Page 9 of Breathe Again

“Are they ready to be frosted?”

We baked yesterday but the cookies were too warm to frost before bed.

“Yes, they are ready, and I already mixed up the frosting.”

“Do we have the right syrup for French toast? I only like the one that has twenty-two grams of sugar. The one with twenty-four grams of sugar hurts my tummy.”

“We do.”

I’d mistakenly bought the wrong brand and she refused to eat it, looking at the label and comparing the sugar contents to convince me the new syrup was sickening to her stomach.

She decided. “Okay, I’ll get up.”

“Great!” I pulled the covers down gently and held out my hand to her. “Come keep me company in the kitchen. I haven’t seen you since yesterday!”

She laughed and threw her legs over the side.

“Go pee first, then meet me in the kitchen.”

Still, at age twelve, if I didn’t remind her to go to the bathroom she might pee her pants. She just didn’t notice when she had to go until it was too late.

Olivia frosted the cookies while I made her breakfast, after which we approached the next hurdle, teeth brushing. That took half an hour of coaxing, and thirty seconds of brushing. It was nearing ten-thirty.

“You’ll have your shower when you get home, okay little bird?”

“I have my shower in the morning.”

“I know. But it’s cold out and there won’t be enough time for your hair to dry before it’s time to go.”

“I have my shower in the morning.”

“You do,” I agreed. “I know. Can we be flexible today? It’s freezing outside. It’s not good to go out with damp hair and there’s not enough time for it to dry between the time your shower will be over and the time Auntie Bex will be here.”

She thought for a moment. “Tell Auntie Bex to come later.”

I drew in a breath for patience, something that was getting harder and harder to come by lately. “That’s a good idea, but Auntie Bex has to be at the shelter at a certain time for her shift. We can’t make her late.”

Olivia was beginning to retreat inside herself. A change in routine was a serious thing. I thought fast.

“When do you take baths?”

“Bedtime.”

“So how about you have a bath tonight with one of Mommy’s bath bombs, and this way we don’t change your shower schedule?”

“I like bath bombs. But I have my shower in the morning.”

“I know. But if you’d like to use one of Mommy’s bath bombs, it will have to be tonight. Do you think Sirius will be curious about the bath water?”

She looked intrigued. “Sirius has never seen a bath bomb. She likes to dip her paw in my bath water. Okay.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. It was closing in on eleven. We still needed to negotiate an outfit, find socks without seams that met her matching requirements, pack a smaller bag of happiness for her to take with her, get to the bathroom one last time, wash her hands afterwards, and eat lunch.

An hour and a half later, when Bex got to the door, Olivia was ready, cookies packed up and in hand for the staff at the shelter.

“Hey, chickie!” She looked at me closely, then laughed. “Rough morning?”

I rolled my eyes and put a hand to my hair that was so poufy it required its own orbit. At least I showered.

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