T.G.I. (aloha) F.

You know you've finally lost your grasp on domestic order when you roll out of bed just in time to shout to your children from your bedroom window, Have a nice day at school!

Only half of that is true. I have lost my grasp on domestic order, but today I was actually up at 5 a.m., as usual, to get Tatum off to Seminary by 6 a.m. My friends think I'm lame because I help her curl or straighten her hair almost every morning. They don't say you're lame, of course, they say, Wow, I could never be such a good mom! which is code for, Get-a-life!

What they don't understand is the mystical power beauticians (and bar tenders) have over the human soul. The only time Tatum talks to me is when I'm doing her hair (or pouring her a drink). I look forward to the daily witching hour, between 5-6 a.m., to catch a peak into my daughter's head.

Around here our mornings are organized into 3 waves. Once Tatum is out the door, Zach pops up, eats, showers, watches ESPN with Alan for 45 minutes, then catches the bus by 7 a.m. Easy Breezy.

Then comes the final wave--the twins. There's no popping up involved in the twin's morning ritual. Garrett requires a piggy back to get down the stairs and Wyatt won't budge unless there's a spray bottle involved and everyone has cleared the room. They also require music to shake them up--mostly Wyatt, as he's only got one speed in the morning: catatonic.

So this morning was just like every other morning, except we made a few candy leis for the Super Citizen assembly. Garrett was voted Super Citizen of the month by his classmates (which, according to Wyatt, doesn't count).

After the assembly I dropped Alan off at work, came home, crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my head.
 
That's not true either. It was tempting, but it's Friday, and Friday is my day. Before I pay the overdue utilites bill or wash my hair or wipe the spilled frosted flakes off the counter, I will sit down and write. 

First things first, after all!