...final hour

My cretinous computer calendar beeps at midnight. “Congratulations, A New Day Dawns in Scheduled Bliss.”

The children have abandoned me, retired to bed and left me to the whim of their homework specters. I nod off on the desktop, but I am rousted out bright and early at 4:45 by the CCC’s infernal beeping that flashes “Welcome to a Structured Morning.”

I stumble to the bathroom and try to wash off the woodgrain texture imbedded in my face while I perform the early-morning revile, begin breakfast and review the final draft of the essays, only to be told by the daughter (usually up and dressed by 5:00) that she is going back to bed until 6:30. Yeah! I can fix lunches in relative peace!

Beep! “A Happy and Organized Morning to You.” It’s now 7:00 a.m. the screen-filled message interrupts and impedes the eldest daughter as she coaxes the computer to finish editing, emailing and printing the not-grounded-in-any-reality-I-know-of attitude essay. Her school bus cruises past just as she coerces the computer to print.

The elder son has cajoled the ancient computer to edit his own rough draft and print it after a knock -down-drag-out, winner-take-all clash, but if I take the daughter to school, that means the elder son must wake the younger son and the two of them must be dressed, fed and ready when I return. That’s really pushing the envelope, but I haven’t had to ask for a miracle yet this day. And I’m due.

I feel the pressure increase as I wait in a traffic jam, and listen to a news report about some nuts idea of a new bridge that will add even more cars to the sandwiched morning mess on this street. We'll never make it in time and I abandon plan one, and by the seat-of-my-pants improvise plan two.

The daughter calls home and explains the newly revised plan to her brothers. I successfully wing it without the input of any cursed computer curmudgeon, and I wonder if the captious calamity creator could have pulled this one out of its hat?

The revised plan requires sacrifice and involves the eldest forfeiting his seat in the school carpool to oversee the youngest and that means that Mom will have to make a special trip to drive the eldest to school, and the youngest will be forced to accompany us, so strip him from the tub, dry him off and cram a toasted pastry into his hand; I'll pick you up in the driveway and we're off!

That's Life, frantic and fruitful. I'm home now, alone and heaving a sigh. Sitting in front of the computer typing and trying to find any excuse to ignore the intrusive blinking interruption insisting that, “This is the Moment, This is the Day.” And I remember that I really should be sewing the capes for the Jeykle and Hyde production.

I could always go upstairs and add another layer of mud to the never-ending art project previously known as the son’s bedroom... let me enter it into the computer and see what it thinks.

Reality Bite: Moms, not computers know best how to harness chaos.