You’ve probably heard of the children’s book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. It’s about a boy who shares his cookie with a mouse and it turns into a chain of events that keeps the boy busy all day.
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.
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.
On Friday morning I got myself a banana nut muffin. When I went to the fridge for a glass of milk, my 11-year-old handed me her Butter Braid fundraiser form. “It’s due today and you haven’t ordered anything.” So I went to my office for a pen, ordered a cinnamon for me and a raspberry for Curt and wrote out a check.
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.”
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.”
I headed back downstairs, saw the bus coming down the road and quickly hugged my 11-year-old good-bye. My husband walked by on his way out the door, so I gave him a kiss and talked him into meeting me for lunch. Then I remembered that my 16-year-old needed to take a lunch. So I helped her put together a sandwich and some chips. Then I told her good-bye.
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.
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.
Fazoli’s was empty, so I walked over to the window to see if I could spot her purse. No luck. Then I realized cars were zipping by, I was still in pajamas and I probably looked like a crazy woman peering through the windows of Fazoli’s.
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.
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.
Then I thanked God it was Friday.
Stop by next week to read my squeal, “If You Give a Dad a Donut.”
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.
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.
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