallen asleep? You stand up without realizing that it has gone numb, then you stagger around like a disoriented zombie, clutching at chairs and walls just trying to propel yourself forward. Then the tingle starts; slow at first, a soft hint of a tickle. You think you can handle it, so you roll your ankle and tap your foot, a challenge of sorts. But then it happens. A thousand tiny pin pricks of misery suddenly descend upon your foot, and you lose all control over your senses. You hold your breath, roll your eyes and flap your hands to hurry the pain along. Then you take tentative steps, boldly pushing back against the ridiculousness of it all until finally you are free enough to run wildly, like a Chihuahua hopped up on speed, ready to start the day.
Now that school has started again, this pretty much describes my daily morning struggle as the parent in charge of getting all three children to school in one piece, all the while maintaining the illusion of being a respectable, responsible adult along the way. It isn’t pretty, friends.