This morning I was doing my usual “get the kid out the door” routine. The same routine that I’ve been doing every school morning for the past 18 years.
Now that I’m down to one child in the high school, I can take a little breather and marvel at the absurdity of this morning chaotic blur.
As I was having my coffee and recovering from the 23 minutes of madness that I just experienced, I was able to reflect.
I was amused thinking how different the 1st day of school is compared to the 51st day of school.
The first day of school;
We collectively rise at the appropriate time (with minutes to spare).
We eat a tasty and healthy breakfast.
We prepare a brown bag lunch for child. We ponder on what fruit and what healthy, low fat treat to choose from the well supplied pantry to go along with the fresh turkey breast sandwich on whole wheat.
We compliment child for astute sense of style as he models his choice of daywear. (He chose his ensemble from his newly purchased stack of jeans. His plethora of crisp, clever, and expensive Tee’s. His brand new socks, underwear and cologne.)
We comment on the burden of him having to carry such a heavy backpack. (Said backpack is swollen with a hundred bucks worth of shiny new school supplies that we dutifully bought per the school’s request.)
We cheerfully get in the car, chatting about some current topic or event that peaked our interest on morning TV.
We get to school on time with child carrying packet containing 18 meticulously completed school forms.
The 51st day of school;
We collectively wake up 19 minutes late.
We offer child a slice of cold pizza for breakfast. He declines.
We search laundry room for clean underwear, socks and Tee. We assure child that Tee is not too wrinkled to wear. We successfully convince child (who grew 3 inches from 1st day of school) that his jeans are not too short and its OK that we can’t remember the last time they were washed.
We tear through house looking for Athletic Office form that is required TODAY for child to play in this weeks big game.
We have mini meltdown over the inability to find said form.
We silently drive to school like lunatics to make a feeble attempt to beat the bus traffic.
We don’t beat the bus traffic, so child is late.
We hand the kid the last twenty in purse (nothing smaller) for lunch purchase, over his objections that lunch lady hates twenties.
We find a working pen on the car floor and give it to child after he returns to car with attitude stating he NEEDS a pen.
We return home, take a breath, and pour a cup of coffee.
Then we do it all again tomorrow.