Well if you didn't know by now, I am a bit of a modern man. I parent (not babysit) the boys in partnership with the Marvellous one and as she works office hours & I work shifts, I am around for as much if not more of the mundane day to day routine than she is.
Which sadly almost always incorporates the one thing that the children who live in my house seemingly encounter for the very first time five days a week.... The Morning routine
Ok, so morning does come as a shock to most of us, I will concede to that! Unless you are getting up to go on holiday or do some day drinking, its almost always unwelcome & inconvenient. Its the time at which restful sleep seems to force us onto the mattress with the weight of an elephant. Once we get over that daily milestone though, well everything else is same old same old.
So why for the love of whichever God you subscribe to do my two dementors treat the morning routine and accompanying school run like its the first time they have been exposed to civilized culture?
"YES! Those are your socks and you put them on the same way you did yesterday, the day before & the one before that"
"NO! I wont dress you. Trust me, I to am sorry that you are so fecking lazy and you have seemingly forgotten a fine motor skill you relearn EVERYDAY!"
At that and before I am once again forced to watch him tackle his school trousers like a one armed chimp attempting a rubix cube, I moonwalk away from the five year old and gingerly approach the room or lair of dementor 2!
Dark, silent & deadly, much like a well prepared fart. I glide silently in, shoeless, as per his instructions ever since he got new carpet fitted, creeping ever closer to his window ready to open the curtains, draw the blinds & drop to the floor, special ops style, before Dracula boy can get his bearings & shoot morning breath fire in my direction.
From my low position of cover I let out a firm "Up time" & floor shuffle my way back to the safety of the landing and a five year old who is dandering around wearing a jumper with no shirt & trousers that would look much better if the zip wasn't lined up with his butt.
He crosses the threshold of his brothers room, which is my cue to put a staircase between me and them, for love and hate are about to collide.
What follows in the thirty minutes between now and forcibly ejecting them at the school gates is a well rehearsed routine. Rehearsed by and routine only to me, it seems.
"Yes, breakfast is indeed the first meal of everyday, sure we can call it supper today, as long as you eat something"
"Please go & brush your teeth!"
"I already did"
"No you didn't, now go and do them"
"I already did, ask Mummy"
"Ok, ill ring her now"
"No, don't be asking Mummy, but I did brush them"
"Turn off the TV, its time to go.. (repeat several times) before switching off the tv myself to the apparent bemusement of two utterly shocked at what just happened, children.
"Where are your shoes?".. (repeat several times)
Finally we are in the family truckster and headed in the direction of my oasis in the desert, school! A ten minute journey on country roads to track number 5, on repeat, of the Greatest Showman soundtrack. A demand of a five year old who knows every word.
School appears within a gold hue, a welcome sight for every parent and as I drive away having dropped them off the silence in the car and in my head is golden.
An entire 22.5 hours until we see socks for the first time again.
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