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By: Jamie Collins

You ever have one of those types of chaotic mornings when you feel like you’re in the midst of an out-of-body experience – kind of like your 12 steps removed from yourself, looking in at all of the events transpiring, entirely amused rather than annoyed? I did.  Woke up in a fantastic mood today. Full of energy. Found myself internally cracking up at the first hours of my morning. Felt like I was filming a Seinfeld episode to depict the plight of working moms/paralegals everywhere. (Realized the hair and make-up people were clearly running late for filming.)

It went a little something like this…

Engaged in the morning rush around ritual at the Collins’ Compound. Gavin decided he may want to be a singer when he grows up, rather than a baseball player. Who am I to thwart the dreams of a writer’s child? He proceeded to conduct a concert downstairs, while I was upstairs making a fast and furious attempt to fix my hair. He was belting out everything from “Monster Under My Bed” by Eminem, to “Radioactive” by the Imagination Dragons, to a Jewish song he learned at aftercare. (No, we aren’t Jewish… in case you were wondering. My husband and I have no idea what the song is about, but choose to celebrate the boy’s appreciation of cultural diversity gained in his aftercare program. That said, listening to your child sing in a language you cannot comprehend in the slightest is a wee bit entertaining, I do admit.) Back to the concert.

Came rushing downstairs to depart for the day (hair looking all fabulous) to find Gavin holding a pencil, scribbling on a piece of yellow construction paper, seated at the dining room table – he tells me he’s writing out the potential “list of hits” for his future career. (Paralegals, please start an assisted living fund for the Founder immediately. I am not joking.  I would feel better about my chances with the professional baseball thing than the singing. Anyhoo. We are moving on. That’s Collins with two “L’s”…and a future rock star on her hands. Do send funds STAT. Feel free to also include a Belgian chocolate bar with your donation. Beach cabanas are expensive.) Back to my morning…

Realize we have not one moment to spare (nope, not even one), not even time for that last-minute mouthwash gargle I so enjoy each day, prior to engaging in “hyper-drive” mode and departing the premises. (Thankfully, I have a bottle of Listerine stowed deskside at work. The mental note was made, while internally cursing the lack of 30 seconds to spare for the founder’s ceremonious mouth-rinsing routine.) Grab the Valentine’s Day bag of goodies for his classmates (feel proud we managed to make those 4 nights ago in full-glory), grab the big decorated box for said valentines for the big event (proud of the red paper wrap job/WWE creation we also came up several nights ago), slam the door shut, and we are moving. Quickly. Toward the car. Into the car. No time for talking. Just get into the car. Buckle yourself in. Buckle myself in. Shift the car into reverse. Look to the left. Realize that the fearless TPS wonder-dog is not in her crate, as I see her peering at me through the sliding glass door looking incredibly confused. This is a problem. A 50 pound problem. The alarm is on. We have motion sensors that trigger at 30 pounds, and she weighs enough to set them off. I do not have time to care. (Remember, no minutes to spare, people. We are living on borrowed time.) Decide I’ll come back later, praying she’ll remain parked far, far away from the sensors. Decide it’s a great day to live on the edge…of sanity that is. Turn my cell phone ringer on for good measure, as the possibility of me speaking with alarm people is probable. I do not care. I cannot care. In the words of that famous rapper, “they see us rolling.” (And ADT might be hating.) We. Are. Out.

Rush Gavin in to school. We make it in time. Barely. But barely counts, when you’re in the midst of filming a paralegal reality show for working moms. Decide I deserve a tall iced tea from Starbucks in light of the craziness that is my morning. Secure said sanity soothing beverage from the nearby drive-thru. Head back to the house to deal with the dog/alarm debacle now known as “Operation Dog-Gate” – make that “Dog-Crate.”   Decide gloves would be a great addition to my brisk walk into the legal kingdom, in the event that I ever actually make it there – grab those, too. I am still amused. Not the least bit annoyed. It is a miracle, I know.

(No, seriously….a miracle.)
(The film crew couldn’t believe it either.)

Finally get back into the car to actually head to the legal promise land. Start the car.  Feel something tugging at my left leg. I am confused. Perplexed, actually. I am in the bat-mobile alone. What in the heck could possibly be pulling on my left leg? Look down.  The jeans I’m wearing have a slight fray on the back hem of the pant legs (the kind of fray that’s stylish, not grungy) — the 3” heel on the black heeled boots I am wearing somehow managed to strategically spear itself right on through that teeny, tiny slit between the actual jeans and the fray rendering me partially immobile, for all intents and purposes, as it relates to auto racing. Fantastic. In case you were wondering, it is impossible to correct this issue while remaining seated in your vehicle. Trust me…I tried…for about 3 seconds, before I found myself amused, laughing aloud at the ridiculousness of it all, realizing me in a seated position isn’t possibly going to get the job done.

Get back out of the car to engage in my second stint as a drive-way contortionist.  Manage to straighten my leg back just far enough, while tilting my body back and managing to hunch over backward to stretch my long arm just far enough down my long leg to unhook the heel of death from its temporary resting place…without falling. It was epic. If there had been spectators, there undoubtedly would have been applause. I did not have time left at this point in the midst of operation “get the hell to work” to bow and catch the roses.

Get back into the car. Find myself FINALLY on the way to work. I am only about 2 hours in to the day and find myself equal parts exhausted and amused. But I do have a tall iced tea and a great attitude. Some days all you can do is laugh.

Send the royalty checks for this episode to Jamie Collins (that’s two L’s) c/o the insanity that was my morning. Waikiki ain’t cheap. And based on the verbal acoustics, I’m gonna need it…


You ever had a day like this? (I know you have.) We’d certainly love to hear about it! If you’re brave enough to share it publicly, join me out here on the ledge. Come on out…the air is fine. So is the view.  

Why I’ve written 3 straight humor posts in a row as of late, I could not tell you. But I’m sure a serious article is brewing just below the crazy surface of my mind and will make its way onto a screen soon. Serious inspiration willing…