School’s back in session. Hooray!

I love school. LOVE it. I’m a huge nerd, I know.

Recently, I’ve discovered I love school as a student – not so much as a parent. That shocked me to the core.

Let’s look at it from both perspectives:

Student me: pop out of bed, get some sugary breakfast (Pop Tarts usually), watch a cartoon (Tom and Jerry), get dressed (jeans and T-shirt, no makeup, sexy I know), yell at my little brother to get it in gear so we wouldn’t be late (5 minutes early–on time), hop in the car for the 5 minute jaunt to school. After school, depending on whether I had band practice or not, arrive home, grab a snack (another Pop Tart), watch TV (probably some other cartoon), eat dinner, do homework (promptly at 7 p.m. every night), and crash. Hell I’d even make up homework if the teacher didn’t.

Parent me: Hit the snooze button a couple times, argue with myself on the merits of getting up versus hitting the snooze button a third time, finally drag myself out of bed, and take my medicine (because I’m getting old).

Here’s where the fun begins – waking up the kids. I’ve been blessed by two boys who have inherited their father’s wonderful morning disposition. It’s rare they do not wake up smiling. My clone’s morning mood clashes with my morning mood. You see, my usually sunny disposition remains in the warm spot I leave when I vacate my bed. She’s still there, peacefully slumbering. She rejoins me after I’ve eaten a proper breakfast after I arrive at work. (The nourishment cues her in.)

The boys are up. Here comes the tricky part, the part I dread. How am I going to approach it today. Let’s see, yesterday, I stroked her leg, that didn’t work. I tickled her toes, no such luck. I call her name in my gentlest, sweetest voice. She stirs, then WHINE!!!

 From this point, my darling Diva whines, kicks, moans, gripes, and sulks. It’s too cold in the house. Breakfast is not to her majesty’s liking today. Her toothpaste looks weird on her toothbrush. Her hair is too curly. Her hair is too flat. Her clothes are itchy. She can’t find her shoes. She can’t get her shoes on. Her brother has something that she desperately needs to touch. It’s one thing after another. Maybe I should write a note to her teacher about the awesomeness of Pajama Day. We might need to plan a couple of those this year.

One thing hasn’t changed though. I’m still yelling at someone to get in the car so we won’t be late.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you all about the daily trip to school and dropping off.

Thanks for reading! Sally