On Hectic Mornings & TMR

As early as 8:25 this morning it was 23 degrees Celsius but felt really more like 35 degrees and rising with the humidity....It was decidedly, a rather hectic morning, rounding up the kids and out the door because they had a field trip. Field trips are a lot of work - there are the brown bag lunches you need to pack, the sunblock you need to slather onto squirmy bodies and the wide-brimmed hats you need to ransack the house first just to find to send with the kids who need to be at the daycare at least half an hour earlier than the usual time. Believe me, a half hour might as well be five hours, it makes a huge difference, heck, if the back to school traffic that set me back by a whole five minutes yesterday threw my whole schedule off which I almost had down to a science with so much time alloted for feeding and dressing the kids, my shower, for doing my hair and painting my face & most importantly, for picking up my coffee, how much more a whole half-hour? By the end of it all I was pooped, and at 8:25 after retrieving my McDonald's dollar coffee and fruit and fiber muffin (it tastes better than it sounds!) from the lady at the drive-thru, I felt hot and sticky. As I crossed over the marked threshold from middle-classland to upper-crust-of-societyville where my company's located, I noticed the street-sweeping truck a few blocks down which renders the perfectly paved streets so clean you can eat off them if you so wish, and I glanced longingly at the watering truck immediately to my left by the perfectly manicured and landscaped median giving the flowerbeds a cool, refreshing and inviting shower and the thought of moving here crossed my mind once again. You know, just for the convenience - wouldn't it be great to be able to sleep until five-to the time I'm supposed to be in? Then maybe I could get away with what they call an Italian shower. My friend explained to me that it's supposed to be a sponge bath of sorts, funny, 'coz I thought it meant dousing and strategically dabbing on some Acqua di Gio for the signores or some nice Dolce for the signoris..hmmm, the only teeny problem that prevents us from moving is that the asking prices here start at three quarters of a million, shucks, I guess that idea's a write-off. But hey, if I could afford that, then I probably wouldn't be working anyways, my clerk's salary wouldn't be making much of a dent on our sizable bank account, would it? Like the proverbial drop in a bucket. I'd be a stay-at-home/soccer mom, rolling the kids around in an exotic European station-wagon, probably bleach-blond, too...like that skinny lady toting a real Louis Vuitton, walking her yappy Havanese down the sidewalk...