Morning Routine

What is it with boys? Or is it just my boys? Can they not go from Point A to Point B without injuring others, injuring themselves, or damaging property?? Katie can easily go from Point A to Point B, or even all the way to Points L & M via Point V, and not have a scratch on her, and her clothes are perfectly clean. Mind you, that's not all the time, but it does happen.

In the mornings before school, we have some semblence of a routine. It includes negotiations on breakfast, lunch, clothes, tv settings, and generally who put what where. The clothes negotiations are often the most heated, and sometimes end with tears and gnashing of teeth. I can't fathom any better justification for a uniform policy if not to keep mothers from eating their young.

Interestingly, a top or pants that Jack loved yesterday - literally yesterday - may be so repulsive to him today that an outsider listening in on our conversation might think I'm asking Jack to cut off his right arm with a dull butter knife. Katie, on the other hand, while often just as upset with my preposterous suggestions, is much more adept at just sending death rays with her eyes. If looks could kill, I surely would have died a thousand deaths by now. She has regularly accused me of wanting her to wear something because I wanted her to look stupid. I've also been accused of laughing at her, which is, of course, patently true. Truly, the girl belongs on Broadway.

You will recall we live on the T.H.I.R.D. floor, which means I have to walk up or down T.H.R.E.E. flights of stairs when I forget my sunglasses, my cell phone, my diet Dr. Pepper...

Every day - and I mean EVERY day - Cole beats me down the three flights. I know, I know - HUGE surprise. Huge.

Annnnnnyway. So Cole beats me downstairs in the mornings, and is usually trying to conceal himself behind any number of shrubs. It just never gets old, him trying to scare me, or actually thinking he is going to scare me! Without fail, every time he seems to get such joy out of this scaring game, this jumping-out-from-behind-the-bushes, and appears genuinely pleased with whatever trifle response I offer whether it's genuine or feigned surprise, disgust, irritation, or even outright anger. He just loves the thrill of the game. I've imagined so many times how he must perch himself there (wherever THERE is) and probably strain under the anticipation of the reaction of whatever poor dupe he takes unawares. I can only dream of such low standards for satisfaction.

Earlier this week, between the time when I walked out of the front door and when I put my foot down on the last step of the last flight, Cole and Jack had some squabble and both boys had the marks to prove it. Cole, of course, had more mud on his clothes than not. It took no less than, conservatively I'll say, four-and-a-half-minutes, to convince Cole to NOT change clothes outside. I should add here that it is about 35 degrees Fahrenheit at this time. All this time, Katie is standing by staring morosely. The bus pulls up, and I have to all but throw rocks at her to get her to wake up and run to the bus when it pulls up to the curb.

Making sure Katie and Jack get on the bus as I drag Cole up the three jillion steps to the apartment to change his clothes, I wonder why I even bother. I mean, there's a very good chance Cole will not make it to school with clean clothes, let alone make it to the end of the day with them clean and intact (no holes).

Cole gets a clean shirt, makes it to preschool, and of course comes home with numerous stains of unknown origin.

Next day: same routine: Cole beats me downstairs. Then the hiding, jumping out, scaring, laughing. The variation today is that not only has more mud/dirt managed to find its way onto his jeans, but he's torn holes in both knees. Both knees! Upstairs, another clean air of pants, another talk about not hiding, jumping, scaring, excavating, etc.

If I can everyone to school dressed in relatively clean clothes and them not feeling like Mom tried to dress them simply to be the butt of the biggest joke of the century, then I feel I should get some smaller, daily version of the Nobel peace prize. If that's not available - if no one is handing out such an award - then I'll settle for a cookie.

A post script: I have tried everything UNDER THE SUN to get the font to be the same, to change it all to match. I have no idea what happened...sorry for the distraction!!