Sunday Special: Beep Beeeeeep!

My dad was lucky. I mean really lucky. He was surrounded by women. What a blessing.

Remember the Mustang story.

Growing up, it was my mom, my sister and me. And my dad. So, that meant in the morning, it was a teenager and a little girl who thought she was a teenager, and my mom, all getting ready at the same time. Oh yes. And with one shower.

My dad had already been up for hours by the time we finally got out of bed. Leaving early for him meant before 7 a.m. The day is already gone! Classic.

He gets up somewhere around 5. We would know this because faintly in the background of our dreams we'd hear pots and pans banging and cabinet doors clanging and coffee brewing and had learned to sleep through it. He wasn't a quiet early riser. He still isn't. These days, even though his two little girls have moved out, he still gets up around 5 (sometimes earlier) and still bangs the pots and pans around. And he keeps his hair really short so he often heads out to get a haircut at Bill's after he takes his 30 second shower. This is all before 6 a.m. And by the time he drives up to Bill's he has to fight the old guys hobbling up with their canes trying to get their early morning haircuts (where they have to go before 6 a.m. is still a mystery). I almost said "other" old guys.. but my dad's not an old guy. Not yet. But he is starting to do "old guy" things. Like get a haircut at 4:30 in the morning.

Oh so back to the house full of girls. Because he was always the first one up, he had the lucky task of waking the rest us up. We didn't need to set the alarm clock. He was it. More reliable than an alarm clock, even. He'd go in to each room, one by one and try to wake each one of us up. Hey Chris. Chris. Chris! Let's go. Time to get up. That would be the first try. He'd leave and try again a little later. It was like pressing the snooze.

And this would happen about 20 times until we would really get mad.

5 more minutes! God, Dad! I heard you! I'm getting up! God!

Then we'd each get up, one by one, and take our 1/2 hour shower (Remember. Only one shower for three girls. One.) Followed by a half-hour of putting on makeup and trying on a million outfits and coming out of our bedrooms for the daily morning fashion show. How does this look? or I hate this! I don't have anything to wear! Is this alright? Ugh!!! followed by some stomping and complaining about a butt looking large or a pimple on a face. Probably some name calling in between girls who are fighting over a hair dryer and a curling iron.

Then there was the doing of the hair. My hair won't work! I look like crap!! The bangs and the hairspray and the sides of the hair that came out from each side of the head all hairsprayed and teased to look like wings. (It was the 80s.) And it took a lot of work to get it that way. It also didn't matter if we were going to the beach. We were still hairspraying and makeuping.

So there was my dad, usually waiting in the living room, half-standing half-sitting usually on the couch arm, waiting, looking at his watch. Come on! You look fine! We're going to the beach! It's going to get wet anyway!

But it didn't matter. My poor dad. He'd say it over and over again. In one ear and out the other.

Then, he'd get frustrated and harumph out to the car to wait. And wait. And wait. It probably made him feel better to not have to watch us trapse back and forth from our bedroom to the bathroom. He also probably thought this would make us move faster, but really, it just bought us more time because we weren't hearing "Hurry up!" every five minutes.

We'd hear from the car, Beep beep!

15 minutes goes by. Still no one.

Beep beep!


Beep beep!

We start to feel the pressure and trickle out one by one. Somewhere between a half hour and an hour after my dad got in the car, we're on the road.

It wasn't until recently that I realized I married my dad. Ok that sounds weird. Not my actual dad. But someone a lot like him.

I'm running around the house trying to get ready and by get ready I mean slapping some makeup on and throwing my hair up in a ponytail because I'm lucky enough to just get a shower let alone dry my hair these days because I'm getting two other little people and their backpacks full of stuff together.

So the boys are ready and so is my husband and I'm paying the slightest bit of attention to myself, actually and I wonder why it's so quiet.

And then I hear my answer coming from the driveway.


Ohh come on.


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My Sunday Specials here are trips down memory lane. Sit down, have a cup of tea, and kick back while I share way too much about myself.


  1. great story!!! I used to love curling my hair and teasing out the sides... don't forget that the bangs had to be has high as you could get them!!!lol...

  2. My dad was the opposite. My mom would be able to get herself and two kids ready and we would still be waiting on Dad. And, I married a dad replica too:-)

  3. Cute post!

    I've always hated getting ready for church - it is so stressful for us! Both husband and I tend to wait for the last minute on everything . . .

  4. Hahahaha, that was fun and funny to read. Your poor dad.


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