See, the typical, 95%-of-the-time morning routine is this: I hit the downstairs by 7:15 a.m. and make breakfast. (Often, the kids are already snuggled up on the couch. If not I haul them out of bed, literally). Next, if I haven't done myself a solid and made lunches the night before, I slap those together while they eat their cereal/pancakes/yogurt goo.
On late mornings, I'm sit down with my gourmet breakfast of non-fat Chobani and coffee at 7:45 a.m. This is when the Goon Squad is supposed to shuffle off to their bedrooms to get dressed, then brush their teeth, and return to the downstairs for shoes, hair brushing, and shoving their schoolwork and lunches into backpacks. We're out the door by 8:15 a.m. so the Boy can catch the school bus, and then the Girl and I zip off to Pre-K.
As I type this, there was a large thump from the upstairs hallway, and it sounds like the Boy has shut and locked his door. That usually means the Girl is pestering him while he's slipping into his clothes.
It may turn into one of those Volume-Gets-Things-Done mornings.I don't like to yell. Can you imagine me yelling? I avoid conflict like it's a needy drunken sorority girl with a mean streak.
My kids make me feel like Bixby-Hulk sometimes. "Don't make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."
It's only 7:55 a.m., so I still have my hopes up that they'll arrive momentarily and just need a little help with the shoe-tying and the pig-tailing.