Ninety-five percent of the time, these kids move fast. They fly around the house. They burst outside to play. They run where others walk. They cannot be contained. But, try to get them out the door by a certain time, and you'd have better luck quickly navigating the check-out line at Michael's (the craft store - seriously, what's with that place, I swear they enter every item by hand).
This morning we were doomed by the repercussions of the time change and Paige being up four times prior to 3 a.m. last night. Once everyone settled into a sleep pattern, the next thing you knew it was 7:20 a.m., which is exactly 29 minutes before we need to leave the house to get Lucy to the bus stop.
First stop, Paige's room to find out what is that god-awful sound. Oh, OK, it's the ear-piercing scratching of the back of a pacifier against the textured wall. Got it. Thanks, Paige. And because she has 15 pacifiers in her bed (as suggested by the sleep specialist), she has an endless supply of these noisemakers.
I flick on the light and say, "Let's get dressed!" only to be met with, "No, daddy, me need to get mimis (her word for pacifiers) off the floor." She proceeds to crawl under her toddler bed with less hustle than Derek Bell in Operation Shutdown mode (obscure 2002 baseball reference - I don't know my audience here at all).
"Paige, let's go. Come on. Now. Paige. Paige. Now."
It's now 7:26.
As Paige wiggles her booty out from under the toddler bed, I poke my head into Lucy's room where she's actually dressed but her hair looks like it's attempting to curl around itself to form a giant ball at the top of her head. Have you ever tried to brush out the snarls in a 6-year-old's hair and comb out her bangs at the same time? We head to the bathroom. I take our $14 snarl-free brush. I lose again.
It's now 7:29.
Back to Paige's room. "Daddy, me need to get dressed right now!" Seriously? In 30 seconds flat we accomplish what we couldn't in six minutes earlier. I send her to the bathroom to join her sister to brush her teeth. Despite now placing two stools in front of the sink so they won't fight over the same one, they are fighting. Paige has hip-checked Lucy off her stool and is straddling both with a foot on each. Good times. I tell them to stop fighting, which is a complete waste of words. Paige suddenly decides she wants to shadow me, so we leave Lucy to her devices. I enter the bathroom three minutes later and Lucy still hasn't placed toothpaste on her toothbrush. I have no idea what she's done in these 180 seconds.
It's now 7:36.
I head downstairs to "make breakfast," which entails sticking mini waffles into the toaster. Father Of The Year Award, here I come! Allison is on the verge of being late but manages to subdue Lucy's frock. Both enter the kitchen only to have Lucy say, "Oh, I wanted cereal, not waffles." I wanted you to get ready 10 minutes ago, sorry about your luck.
After some mild pouting, Lucy is done eating but Paige is stacking her mini waffles instead of ingesting them. "I'm making a tower, Daddy." I ask her if she can eat her tower. "No, Daddy, my tower!" Why is she so angry?
Because it takes at least five minutes for Paige to get her shoes on, we need to get moving. Despite shoving multiple mini waffles in her mouth at the same time, she's still not finished and tells me, "Brown boots. No, pink boots. I don't want sneakers!" I didn't even freaking mention sneakers.
"Daddy, I need a bookmark," Lucy says. Did she seriously just read a few pages of her Rainbow Fairies book? Of course she did. She heads upstairs, which is in the opposite direction of the front door where we need to be. Paige makes a beeline to her Little People Princess castle to grab a handful of princesses to take with her. Because, how could we possibly leave the house without a handful of princesses?
It's 7:49 - time to go.
Lucy comes downstairs after hearing me scream, "Now! Now! Now!" She rolls her eyes and tells me, "apparently, my bookmarks are missing, I had to use a piece of paper," as if I dedicate my waking hours to hiding her bookmarks. Now I tell her, "Lucy, get your coat, I think it's in the closet." She looks. "It's not in there," I hear.
I start racing around the house while my ears pick up the whining sounds of, "I guess I'll have to wear a raincoat and be cold today." The guilt is dripping thicker than the cheap syrup I gave them for their waffles.
I recheck the closet to see her pink coat in plain sight. "You kids are KILLING me today," and we run out the door to arrive at the bus stop just in time to see the long yellow chariot pull up.
"Daddy, you hold my princesses. I have full hands," Paige says as we make our way back home. Sure kid, anything else I can do for you two this morning?