The Schedule

Every morning I have certain rituals I like to go through before I start my day. If those rituals falter or change in any way, there is a chance I will be extremely bitchy slightly uncomfortable for the rest of the day. Here is my list and it goes like this….

The alarm on my iphone goes off and I quickly turn it off so as not to wake hubs. I truly try to not wake him on the days I run before dawn. I distinctly remember telling him many years ago that if he woke me up when he left to go hunting I would meet him at the door with a knife when he returned home. Or something sweet like that…

Once I put on my running shorts and multiple sports bras, I promptly check my email. I guess I think Michelle Obama will *finally* send me a message one day asking for fashion advice. I then move on to Facebook to see what happens in the world after 8:30 when I go to bed. By this time I am usually making my one cup of coffee with the same amount of fake sugar and skim milk every day. It NEVER changes, and I am just fine with that. Some people call it an obsessive rut. I like to refer to it as “tradition”.

This is where the plan sometimes falls apart. Take this morning for instance. I could not find a ponytail holder. My youngest daughter loves to keep a small arsenal of ponytail holders around her wrist at all times. I snuck into her room and gingerly removed one from her arm. I felt bad for taking the chance on waking her up, but at least my neck wasn’t so hot. Mother of the Year. Again.

My next dilemma was the toothbrush. I knew that if I ventured back into my bedroom and woke up hubs I might as well go sign a short term lease at the apartment complex down the street. My only option was to find a spare toothbrush in the other bathrooms. I found one that appeared to be fairly new and was not caked with hardened Spiderman toothpaste. Knowing how stuff goes down in my house, I had a feeling there was slight chance this toothbrush was not clean. Hell, there was a slight chance this toothbrush had been on the dog’s ass. Who am I kidding? I finally just dove into it and brushed my teeth with the hottest water I could stand. I grabbed my ipod, stretched my legs, and started to head out the door. That’s where the dog gave me a visual guilt trip for leaving him behind.

Or maybe he was just mad that I used his ass scratcher.