I should be drying and styling my hair like every other teenage girl does on a normal Tuesday morning at 6:30, but instead I'm making breakfast for everyone but myself.
My morning started almost an hour ago when I got up and started a load of laundry. Then, I took a ridiculously quick shower, applied minimal make-up, and threw my half-dry curly hair into something that was supposed to resemble a ponytail. Next, I had to search for a clean pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie for the long Tuesday ahead of me.
I mean, my days are too long anyway, but Tuesdays are the worst.
Today's Terrible Tuesday includes a trip to the grocery, a soccer practice for the twins, and homemade lasagna night. Tuesday is also the only day of the week my eldest brother Tony does not have football weights, so I have to feed him in addition to two rambunctious nine year-olds.
"Sarah!" Tony calls from his bedroom in the basement. "Did you wash my football stuff?"
I step away from the French toast sizzling on the griddle to yell down the staircase, "Of course I did, and I told you last night they're on the coffee table in the living room!" I stand there with my arms over my chest, waiting for a reply that doesn't come. I just roll my eyes and check on the toast. I flip a few pieces that are starting to become golden brown.
A minute later Tony comes rushing up the stairs, looking like he just rolled out of bed, which he did just five minutes ago. He loops his belt through his khaki shorts and finishes tying his shoes.
I take three pieces off the griddle, slap on a plate, and hand them to him when he stands upright from tying his shoes. He grabs the plate, but not before pleading for more. I glare at him, "I can only make so many at a time."
He remains quiet and takes his plate to the table just off to the left of the kitchen. He drowns his breakfast in syrup and practically swallows his meal whole. I gag a little, realizing for the eightieth time this week how disgusting those of the male variety can be.
I should be used to it now. I have three brothers after all.
He finishes his breakfast in record time, but for some odd reason he declines my offers of more. "I probably shouldn't have eaten the three pieces I did."
Tony's football coach is always hounding them about maintaining a lean and healthy diet, especially for Tony since he's their star quarterback, and since he's been offered a full-ride college football scholarship next year. His coach has a point, but he's an eighteen-year-old, growing boy.
Tony dumps his plate in the sink and goes off to retrieve his football gear, but I stop him before he exits the kitchen. "Will you go wake the boys up?"
He turns back toward me and groans, "Why do I have to do it? They're so hateful in the morning."
"And you're not?" I shoot back. He slouches out of the room, knowing I'm right. Ten minutes and ten pieces of toast later, Tony finally comes back downstairs with two very grumpy nine-year-olds. I doll out two more plates of breakfast. Neither of them speak, obviously still groggy.
"Well, I gotta go," Tony kisses my cheek, even though when I do it to him in front of his friends he squirms away. It's something my mother used to do with both of us, so we've continued the practice. He hauls his backpack and mesh bag full of football equipment out the door next to the fridge to the garage. Before he closes the door, he pops his head back in and asks, "Still on for lasagna?"
"It's Tuesday isn't it?"
He nods and I hear his engine rev as he backs out of the garage. I turn my attention to the twins, robotically eating their breakfast.
The word fraternal doesn't even begin to describe Connor and Nick.
Connor brushes his mass of red curls from his forehead and pushes his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose, which is riddled with freckles. His green eyes lazily stare at his fork before he brings it to his mouth. I look at Nick who's sitting across from Connor. Nick is the total opposite of Connor with straight brown hair that pokes out over his forehead it's so straight. His blue eyes are the color of the ocean they're so blue and sharp.
But the boys do share some similarities like ADD, a tad of stunted growth and lack of weight gain due to their premature birth, and a love of all things on wheels. Just like Tony, they love muscle cars and old-timey trains.
Finally they finish breakfast, and slide out of their seats to go back upstairs to get ready. They still have yet to say anything this morning, which is odd for them.
Maybe they've fell into the Tuesday funk as well.
While they get ready, I take the time to finish the load of laundry and wash dishes from the O'Henry family breakfast buffet. They come back down almost half an hour later, and they've obviously found their voices this morning because I can hear their bickering.
"Iron Man has a more complex back-story than Thor and that's all there is to it," Connor exasperatedly states.
Nick rolls his eyes. "Thor is from a whole other dimension. You can't even compare the two."
"You're only saying that because I'm obviously right." Connor crosses his arms over his chest and begins to pout, but I nip that in the bud.
"Quit fighting. We're going to be late if you two don't go put shoes on." I finish turning off the lights in the kitchen while they go fetch shoes and backpacks. I shoulder my backpack and purse and meet them in the foyer by the front door.
I set the security alarm and hustle them out the door before it goes off. Though it may be Tuesday, it's at least nice outside. The September morning is cool but clear, not a cloud in sight. Hopefully it lasts like this all day, because I'm not putting groceries in the car during a hailstorm again. I learned my lesson the first time.
