"Hon, have you seen Anne's library book?
One would think that as the offspring of a librarian and a college professor, our children would have it made with regard to their library books. They would be catalogued and organized at home, read lovingly to them every single night, and then popped into their backpacks on the morning of library session so that they could procure a new book to begin the adventure again. One would think.
"I read it to her the other night." *gold star!* "I can't remember which night, though." *so typical* "I do think I brought it to her bedroom when we were done. Isn't it there?"
*why would he be asking if it was there?!* 😂
"No. I looked in all the usual places."
Naturally, this is all transpiring as:
(a) I'm readying for work,
(b) the kids are readying for school,
(c) Mike is readying for work,
(d) Anne is obsessing about not being able to pick out a new library book, and
(e) we're all about to be late.
"Let me look. I think I put it in her bedside table drawer."
Once again thinking that somehow, someway, a different result would happen despite repeating the exact same motions, I ignore this little factoid as I plow forward and open the drawer. A gigantic messy pile of books awaited me. She really *is* the child of a librarian.
"Hum. It's not in here." Somehow, I am still surprised. "Did you look under the bed?"
"Yep. And under the crap on her dresser." Ugh. Our child is a pack rat.
"MOM! I won't be able to check out another book if I can't find The Little Penguin!" *sobbing*
*long suffering sigh*
We scour more hidey-holes, but no book. Anne is sent dejectedly in without it, as I scramble to finish getting ready. This is NOT the first time this has happened. In fact, it's not even the FIFTH time this has happened. We are failures as library parents.
So then I rush in to work. And rush in to my office. I rushedly check and answer email. I rushedly glance over the lesson plan for the week again. On Mondays, I have 3 classes in a row, and they begin at 9 am, which I think we can all agree *bites*. I rushedly pack my stuff up, since I have to walk over to our classrooms in another building, and right from there I go to the Barre class, so I need my workout clothes. Just as I'm stuffing my water bottle into my bag, my colleague comes to my door so that we can walk over together. We rushedly walk over. And we've barely dumped our ridiculous amount of stuff on the floor up by the teaching podium before students begin entering the room.
Class #1 we have to really work it to get them to talk. Class #2 wouldn't stop talking. And by Class #3 I can barely keep my eyes open. Not exactly the disposition you're going for to initiate an effective teaching and learning experience for all.
I made it though. And then rushed over to the Barre class, which I was late for despite my best efforts to walk fast. *glares* By the end of the work day, you could stick a fork in me; I was done.
It wasn't a bad day by any stretch. It was just a Monday. :0 Oh, but I *did* get an email in the afternoon from Mike, letting me know that he found Anne's library book. In her clothes hamper.
How was your Monday, dear reader? Book club tomorrow for Chapter 4 of Live Today Well! We'll be talking about setting yourself up each morning to be holy. Yes, I do see the irony of that given what I've just described to you above. :0