Today I’m going to share my own version of that story. It’s called, If You Give a Mom a Muffin, It’s a detailed account of my morning last Friday. I hope you enjoy it.
While in my office, I glanced at the clock on my computer. Why wasn’t my 14-year-old up yet? I tromped up the steps and found her lying in bed. She wasn’t feeling well. I went to my bathroom to find the thermometer.
While in the bathroom, my 16-year-old knocked on the door. “Do you know where I can find a white tank-top?” I dumped a big basket of unfolded laundry across my bed. “Check this.”
I marched back to my 13-year-old and took her temperature. 101.3. “Nope, you’re not going to school.”
Maybe now I could eat my muffin.
But just as I reached for the milk, my 16-year-old realized she had forgotten her purse at Fazoli’s the night before. This meant no driver’s license. “Can you take me to school?” I looked down at my ratty old pajamas. I was in no shape to walk out the door. I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I hadn’t even put on a bra. “Okay fine, let’s go,” I said. I slipped on a pair of tennis shoes.
On our way, I called my 14-year-old’s school and told them she wouldn’t be in. Then I dropped off my 16-year-old and decided to swing by Fazoli’s. Just in case someone was around.
So I jumped back in the van and started driving home. Half-way home my “check fuel” light came on. I decided to ignore it.
When I returned home I checked on the 14-year-old. She was sleeping. So I headed downstairs, grabbed a big glass of cold milk and sat down to eat my muffin.
On second thought, never mind. I just realized that if you gave a dad a donut, he’d eat it. And the story would be over.