Even in the afternoon, after fighting the classroom Battle of Armageddon, you stand as safety ushers for our kids. Though your clothes are tattered and torn from multiple counts of bad-ass-kidrum and your disheveled hair makes Beetlejuice's mane look like a Brad Pitt headshot, you manage to smile.
I know it's obvious that some of us parents reluctantly retrieve our offspring at day's end. Our determination to await the world's end before we reach the curbside pick-up is what gives us away. Still you wait patiently knowing you want to call us out on our bullshit. I admire your restraint. Such professionalism.
It's not that we don't love our little bundles of sauerkraut. Honestly, we're afraid. No. For real. I'm so serious here! Let me explain... I drop my child off in the mornings looking like a well put together Toddlers and Tiaras contestant. Just older, sans the makeup, and much better behaved (on a good day). By the time I pick her up, she looks like she's been attacked on a "Who my baby daddy is?" episode of Jerry Springer!
I can see all of this from afar. As I creep ever so slowly closer, her facial expression, head level, eye contact capability, and the presence/absence of a smile reveal the kind of day she's had. It tells me what color her "clip" is on. That color determines her mood, the drive home, and how much booze the liquor store will be missing that evening. Ya see where this is going?! Do ya see why we're afraid? Not to mention having to use scare tactics to get homework completed. By the time it's all said and done, I'm usually searching for the nearest Underground Railroad to flee from parenting!
One more thing. While I'm at it, I guess I'll humor you with an explanation for my inability to look human most days. That factor is in direct proportion to how much caffeine is romancing my veins! Because mornings in my home are like Wrestlemania, the black sweatsuit I'm (usually) rockin' has "outfit of the year" written all. over. it. Literally. It's written in urine, saliva, breast milk, cow's milk, jelly, eggs, last week's taco sauce, and at this point the tag should read 100% lint as the main fabric!
I also shamefully apologize if you're blindsided with odor when you open my car door. There are days even I get a whiff and almost convince myself to bunk with Shrek in the damn swamp. Ogers get me.
As for wearing my huge winter hat in summer-like temps, that's probably not gonna change either. I'm packing about 90 lbs of natural hair under that hat. In afro terms that's equivalent to a fucking haystack! My inability to tame that sucka in a millisecond of time is why I wear the hat. Mama gets no me-time in the mornings chile!
I could further prove my sleep deprivation by rambling on but the growling of my belly is gonna win this round. And just as certain as the Lord's forgiveness, there's a cold, mushy, spit soaked chicken nugget somewhere around here with my name on it!
I just needed you to know that you are appreciated. I needed to explain the carpool madness we parents cause. So tomorrow when we pull a NASCAR move to cannonball our kiddos from their vehicle harnesses, you'll know why. When we snail-pedal it to bring them home, you'll understand.
Your forgiving smiles will assure us that you'll be right there, same spot tomorrow.
And when those kids enter our vehicles and you lock eyes with us as you close the door, we will accept (or not) that you can not come home with us. We will face clip colors and homework alone until the liquor store realizes it's missing some stuff. Then we'll grab those bottles and let them lead us to relaxed mom glory.
Be sure to follow Thriller Mom EVERYWHERE! Why not, right?! And if you wanna be bff's, vote for me. Just click on my TMB banner to show a little extra love. Leave a comment below and show YOUR appreciation for carpool staff. OR, feel free to share a funny, carpool line related story. As always, THANKS! I APPRECIATE YOU!