some mornings are like this

8:01 a.m. - We've successfully passed waking up, having breakfast, and getting dressed. Banana and Daddy are both happy and getting ready for the final push where Daddy will eat his breakfast while pulling together the lunch box.

8:02 a.m. - Back in the kitchen to eat a banana and have vitamins.

8:03 a.m. - "Daddy, I don't really like bananas." "Really? When did that happen?"

8:04 a.m. - "Daddy, I don't really feel like going to school today." "Really? Why?" "Because I don't feel good." All evidence points to the child being fine.

8:05 a.m. - The voice is getting whinier. "Daddy, I don't really like the Y Aftercare." "Is it because AE is still being mean to you?" The eyes are beginning to look puffy. She nods.

8:06 a.m. - "Sweetie, we can talk about it later, but what I need right now is for you to finish your vitamins and finish getting ready for school." The puffy eyes have now begun to water, and the whimper kicks in. I'm still trying to measure my words and my tone while the whimper turns inexplicably into a full cry.

8:09 a.m. - We're into full meltdown, and I'm trying to take in a bit of my fruit and yogurt while simultaneously pulling lunch materials together and trying to talk down a little girl who is now saying that I am "the meanest daddy in the world" and who is begging for mommy. Mind you, nothing has passed in the past two minutes since I asked her to finish her vitamins.

8:11 a.m. - "You know, Daddy, I don't really like lemonade." Lemonade dumped and water poured, Banana exits the kitchen.

8:12 a.m. - How the fuck am I going to get everything together and get her to school and me to work?

8:13 a.m. - I find her in her room in abject tantrum. Why? Some of the water spilled on her diary. Offers to dry the diary off are refused. I stalk out of the room and make it halfway down the hall before correcting my approach.

8:14 a.m. - I kneel down and tell her that I'm very sorry she spilled the water, and that I'm very sorry that she is upset, but that I very much need her to get some shoes on and brush her teeth.

8:15 a.m. - I pick her up and hold her for a couple minutes.

8:18 a.m. - I leave the room as she is putting on socks and her pink Chuck Taylors.

8:21 a.m. - She trots in the kitchen, grinning. She has brought some coins with her. "We put it in the Fox bank at school," she announces. "Can you get your teeth brushed?" I ask. She nods happily and bounces back to the bathroom.

8:28 a.m. - We begin the final move toward the door. I am still befuddled.

8:32 a.m. - Outside, locking the door. "It's the third day of Fall, Daddy, and it reeeeaaaallly feels like Fall."

8:33 a.m. - "Yes, it does," I say after a deep breath. The air is cool, and I'm still befuddled.