The Juice Box Hour

At my house, we have what I have come to refer to as “The Juice Box Hour”. Maybe you have one too. It looks like this:

It’s 5PM and I’m late leaving work because the client was late getting to the office. Now they are reading all the “fine print”, which I assure them is “fine, no problem, take your time”, while I silently seethe. It’s now 5:15, and I have a real dilemma. I can go pick up child #1 from his extracurricular activity, OR, I can go pick up child #2, who is patiently impatiently waiting at her piano lesson. I head for child #1.  He is closest to my location.  He enters my previously clean vehicle and proceeds to pollute the air and litter the floor mat with the remnants of his exciting afternoon.  As he begins to discuss his day, I roll down the windows to refresh myself.  We drive the roughly two miles to his sister and she comes out all in a huff because, I’m late.

We head home amidst, “Why were you late?”, “What’s for dinner?”, “Hey, don’t forget you have to go to PTO to pick up the cookie dough sale stuff”, “Mom, can I go to Laura’s Friday?”, “How come you can’t pick me up FIRST?” And, on it goes in machine gun fire fashion until I reach my final destination-the driveway and put it in park.  Everyone scrambles to be “first” in the house.  

When does it stop being important to be first?  First in line, first in the shower, first to the table, first to brush teeth, first to  . . .  well, do everything!  everything that is, except go to bed.  NO ONE wants to be first there, except me.  I would love to be first to bed!  But I digress. 

I take FULL advantage of the few moments of peace and quiet after they slam car doors tripping over the escaping cat to get in and up the stairs first!  I sigh.  I’m tired.  But here I go-to complete-the Juice Box Hour.

I cook dinner, help with homework and piano and lunches and answer the phone and open the mail and read email and make sure nothing burns and get people headed to bathtubs and FINALLY . . . .  I get to sit down, sucked dry, used up, completely spent, exhausted, like those flattened, scrunched juice boxes and bags in my trash can.  I’ve got nothing left to give.

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One thought on “The Juice Box Hour

  1. It probably won’t make you feel any better, but my kids fight over the “who goes first” stuff ALL THE TIME. And at 8 & 10, they will still fight over such inane things as who gets to push the button in the elevator. I could kind of understand if they were 2 & 4….but 8 &10?? Really??

    Anyway, I suppose that’s how you know you’re solidly an adult: when you *want* to be the first to go to bed. (And in my case, I also like to be the first to get up, so I can sit in peace and quiet with a cup of coffee for a bit before all the chaos begins.)

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