This is what happens too often at my house on garbage day:

 After dragging myself out of bed, I go downstairs, and fumble around in the frig for juice and breakfast fixings.  I'm in the middle of drinking my glass of grapefruit juice, still in my pj's, when suddenly, I hear it.  The garbage truck.  Coming down my street.  My heart jumps; I am in a moment of panic.  Did hubby happen to remember to take the can out last night even though I didn't remind him?  I look out the window in the laundry room.  ACK!  It's not out there!  Company's coming tomorrow, and that can is FULL! 

Good grief; I am NOT running out there in my pajamas.  I sprint at top speed up to my room, pull out any pants & shirt combo I can grab, throw them on, and dash back down the stairs.  If any child happens to be in my way, I squeeze by, yelling, "Garbage truck!!"  They know the drill.  Out the door, through the gate, grab the can, pull desperately toward the street.  One child or another may by now have wandered out into the garage or is hovering near the door.  "Did they come yet?" 

To which I reply, "Grab the recycling!"   The neighbors can laugh if they want; we don't care.  We know the consequences of missing trash day.  (Ever read the Henry Huggins story about how Henry deals with an extra week's worth of trash?) 

Most of the time, we make it in time.  Thank goodness, we live on a dead end street; what goes up must come down, so the truck must pass my house twice.  They usually take pity on us and stop if they see us dashing out there on their way back up. 

The next part of today's story is how I missed my shower searching for a certain color of baseball socks for a certain person to wear to their scrimmage game at baseball camp this morning, and how then we arrived at camp without our baseball GLOVE, an essential piece of equipment when one is going to baseball camp.  And how I rushed home to look for said glove and drove back out to the field with hubby's glove instead... 

I am just hoping that my day gets better after lunch.