My five-year old, Blonde, is now in kindergarten. So, now we have mornings now that go like this:
Me: Blonde, I need you to eat, dress, brush, and get your backpack on. Maybe all in that order. And within the next seven minutes. I realize this is totally unrealistic but alarm clocks are hard.
Blonde: I cannot respond to this. It’s like BIG early.
Me: Blonde, clothes, oatmeal, toothbrush – HERE. Don’t be overwhelmed little one. Just try to remember to put your underpants on first.
Blonde: Why? Why da underpants first?
Me: BLONDE, WOULD YOU PLEASE GET GOING. NOW. WE NEED TO GET A MOVE ON. LET’S GO. IT’S TIME TO GO. LIKE OUT THE DOOR. WE NEED TO GO. LIKE, RIGHT NOW. LEAVING. LEAVING NOW.
Blonde: I call your bluff, lady. And Red is still sitting on the floor in the kitchen with his oatmeal. Evidently he doesn’t think he can eat it. Or that tables are a thing.
Henry: (faintly, from the kitchen): It’s too buttery.
Blonde: He’s crazy.
Me: He is crazy. How can anything be too buttery? Blonde, your hair. Smush it down. And your pants are on backwards.
Blonde: I am expressing my individual creativity. I gotta be me.
The cat just sauntered past. He has not eaten, brushed, and he has no underpants on either. This is chaos.
Me: Ok troops. This is Momsie. We are now in level ORANGE. I repeat, Level ORANGE. IF WE DON’T GET TO SCHOOL ON TIME THE TEACHER WILL BE MAD. I CANNOT HANDLE THAT; I AM A TEACHER. WE JUDGE EACH OTHER. WE TELL YOU WE DON’T BUT WE DO.
REPORT TO THE DOOR, STAT! AND I WILL SMUSH THE HAIR, BLONDE. YOU ARE NOT HARRY STYLES. NOT YET.
The troops headed out, on time. I was pretty sure Jesus just decided to take pity on me and stopped time for a bit. He can do that, you know. Once we got to the school, Blonde set his helmet on his handlebars, and started to tip over a bit on his bike.
“Mom! Catch me if I fell!”
I did. And I will. At least for a little longer.
But if you’re late, you’re gonna have to deal with your teacher yourself. Unless it’s my fault. Then we’ll just tell her I just got out of the hospital, brain surgery, something like that. I am pretty sure she would buy it.
Red, as we are heading back on our bikes, glances back at the big school. “Yep. He’s in der!” He heads for a hill.
“Here we goooooooooooooo!”
Yep. Here we go.
“Brain surgery.” Love it, Dana!
brain surgery is totally believable.
Truly…how CAN anything be too buttery?! Hilarious. Thanks for the LOL laugh.