”Wake up!” I call as Sandi and I walk into the boys’ room. With lightning reflexes, they pull their covers over their heads. We expect this and begin to tickle. The boys giggle and we pull the blankets off their beds. The morning mayhem begins.
“Get dressed,” I order and return to finish preparing their breakfast. James sits on the side of his bed and pulls on one sock. Ian decides that the clothes he chose last night aren’t good enough and drops them on the floor.
Ten minutes later, I serve James’ omelet and toast. Ian’s toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwich is ready, too. Rain begins to fall. I walk back into their bedroom for the breakfast call. James hasn’t moved and is still holding his other sock, staring into space.
“James,” I bark. James jumps back to the present. I stand over him while he pulls on his other sock. “Get your jeans and come on,” I command. “Breakfast is ready.”
Morning TV is both a carrot and a stick. When they get too absorbed in it to eat or get dressed, I turn it off. This makes me unpopular, but I face it with equanimity.
After breakfast, Ian explodes. He wears pants ending just below his knee, a drop-shoulder shirt and a plaid vest, like a hobbit. He knows he can’t go to school barefoot, but wants to wear sandals. He disputes the empirical evidence and adamantly insists that it isn’t raining. I pull him out onto the front deck and let him stand in the rain. Conceding defeat, he agrees to wear sneakers.
Grateful for the peace, I get into my car, knowing that different iterations of this will occur almost every morning. It’s only nine months until school is out. My eye begins to twitch.
Bill Bartlett and his wife, Sandi, live in Belton with their two boys.