Getting Out the Door

There must be a Law of Physics that states the larger the family, the harder it is to get out the door.  Its corollary is that, no matter how early the family wakes up, it'll still run late.

My son had to be to church by 9:30am to make his First Holy Communion.  No sweat, I thought, we leave earlier than that on school days.  Besides, I had prepared for Saturday a little bit every day that week.  I bought sandwiches and potato salad at Costco, ordered the cake, and assembled the boys' dress clothes.  Everything was under control.

The first sign that they weren't came Friday evening.  "When is the cake going to be ready?" my husband wondered aloud.  Cake?  Oh, the one I was supposed to have picked up earlier that morning? I raced to the the bakery five minutes before it closed.  Crisis averted.

On Saturday I was up before the alarm.  Relishing the productive quiet that comes with being the first one awake, I ground coffee beans to start the life support machine.  Dishes that had dried overnight on the counter found cabinets and then I arranged sandwiches and strawberries on trays for lunch.

Party prep complete, I set a plate of breakfast pastries on the table.  The icing glistened in the sun, each glimmer a message.  Eat almond claw.  Drink coffee.  Read paper.  I was Dorothy in a field of poppies.

When I looked up the wall clock said 8:30.  Yikes!  I ran upstair to shower.  As I put on makeup, the youngest boy barged into the bathroom.

"Mom, where are my dress clothes?"
"Hanging in your closet."

"But that's too high for me," he whined.

He was right.  Why hadn't I put them on his dresser?  

The second oldest barged in along with his other younger brother.
"Mom, where are my clothes?" they asked.

"In your closet!" Didn't anyone get the memo?

"Mom, this coat's too small!" the oldest called out from his bedroom.  

Please, no, I thought to myself, I can't do anything about it now.  I finished getting dressed and went to assess the situation.  The coat was a bit tight but he didn't look like a dork. 

"Why don't you try on your brother's?" I offered.
"No!  I like this one," his brother refused.
 The coat would have to do.

"Mom, I can't find my dress shoes," called the second child.
"In your closet!" I sang.
"Where's my suit?" my husband asked.
"In the other closet," I responded through clenched teeth.

The bedroom clock said 9:05.  My heart sank.  We had 15 minutes to get there and I had yet to dry my hair.  In my head I saw a flight attendant demonstrating how to use an oxygen mask.  I had to finish getting ready.

A few minutes later I checked on the youngest.  My husband was helping him with his pants.  "Did you see these have stains?" he said.
"Here, wear these," I handed him a pair of khakis from the closet and ran downstairs to see about the others.

In the living room the boys were putting on socks and belts.  One of them wasn't wearing a tie.
"Doesn't one of you have another tie in a drawer somewhere?"  I asked as I ran back upstairs, bedroom to bedroom, dresser to dresser, shifting socks and underwear hoping to get lucky.  Nope.

Back in the living room the oldest was sitting on the couch, ready to go, with his belt cinched around his sport coat.
"The belt goes through the loops on your pants!"

The second oldest complained how uncomfortable it was to have his shirt tucked into his pants.  I could see that his pants were so tight that the pockets gaped. 

"Tuck in your shirt, not your sport coat."

Wow, these kids need to dress up more often.

Before we loaded into the van, I took pictures of the boys.  None of them had combed their hair, one was wearing sneakers and another was minus a tie, but they looked handsome.  We arrived at the church ten minutes behind schedule but in time for the First Communicant to take pictures with friends.

The boys were well behaved during Mass and the party was lovely.  I couldn't have asked for better.  Getting out the door was the hardest part.