Just Getting Out The Damn Door; part deux.

When the boy wakes up, my frustration is temporarily halted by humor.  Every morning without fail and no matter how heavily he is sleeping, the moment I close and lock my bedroom door to get dressed is always the very same moment he decides to try to come in.  First I hear the doorknob slowly turn half-way.  That immediately turns to the doorknob rattling and the door shaking violently.  It would seem the door being locked is a real trigger point for his rage.  Now this is the part that I always make time for.  I mess with him.  After shaking the door nearly off the hinges he switches to knocking.  I cheerfully ask "who is it?".  He knows damn-well that I know who it is and this just frustrates him more.  Irritated, he responds "me!".  I come back sweetly with "me who?" which he quickly shouts his name back to me.  "Oh hi honey, good mor-" "WOULD YOU JUST LET ME IN!!??"  You would think he was used to it by now but it gets him every day and I love it.

Now that he's awake, we go downstairs and the marathon begins.  "I'm hungry, I want to brush my teeth, I have to pee, I'm thirsty, I spilled my cereal, I have to poop, Ewww! The baby pooped!!, the dog ate my roll, I spilled my drink, can you please change the baby!?, the cat is standing on my waffle...".  No one is properly dressed yet except me and I already look a mess.  I try to feed them "dry" things in the morning because they both have a need to wipe their faces on my work clothes.  I swear they do it on purpose because I have pajamas that I've had for like, ten years and they are untouched.  After I put out all the fires, and get them set up with food, drink and Toy Story 3, I attempt to sneak out of the room to get their clothes.  No matter what, my daughter always notices and loses her mind.  She is going through this separation anxiety phase I guess.  I call it a phase because even though it's been a lifelong problem so far, I can't bear the thought of it continuing much longer.  I can't even walk behind someone because for that one second that I am eclipsed by someone else, she's already melting down.  

I can never find their clothes because my son is obsessed with "doing the laundry".  This is why I've had to resort to hiding everyone's clothes in my room.  Otherwise he goes drawer by drawer taking everything out and combining it with everything from the hamper and then tosses it around on the floor to simulate the washing machine.  Now everything that was clean and folded is mixed together and dirty.  You might be thinking that the clothes can't be that dirty, right?  That would be incorrect.  My daughter makes herself throw up every day so 80% of her laundry is covered in puke so everything has to be rewashed.  

I dress the boy quickly and he fights me the whole time.  I tell him to look for his shoes while I bring my daughter upstairs to change her diaper and get her dressed.  As I've mentioned, this is no easy task.  10 minutes later (on a good day) I emerge sweaty, frazzled and totally exhausted.  If I'm not bleeding or in some sort of pain it's a refreshing change.  I check to see if my son found his shoes and instead find him undressed with his socks totally missing.  I get him dressed again and yell at him to find his socks and shoes right now!  By this time my daughter has taken her barrette out of her hair and lost it.  I find a new barrette and fix her hair again and find that not only is my son undressed again, but he's soaking wet from "doing his hair" in the bathroom sink.  I dry him off, find his clothes, get new socks (the first pair never does get found) and search the house for his shoes.  They are always in some crazy place that shoes don't belong because he intentionally hides them from me.  This same routine goes on with their coats.  Get one on, the other has theirs off.  Get that one back on and now this one's hat is missing.  

Almost time to leave but we can't forget to bring their Woody and Jessie dolls, matchbox cars, baby dolls and an annoying toy that makes noise.  I pick up the baby, my purse, my empty lunch bag, the diaper bag, the bag with the toys and head for the door.  I have to somehow figure out how to close the door with my hands beyond full.  As I struggle with this in high heels and a baby who has now slid down to my thigh, my son bolts out of the house.  As the screen door slams into the back of my ankle I am yelling "don't you DARE step in that mud/wet grass/dog crap/dead squirrel .." but before the words are out of my mouth, he's already in it and filthy.  Tough crap for him because I'm not going back in!