For the last two years, we’ve kept entertainer’s hours.

That is: late, late bedtime, slow mornings.

With the little chicas starting school last week, all that had to change. We have to get them to their classes by 8:30 to avoid the dreaded hall pass or worse yet, disappointing Ms. G. or Ms
K., our children’s new idols.

Rod and I have set a bedtime for ourselves, which we typically miss by 45 minutes or so, because you can’t schedule OCD, or the entertainment business, and you just never know when the 17 piles of paperwork that have accumulated in the kitchen will need to be moved into a filing system, or when this or that artist need a Burton-therapy session (God help them…)

On Sunday night, Rod dutifully fell into bed on time. His wife, however, was suffering from awesome-nap-followed-by-too-much-caffeine-to-combat-grogginess Sunday night insomnia, and so it’s possible an uncontrollable fit of cackle woke him up shortly before 1am. (I both blame and thank Chandler Bing).

The result of all this time-adjustment means that mornings are like a series of mini-explosions. BAM! Wake up! BAM! Cuddle! BAM! Imagination Movers while getting dressed (a dress for M, shorts and a t-shirt and socks for KK, without fail). BAM! Fight through the teeth-brushing process. BAM! Make a car-ready breakfast. And then thankfully, YAY! The girls can’t wait to get to school. It’s very sweet, and of course, a little sad, too.

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After we drop them off, all bright-eyed and crumby from their toast, my adrenaline suffers a serious slow down. A second (and sometimes third, and honestly, fourth) coffee is in order. Rod craves sugar. We soak in some vitamin D in this blessedly sunny locale we now call home. And through exchanges of ‘what’s up today?’ and what’s funny on Twitter and ‘this will be easier when we have _________,” we gather ourselves for a day full of the unexpected.

Until 5ish pm, when we pick up the people we know best in the world, and start all over again.

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