It seems as we get older, bedtime isn’t really the problem any more.
Photo by Kaja Reichardt on Unsplash
It’s the mornings.
It’s as if the child and I are in different time zones:
Mine is: OMG the bus is around the corner and you are still in PJ’s?1
Hers is: OMG will the old man leave me alone already? I just have to finish this puzzle first. I have priorities. Also, the dog is real interesting now.
I was freaking out.
The bus is scheduled to be here at 8:26. Mr. Dave, our friendly bus driver has the route down pat and is always 10 minutes early. at least.
This morning’s timeline was:
8:00 - Breakfast is over, let’s get rocking
8:02 - I have her snack ready, shoes and bag and sweater at the door.
8:04 - The child is doing a puzzle. I am having kittens.
8:08 - I reminder her that the bus is coming so stop what you are doing and get dressed!8:10 - she talks back. I KNOW!! she screams as she gives me the evil eye and stomps up the stairs.
I have to tell you guys, I did not see that coming. How could my little angel daughter super-child talk back to her Dad? I was crushed.
And then I looked at the calendar: Oh, right. She is 7.342 years old. It’s time.
And just like that I knew I was a parent
It’s my job to push. It’s hers to push back.
PS> Somehow we made the school bus. Don’t ask me how. I need therapy.
It’s never been that bad, but close.