Urban Dad & I had slightly different mornings. Feel free to vote for the one you would prefer:
1.) Get ready to go, wait for a few extra minutes as Urban Kid 1 frantically yells, "WAAAIITTTT!" because she wants to go with. (such a chicago phrase that i've fully adopted... "go with." next i'll be hitting my a's super-haaaaard and putting an "s" at the end of things; e.g. "nordstroms")
2.) Roll eyes slightly as Urban Kid 1 comes out dressed for the prom. Who am I kidding? I'm just jealous that she can dress herself better at 6yo than I can at 40yo.
3.) Walk to dry cleaners. Drop off the three dresses that the Urban Kids insist on wearing every waking minute of every single day that we are not out on the playground.
4.) Walk to Ulta.
5.) Check out at Ulta. Manager-type asks, "Where's the little one?" I smile and explain that she's at home with Urban Dad, that we're going to take a break from bringing her into Ulta for a while. (between you and me, it's impossible to look at anything, what with the shortest Urban thinking that the sample bar eyeshadows are fingerpaints and then launching her sunglasses when told they are not) The manager-type smiles and looks sympathetic, which I consider pretty kind.
6.) Walk to library. Hang out for a looooooong time because it's nice and cool. Watch with pride as Urban Kid 1 takes book after book, reads them to herself, go gets a few more books, reads them to herself. Hmmmmm.... who do ya suppose taught her to read?
7.) Watch as Urban Kid 1 takes her library card out of her purse -- the only thing in her purse -- and checks out a pile of books, beaming with pride because she has her very own library card in her very own purse.
8.) Walk past local school playground on our way home, lugging a bag full of books and hearing her complain (correctly) that it is entirely too hot. See her friend S. there, who she hasn't seen all summer long. It doesn't seem so hot all of a sudden.
9.) Feel bad for her when she goes down a slide, but her dress goes up enough that her bare skin skids really fast on the searing hot plastic. Perhaps dressing for the prom wasn't such a good idea. S. has to go to karate, so U-Kid 1 decides she wants to go put an ice-pack on her tush. Urban Dad calls her SkiddyTush once or twice, which makes her giggle.
Phone Call #1: From his mom. She's mad because Urban Dad put the ka-bosh on her 11yo standard chocolate poodle coming to live with her in the small, immaculate, luxurious, smell-free home. Says that he's betrayed her, that it's as if he's taken away one of her children, that he's a bad bad man.
Phone Call #2: From the Salvation Army rehab place where BIL #1 is now residing rather than go to jail (hey Lindsay Lohan! you're an amateur!!). It's a six-month program. BIL #1 has been there four days. SA-Dude says that BIL #1 is saying in group chit-chat that his mother is worth $10 billion and that he used to play for the NBA. Plants seed in U-Dad's head that BIL #1 may have burned out enough wires that SA may not be the place for him.
And that's the kind of stuff that makes everything feel better, right?