A Mother’s Occupational Hazard

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It’s the last day of spring break. My boys have been out of school for fifteen days. As much as I have enjoyed the spontaneous picnics, numerous afternoons at the park and leisurely game days, we are all ready to get back to our normal routine.

This Monday, only our youngest son has preschool. In an attempt to break everyone in for the early wake up time tomorrow, we set the alarm to wake us up earlier than we have gotten up all week. The abrupt beeping sound jolts me awake, but I am still slow to rub my eyes and crawl out of bed.

I stumble downstairs, my body already yearning for a hot cup of coffee that has yet to be made. I whip together waffle batter as I hear the familiar brewing noises rising from the coffee maker. The first sip never disappoints as the liquid warms my throat and then my chest.

Three boys tear through the kitchen, racing each other around the island. They are running and laughing, as if getting up early didn’t affect them at all.

Today is a trial run. There are no lunches that need to be made. No backpacks that need to be ready. In fact, we have an entire extra hour before we need to leave the house.

But I try to prepare the boys with the usual morning orders -- “Get dressed,” “Eat your breakfast,” “Dishes to the sink,” and “Brush your teeth.” Tomorrow is the real thing. I know that I will be moving twice as fast tomorrow.

I am not the world’s greatest cook so I proudly announce out loud that today I am actually making the most perfect waffles. They look as good as they taste.

They are flavored with just a hint of vanilla, soft on the inside, and barely crispy on the golden outer edge. These are the waffles that will keep my boys coming back for seconds and thirds. As I pour myself a second cup of Bold French Roast, I marvel at my fresh fruit plate that accompanies my killer waffles, and I feel like Supermom.

I am just about to pour another waffle, knowing that I have to watch it and pull it from the iron exactly 20 seconds after the light turns green. I cannot be distracted.

This is what I think. I should have known that was a jinx.

Just as I close the waffle iron lid, my three year old runs to the kitchen, grabbing his pajama bottoms and doing the potty dance. He needs my help, “Right now!” he adds with urgency. I nervously glance at the waffle iron, then back at his panicked eyes.

“Okay, let’s go!”

I scoop him up and rush him into the downstairs bathroom. I slide his pajama pants past his knees thinking about my poor waffle.

We are a little too late. He makes it to the potty but somehow, manages to pee only on my leg. He looks at me, his face relieved but disappointed and sad.

“That’s okay, honey.” I tell him. “Just give yourself more time the next time you have to go.”

He runs off to play and I wrap a towel around my soaking wet leg. My husband finds me in the bathroom washing my leg off in the tub.

“What happened to your pants?” he asks.

“Occupational hazard. You don’t want to know,” I answer.

He tries not to laugh as he realizes the truth. “Do you smell something burning?”

Oh snap. Happy Monday.

Edited by Jody Smith

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