Morning Adventures

Off to school in the snow today! A two hour delay! What fun! Not so much.

My 8 year old is trying out for an adolescent and I think she's going to be a shoe-in.

I had a nice outfit all picked out for her. She wears a uniform, so there aren't a ton of choices and you need to take into account if it's P.E. today, or assembly, and the weather, so while it consisted of knee socks instead of tights (more comfortable with the skort) it also had a short sleeved polo with a warm sweater over the top and I knew she'd be fine.

But she refused to put them on because they weren't "snow clothes" - or so said her messenger of choice, Betty Boop.

I tried to convince her that it would be fine. No dice. So, I relented. Ok, let's put on tights and a jumper. I got out the sweater tights, had them all ready for her to step into... No! No! She's changed my mind!!!

But we have the tights right here.

NO!!! She wishees she'd never said that! She made the wrong choice! Please, let her put on the socks!

Ok.

Back to the original outfit. All dressed. All set. Not so much.

Now the uncontrolled crying starts in earnest. Again, a wrong decision has been made. Oh to go back to the tights! But no... I see where this is going... an endless cycle of dressing and redressing. Get in the car, says mom. Don't forget your coat and backpack (carefully filled with her water bottle, lunch, and homework). She drags it out on it's wheels to the red Durango and climbs in the front seat. I load the two other kids in their car seats and we head out on our 3 1/2 mile trek to school.

She's sobbing. Her face is red and splotchy. It's not a good look. So, I try to cheer her up. We're way past the point of actual reason, so I put on my feel good country mix. Who can be sad when Gretchen Wilson is singing?! Sing along, I shout! (but remember, no yelling "Hell Ya'" in school or we can never listen to this again.)

We finish up with Brad Paisley. So funny - how can you cry when he's saying "My eyebrows ain't plucked, there's a gun in my truck, Thank God, I'm still a guy!"

She's mollified, ever so slightly. We're even a little early so we go around the block once so Brad can finish singing. Ok, here we are in the drop off line. The Mystery Man is asleep, the Red One is not crying, hooray! So, I say, grab your backpack and open the door.

My backpack?

Yes, your backpack.

I thought you had it.

Sigh.

There wasn't enough country to get us home without many, many more tears to find the backpack sitting on the driveway right outside where her car door had been.

I wish I could say this was the first time.