The season of my discontent

I have been waiting for Fall since, I don't know, early August or so? I couldn't wait to stop lathering on the sunblock, to start our new preschool routine, to wear layers again. I distinctly remember hating the Spring because it couldn't get warm fast enough, and the Winter I hate because it is dark and cold and icy. That will never change, I'm afraid.

It is now September 22, and Fall! Has! Begun! My preschooler loves his school, and we have yet to actually be late to school, but the morning rush is kicking my ass so badly as I rush about trying to get him and the baby fed while putting his shoes on and looking at the clock and OMG I won't be able to shower that he has taken to standing in front of me and screaming at me, "don't freak out Mama! Don't freak out!"

I'm trying, but it's hard not to.

Also, I had forgotten how much longer it takes to get out the door when everybody has to wear layers. And socks. My God! The socks! They kill me.

We have a week an half of preschool under our belts. We got out the door today in record time. Too bad I had to turn around because we've all caught a terrible cold, and my preschooler sounds like he has consumption. I couldn't send him to school like that. I don't want to be That Mom. You know, the one who sends her kid to school sick, so the preschooler catches the germs and gets the rest of the family sick. Like my family. I'm sick as a dog. Why are these children's cold viruses so much more virulent than the ones I used to catch when I worked at an office? And why must I catch every single one the kids catch? WHY?

So we all stayed home today. No preschool for Sebastian. No playdate for Benjamin and I. Just a quiet day at home, occasionally interrupted by a wayward hacking cough (the boys) or constant blowing of the nose (me.)

I'm cold.

I have learned my lesson. I need to start enjoying the moment.