We were in the middle of our morning rush hour, in which one girl was trying to brush her teeth and one girl was running around naked and one boy was running away from me, clutching his sister's toothpaste. I wanted to get him dressed and I wanted her to get dressed and I wanted the other her to brush her teeth and did I brush my own teeth yet? No, no I had not. I wrestled the boy into clothes and he flailed, as he always does, and I took a direct hit to the face. He was sitting on my lap facing out so it's not like he saw my eyeball and aimed, but still he's strong like bull and it stung in my already hay-fever-swollen eye. Then I artfully dodged questions like bullets as I cajoled begged demanded the girls get ready, and it never occured to me to think much of the substance of those questions, because their questions are as unpredictable as anything, and I never noticed that today they were fixated on a common Mama's eyeball theme:
1) what's that red dot, Mama?
2) hey, Mommy! How do you put bandaids on eyes?
because finally! All three were dressed! And we got shoes, too, because those are good to have, and I wore red ones today, because they looked sharp against my black-and-gray top and black cardi and dark wash jeans.
I doubled back to brush my teeth and I looked up into the mirror and noticed this:
but at least, since I had my red shoes on, I was properly accessorized.