I try to open my eyes but the lids feel like lead plates.
“Mommy, the clock says it’s after 6. Can I get up now?” the oldest one asks.
“I thought you said you were going to sleep in today?” I ask, my voice all husky from sleep.
“I did mom,” he began, “the clock said 6:02am when I woke up and I usually get up at 6:00am.”
With that my eyes were open and I looked at my son, his eyes pleading with me to say that he could turn on the TV and play video games.
“Fine,” I said, pulling the covers back over me, “just don’t wake anyone else up.”
He scampered out of the room and I turned over to go back to sleep.
In a couple weeks, 6am would be my new wake up time too. Well, more like 6:30-6:45am if I had packed lunches and found all the shoes the night before.
School is quickly approaching and it’s hard to tell who is more excited… me or the kids.
Soon these lazy mornings and me sleeping in until 7:30am while the kids play video games and watch TV will be a thing of the past.
And as much as I love these lazy mornings, I am ready for school to begin because when it comes down to it I crave the schedule, structure and school routine just as much as the kids do.
It helps my brain remember things.
Every Monday morning, the trash needs to be set out at the end of our driveway for pick up.
And every Monday morning since school ended, I forget.
I have asked Jeff to remind me.
I have tried post it notes on the coffee maker, cupboard and bathroom mirror.
I have tired emailing myself, alerts from Google and I have even asked Siri to remind me.
But no matter what I do, I cannot remember to put out the trash. During the school year, this is not a problem. Rolling the can down to the end of the driveway on Sunday night had become just as natural as setting out all the kid’s backpacks for the next day.
I roll over from my sleep and I am met with the blinding light from the bathroom.
I look at the clock.
Jeff is up, a half hour later than he should be, getting ready for work.
Like a cat, waking from a nap, I stretch body… willing my eyes to say open.
I was really made to be a night owl. I love staying up till the wee hours of the night and then sleeping until lunch. Even after all these years of forcing myself to be a morning person, the old night owl still takes over at about 10pm making mornings down right impossible.
I stumble into the kitchen, step on a cat’s tail who is begging for food and trip over a kid who is also begging for food.
Coffee is the only thing on my mind.
Then I hear it.
The low rumble of a big truck on our street.
“Shit!” I mumble to myself as I run to the window to see… did I set the trash out last night or did I just think about doing it and then get distracted by 12 other things and forget.
The only thing in the drive way is a lone scooter, forgotten to be tucked away in the garage from yesterday’s play.
“THE TRASH!!” I yell.
I race for the back door again tripping over the cat who claws my leg in protest of not being fed immediately.
I rip the door open and push the button to open the big garage door just as I see the garage truck approach our lot.
“NO! WAIT!” I yell but the sound of my voice is lost in the revving of the engine as the truck passes our house.
I struggle, pushing and pulling, trying to free the over full trash can from it’s tight corner in the garage. ”Give it to me, come on birth this can,” I hiss, nearly spilling the contents as I rock it back and forth, finally causing it to break free and come rolling after me.
I run down the driveway scream and yelling with the green trash can behind me, waving frantically all while trying to keep my boobs from smacking me in the face in their bra-less state.
At the end of the driveway, I stop. The truck way up the road now and showing no signs of stopping.
“Dammit!” I say. “Why is it so hard for me to remember that Monday is trash day?”
Annoyed, I toy with the idea of putting our trash can in the middle of the road. There is only one way in and our of our street so a trash can in the middle of the road will totally be seen.
“But what if it won’t?” I question myself, “Do you want to spend all day picking up trash from the road when the garage truck hits the can sending it and its contents flying all over?”
I don’t think there is enough chocolate in the house to bribe the kids into cleaning up that mess.
Then suddenly once again, I hear the rumble of the garage truck speeding down the road.
I position the can at the end of the driveway and wait.
“Please see it and stop, please” I repeat in my head over and over.
I can feel the ground shake as the truck speeds up, “Please stop,” I say again and begin jumping and waving my arms, my flimsy lightweight jammies doing the best job they can to contain all my bits and piece but failing miserably.
“STOP!” I call as I watch the truck get closer and closer, “STOP!”
Squeeeeeel… the air breaks of the truck kick in and the truck begins to stop.
“Oh thank you,” I say breathless now feeling the cold air on my chest which makes me notice my nipples have jumped to attention and are now standing upright, ready for action.
His gazes finds my chest like a fly attracted to sugar.
I throw my arms across my chest.
“You’re welcome,” he smiles with a wink and then turns to hop back up onto the tuck.
I turn with what is left of my dignity and vow to never forget that Monday morning is trash day again.