Page 1 of Librarian for the Jock

Chapter One

PAIGE

As the rooster crowed in the distance (well, not really, but I like to imagine it for dramatic effect), I began my finely-tuned process of getting my two charming offspring ready for school. The single mom's version of a daily triathlon, if you will.

First up, gently nudging my 14-year-old son, Brandon, out of his teenage abyss of slumber. I was met with a grunt that sounded like the mating call of some exotic jungle creature. I took that as a sign of cooperation. Note to self: invest in earplugs for future encounters. I then moved on to my daughter's room.

Now, convincing my beautiful 11-year-old daughter, Jenny, with words, to get out of bed was met with a resistance that rivaled a superhero trying to lift Thor's hammer, but a bit of tickling and voilà, we had ourselves a semi-awake pre-teen, emerging from her den of stuffed animals.

Now that my two darlings were stirring I went to get myself ready.

The daily ritual of choosing my librarian outfit has always been like solving a puzzle, trying to find the perfect blend of professionalism and bookish charm. The choices in front of me are endless, yet my closet manages to look like it's hosting a book sale of mismatched genres: blazers, cardigans, skirts, blouses, dresses, sweaters, and scarves hang side by side, chatting like characters from different novels, each piece a potential plot twist. Do I go for the "intellectual chic" vibe with a tweed blazer today, or do I embrace the "cozy book nook" aesthetic with a chunky sweater?

Today, I’ve decided to go for the most comfortable outfit; I chose my red, pink, and white heart tights with a cream-colored oversized sweater. Despite the heat outside, my library is always set at winter temperatures. I do my best not to complain about the cold, especially when I know that everyone else is sweating buckets outside in the hot summer sun.

I retrieved the black rubberband from my wrist and tied my hair up in a ponytail at the back of my head. Holding my hair in my left hand, I twisted the hair with my right hand, watching it coil upon itself. The twists are automatic, a practiced motion that my fingers perform effortlessly. As the twisted hair gains substance, I guide it in a circular motion against the back of my head. The bun takes shape, snug, but not too tight. I press a couple of hairpins between my lips, momentarily tasting the metallic tang. With practiced precision, I secure the bun in place, feeling the satisfaction of a task completed to perfection.

I pause to assess my reflection in the bathroom mirror. A few rebellious strands have escaped the bun, delicately framing my face. I deliberate for a moment, then decide to let them be. They add a touch of character, a hint of rebellious spirit amidst the order. The bun is more a mark of readiness, a symbol of my role. I quickly put on some mascara and lip gloss, simplicity for the win.

Now which scarf? Scarves are my signature style and each one shows my passion for literature. Some days, I showcase Shakespearean quotes, other days, tiny book prints that only eagle-eyed patrons will spot. It's like a treasure hunt for the observant! I am feeling lovable today so I grab the love quotes scarf. Then the pièce de résistance, a necklace with a miniature book pendant that's so tiny even a librarian couldn't read it. My mother gave it to me when I graduated with my Librarian and Information Science degree, so it also has sentimental value.

After a brief debate between my literary goddess red heels, which will almost certainly result in aching feet by the end of the day, and a pair of sensible shoes, the brown loafers that promise hours of book-shelving comfort, win it. I stand in front of the mirror and look over my librarian ensemble, carefully curated with humor, bookishness, and a touch of questionable fashion sense. I look and feel like me; fabulous .

I head down to the kitchen, calling out, “Are you guys dressed? I’d better see you in the kitchen soon!”

“We beat you to the kitchen this morning, Mommy!” my sweet princess yells.

This is music to my ears. Less morning bickering is my kind of morning. Breakfast in our house is "fend for yourself” on our busy weekdays. Brandon is shoveling cereal into his mouth as Jenny carefully butters her toast. I hand each of them a banana to make their breakfast a little more well rounded. Weekend mornings leave more time for big, elaborate breakfasts.

As I blend up my acai, strawberry, blueberry, banana, and almond milk smoothie, I admire my children’s personal style, which is ever-changing. Today Brandon has chosen a hoodie that could double as a parachute and army camo pants to hide snacks and fidget toys from his teachers. Under the hoodie, I imagine a t-shirt with his favorite football team on it. He loves football but I refuse to let him play out of worry that he’ll get injured.

Jenny’s wardrobe choices have recently oscillated between "unicorn princess" and "colorful explosion." Today she’s chosen a blue unicorn t-shirt, pink glitter pants that match the pink unicorn on her shirt, and blue socks to go with her rainbow glitter shoes. She’s tied up her hair in two braids and added some clip-on rainbow glitter tinsel. Her whole outfit is so happy and cheerful that I can’t help but smile.

All is going smoothly with our morning until Brandon mumbles, “My field trip form is due today. Did you sign it yet?”

Aw, man! He gave that to me over a week ago. Where did it go? “Um…I think so? It should be on the counter somewhere.”

Brandon rolls his eyes at me. I guess it was too much to ask that a school morning not involve some variation of a frantic hunt for misplaced homework, mysteriously vanishing shoes, or the sudden realization that the permission slip for the field trip due yesterday was still sitting on the kitchen counter, somewhere. A mad scramble through the mountain of papers on the kitchen counter finally, and triumphantly, unearthed the elusive form. Crisis averted! I quickly sign the form and hand it to my boy, then add the field trip to my online calendar. He mumbles, “Thanks.”

With backpacks slung over shoulders, full tummies, and an overall positive feeling in the air, we all head out the door.