I am halfway awake, wondering why I haven't heard my alarm. I should be dead tired, because my alarm is set for 5:30 a.m., and I should be feeling something between comatose and partial paralysis, but I am feeling oddly rested. How can I feel rested before 5:30?
Because it's 6:39.
This is not good, because I have class at 8:00 a.m.
And this should leave plenty of time to get ready. But I have a quiz this morning for which I am not completely prepared and wanted an extra hour to cram before heading off to school.
6:39 is bad.
I stagger into the living room to find Brother checking football scores on the computer and talking to someone on the phone.
"Who are you talking to?!" I demand. Who in God's name is calling my house at 6:30 in the morning and talking to my seven-year-old son??!!!
He continues talking and gives me the polite "one moment please" signal with his pointer finger.
"She's awake now...here she is," he says, and then hands me the phone.
I respond with a sleepy, yet obviously peeved, "hello".
It's my brother.
"Why are you calling so early?!" I ask, not even trying to be civil, waiting for my blood pressure to come down to normal.
He's hurt. "I just wanted to call and wish you a Happy Birthday before you left for school," he says, trying to not sound wounded.
Oh, yeah. Today's my birthday.
Now I feel like a heel. Like a squashed bug on the bottom of the heel.
So what do I say to that?
I think I said something like "thanks", but it's kind of a blur. I vaguely remember him handing the phone to my mom and her singing happily in my ear. The rest of the conversation is completely lost in my subconscience never to be found again.
Remind me to apologize to my brother later.
I get the coffee going and kick it into high gear. Actually it is more like sluggish, slothful, semi-high-ish gear, but I'm winding up to it.
I wanted to take a shower and try not to look like a bag lady today, on my birthday. But those plans are toast and I resort to throwing on yesterday's clothes and putting my hair up in a clip. I manage lipstick and mascara, which is admirable, in light of things and head to the kitchen to try and get half an hour of study time.
But my children have this habit...it's somewhat annoying.
They like to eat breakfast.
I literally throw Kix in a bowl, spilling them on the table and floor which suprises Sister. She knows Mommy would correct her for such behavior, so she looks at the scene with hesitancy and offers her two cents: "Uh...Mommy. You spilled some."
"Yes, Honey, I know. Don't just sit there. Grab a spoon!!!"
I sit down with my Psychology book and try to absorb the text without even a drop of coffee and Baby clamoring for Dora in the background.
Things are not looking hopeful.
At 7:32 I am yelling at Hubby to get out of bed while I find my shoes and shove books in to my bag. I pour the coffee into my Starbuck go-cup, give quick kisses to all (except Hubby...sorry, Hun) and fly out the door at 7:45.
Hubby drove the car last, so the seat isn't adjusted to fit my shorter leg span. Instead of fixing this problem while the car is stopped, I prefer to do it while driving and balancing my cup of coffee in my lap.
You know what happens then, right?
I end up with coffee in my lap.
It's a good thing I take my coffee beige. Otherwise I would be walking around campus today with brown stains on my baglady outfit.
I make it to class just as the instructor is unlocking the door. Barely on time.
Happy Birthday to me.
As I write this, things are looking up. I think I actually did really well on my quiz. My friend is taking me to lunch. She has a present for me!! And I just received an email saying my blog has been featured on BlogHop. The email was quite complimentary.
Yes, I know it's probably a standard email they send out to everyone they feature, but hey, it's my birthday, GIVE ME THIS.
Leave me a comment. Tell me Happy Birthday. Tell me I look 18. All bow down and adore me...please.
And then tomorrow we can pretend it never happened. Because that's what I like to do with birthdays.