TARRRNATION!

I find mornings to be-- well, shall we say... challenging. I'm not a morning person under the best of circumstances, and trying to get us all dressed and out the door on time demands patience and skill.

B is sick this morning. Not sick enough to stay home from school, but sick enough to fight against every single aspect of his morning routine. He groaned his way through breakfast, flailed around wildly trying to jam his arms into his sleeves and put on his pants BEFORE his underwear. It was that kind of morning.

I'm not feeling so hot myself, and as I was running around after S and B my head was full of eeevil thoughts. (which were bad enough that that word can only be spelled using three e's.) It came time to leave and we trudged out into the snow-- 5 minutes late, but hey, at least we were on our way.

Turned the key to open the garage. nothing happened. Tried again-- no dice. The door was frozen shut. Ran back through the house, past M and into the garage to push the door from the inside. It wouldn't budge.

By this time there's steam coming out of my ears and I'm swearing under my breath. I was so mad I had to will myself not to start kicking the door. I am, after all, an adult, and have to set a good example for the kids. Plus, I reasoned, kicking furiously at a garage door might be immensely satisfying, but it wouldn't get us to school any faster.

M walked calmly into the garage. Can I help?

I think I hissed something like "Frick frack friggen garage door frockt!"

So he raised his foot serenely and gave the door a swift, hard kick.

And it slid open as if it had spent its entire life waiting for that moment.

Every now and then I feel like I'm trapped in a Bugs Bunny cartoon...