I punch the unlock button on my keys and the boys pile in the backseat of the SUV. Thankfully, my dad was nice enough to buy me a new SUV to haul the boys around in, because Mom's old van was not cutting it.
My dad's not around a lot, which is why I've been dealt with taking care of the boys, the house, and everything else my mom used to do. He supplies a paycheck, does the banking, and every once in a while, shows up to either Tony's football game or the twins' soccer game.
I know he wishes he could be around more, but he has work obligations. He's a staff sergeant in the army and is always needed at the base just an hour away from here. Luckily, he hasn't been deployed in a few years and won't be unless something catastrophic happens.
30 years in the service certainly has its advantages.
Though, that's never how my mom saw it, and that's why she left a little over a year ago. Granted, we all saw it coming if the yelling coming from their bedroom was any indication. Needless to say they didn't do a good job at hiding their crumbling marriage from us.
Dinners became a half hour of deafening silence with forks and knives hitting the ceramic plates as the ambience. Family outings were already limited to a couple of days a month when my dad was home, but as time went on, they became obsolete. My parents even stopped sleeping in the same bed.
Everyone knew a divorce was imminent, but one Tuesday morning my mom took matters into her hands and just left, vanished. A note was left saying she was fine, but she was done raising four kids by herself.
Later that day, Dad sat all four of us down and expanded upon the letter. He told us that it wasn't always like this, especially in the early years. My parents had married young. Well, my mom was young. 20 years old when she married my dad who was 30, and since he wasn't getting any younger, they decided to have kids right away. Tony was born on their first anniversary, and I was born almost a year later.
The twins made their unexpectedly arrival when I was seven, and that's when things started to go down hill. My dad had to pick up more hours to support the family, which left my mom home alone with two newborns and two kids under ten all by the time she was thirty.
She resented my dad. A lot.
So, she left. The adjustment period that followed was tough. My dad tried to pull double duty, but by the third load of ruined laundry, it was decided Tony and I would try to maintain the house the best we could. Tony's roles were limited because of his rigorous workout schedules. Eventually, we all realized he needed a scholarship more than we needed the yard mowed and in tip-top shape.
That left me with a full-time job in addition to school. Luckily, I have no athletic ability, so I didn't have to give up anything more than my social life. I learned to cook via the Internet and became a non-legitimate mom at sixteen.
"Sarah, can we stop and get doughnuts?" Nick pulls me out of my trance.
I turn in my seat to look at them. "I just fed you. How are you already hungry?"
They shrug and go back to playing on their Nintendos. I put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway. I drive the winding road out of our subdivision and onto the main road that is a straight, yet long shot to school. Well, to the elementary school at least.
The high school is only about ten minutes from our house, but someone thought it was a fabulous idea to put the elementary school another seven miles down the road. They obviously didn't take into consideration that some high school students have to drop off their kid siblings.
That last factor also causes me to miss first period everyday because I have to drop them off. Courtesy of an official letter from the Armed Forces, I am allowed to miss first period because of "family obligations". Also, the fact that my mom left four kids spread through the community like wildfire and the school system took pity on us.
"Can you put in that one CD with the epic drum solo?" Nick requests from the backseat. The boys love music even though they can't remember the names of their favorite songs.
"The Phil Collins CD?" I look at him in the rearview mirror while he thinks. His brow furrows and he presses his lips into a thin line, contemplating if that's what he wants. They may be nine, but they still have the characteristics of indecisive toddlers.
"I think so," he finally answers. I carefully grab the CD case from the passenger seat and pluck the CD from its slot. I pop it in the slot on the radio console and the beginning of "In The Air Tonight" blares from the speakers.
I may be a non-legitimate mom, but I still love, and can bear, the speakers turned up on full blast.
The "epic drum solo" comes and the boys pound imaginary drum sticks in the air and continue to hum along after their favorite part. I pull into the elementary drop-off zone as "This Must Be Love" starts. I turn back to them as they are grabbing their belongings. "Remember, soccer practice and grocery tonight. So try and get as much homework done as possible while you're waiting for me this afternoon."
That's another thing. Since I have to drive almost fifteen minutes from the high school to the elementary, the boys and a few other children with older siblings have to wait in the library. Yet another flaw that was regretfully overlooked.
They both nod and lean forward to kiss me on the cheek. They get out of the car and run off to their groups of friends. They may be twins, but they seem to distance themselves at school, which is a good thing according to all of the parenting books I've looked at.
Yes, I read parenting books because at this point in the game I am their only mother figure.
I pull out of the lot and book it back to the high school. I pull into a spot that's almost a mile from the entrance, which is a disadvantage I deal with everyday. I just consider it my gym class for the day. I hustle through the parked cars and make it inside the building just as the dismissal bell rings, reminding me of how tired I am and it's only 8 a.m.
Have I mentioned that I hate Tuesdays?