I know what kind of day I’m going to have before 7am

My children are genuine harbingers. How they behave in the morning tells me what kind of day to expect. I’d book them on talk shows or sell them to NBC executives, but my mom would never speak to me or make Eggplant Parmesan again.

I’m better off thinking positive thoughts and hoping for at least one “A” day a month. Here’s my rubric:

A – Kids wake up on time and appear fully dressed with beds made and hair combed. Pull into carpool lane without causing traffic jam. Attend luncheon and talk without food in my teeth. No hate mail. Family does not threaten to sue over Kalamata olives on pizza. Husband asks about day and listens without checking iPhone. Parents invite us for dinner and Dad too busy playing online poker to complain about politics. No need for cocktails or reality television. Enough energy to finish yoga. Loving life.

B – Alarm clock wakes me with nature sounds. Shower without interruption. Kids reading quietly in room. Only get honked at twice in carpool lane. Use kids’ toilet and sit in urine. Boys listen during lecture, promising to lift seat and aim next time. Husband falls asleep before sundown, but so cute when his tongue hangs out during nightly snores. Feel lucky after watching Intervention even though dry skin requires own show. At least my kids love me and don’t do drugs.

C – Loud crash in kitchen. Two kids rush to bedside, shouting, “Did we wake you?” Get expelled from carpool lane. Boys use walking feet only after I threaten bodily harm. Attend PTO meeting in sweat pants and tube socks. Hate mail resumes. Remind Husband that flossing next to each other in bathroom while toilet makes offensive noises is not foreplay. Considering extra-marital affair with our Roomba. Fall asleep during Jersey Shore.

D – Phone rings two hours before dawn; Husband forgot his gym shorts again. Kids boycott cereal. Day is complete blur. Spend evening locating ketchup in refrigerator, grey suit in closet, and index cards in office. Fall asleep without stretching. Wake in middle of night shouting, “You have to look for it!”

F – Oversleep. Struggle out of bed amidst kids screaming they forgot about science project due in fifteen minutes. Stop by Target. Pick up construction paper and some cotton balls. Drop kids at school; receive tardy slips and lectures from hall monitor. Break two nails. Get stood up during neighborhood happy hour. Arrive home to find Mom searching wine rack and Dad hogging the remote. Hand Husband “Joy of Cooking” and crawl back into bed.

Come to think of it, one “A” day a month might be pushing it.