For a few blissful months, our morning routine seemed to have finally resolved itself into a stress-free ballet of preparation. Each of us took care of our own responsibilities, and we met at the breakfast table at 7:45 for breakfast.
Those days have rather inexplicably vanished. I don’t know why, but for the past several weeks, every morning has had me herding the boys like reluctant cats.
I hate it, and this morning, I finally decided to make a change.
“You,” I pointed at my oldest son. The time was 7:30, and he was lounging on the couch in his pajamas, reading a comic book. “Are you ready to go?”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m done. You want to get to school on time? It’s on you. You’re in charge.”
“Nope.” I sat down at the kitchen table and turned on my Nexus. “You know what needs to happen.”
He spun on his heel and started shouting at his brother. “Feed the fish! Get dressed! Comb your hair!” Then he ran off to his room.
Wondering why I hadn’t thought of this earlier, I pulled on my shoes and poured myself a glass of water.
“Breakfast!” my son shouted as he emerged from his room. “Eggs! We need eggs!”
“Or cereal,” I said. “It’s 7:42” Preparing breakfast is one of my duties, along with making their lunches.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “We have tests today, and that means eggs.”
I couldn’t argue with that, especially since I’d put him in charge. I jumped to my feet and scrambled together a batch of cheesy camp eggs with grilled english muffins. It took about three and a half minutes.
We wolfed down our breakfast, they took the dogs out back, and then he resumed barking orders. Unfortunately, his little brother had moved into his slow mode. “But I have to do this first,” he said. “and what about this?”
“Do it in the car!” our commander shouted. “Go, go, go!”
“I still have to comb my hair.”
“Aaah! Get out!”
Heh, heh, heh.