school morning woes

For the love of all that is holy, these kids have got to stop sucking at getting out the door in the morning.

Honestly. This is going to drive Mommy to drink. Actually, probably the only thing that is preventing that is knowing that at 11 (or so) I have to leave here again to go and run around this ridonkulous town and pick half of them back up, and if I suddenly was without license I'd have to switch the kids to the school down the street from me where I'm sure half those kids don't go every day and the ones that do are likely late for sch....

Huh, kinda sounds like a plan.

Anyway. It is such a fricking gong show around here in the mornings, and we've just added another layer of fresh heck to this mess by entering Winter Outer Wear Season.

Deep breathing, deep breathing, deep breathing.

My half of this morning's conversation(s) in the last 20 minutes before finally turning the key in the deadbolt:

"Get your stuff on."

"Get your stuff on."

"Mitchell, you need socks."

"Borrow some from Tennyson."

"Elliot. Stop singing and get your boots on. Not rubber, boots . . . never mind. Wear them."

"You're itchy from what? Stop whining and get your stuff on."

Standing on doorstep for a moment; "Mitchell! GET. IN. THE. VAN."

"Yes Tennyson, if an  insulated ceiling tile fell on you in the basement you probably are itchy."

"Jordan. Put on your ski pants. Every. Single. Day. No you cannot carry them."

"Elliot - tuque."

"Fine! Go to your room and change your shirt and sweater. Then you'll stop being itchy. You probably don't need to take off your ski.... rrrrrrrrrrrrr." (giant pulsing forehead vein at this point.)

Back to door step. "Mitchell. I'm going to be out here in two minutes. If you're not in the van and buckled I am going to spank you. Stop throwing that . . . ONE. TWO...."

"They are SKI PANTS. They are big and puffy. Put. Them. On. You are not wearing them on the run way so it doesn't matter if they are big puffy snow pants. They do not make you look fat." (going to have to sit down and talk about this later)

"Come on Tennyson!"

"Put on your ski pants!"

"Elliot! Tuque!"

"If you come out of the school later not wearing your ski pants, or if I drive by at recess and see that you're not wearing them there is going to be trouble."

"Alright Tennyson, everyone else is outside. Hurry up."

"No more talking until you're in the van and buckled."

"Tennyson stop talking."

"Tennyson stop talking."

"For the love of all that is holy, please hurry up."

"What are you doing back in here?"

"He's being mean to you? You're eight. He's five. Can't you ignore anything? Ever?"

"Tennyson. Jacket."

And on, and on, and on, and on. I'm not even kidding.

Between ceiling tiles and downed phone lines and having to threaten and count at a kid to put on her ski pants because she looks fat in them for ten minutes before she'll actually stop pouting and put them on, it took 25 minutes from the "It's time to go!" call until I finally locked the door, and then I go outside and one of the kids (instead of getting in the van) is using her jacket sleeves to clean ice off the van door. Because THAT is completely necessary.

There is no amount of prepping ahead of time that can make this train move quicker. I have their lunches made by 7:30, breakfast is eaten before 8 (we won't talk about Jordan here. Worst morning person EVER), their stuff is all in obvious places by the door so it's not like we are hunting for it.

There is only one logical conclusion.

As much as I love them, I have to admit it.

Kids. Are. USELESS.

Not just a little.

I am looking forward to 16 days of non-school mornings.

My neighbors must love me too. Because I really do have to yell out the front door for the kids to get in the van numerous times. In the spring I have to yell at them a few times to get out of the garden. You'd think they'd catch on. But no.

There are times that I'll finally get pissed off enough to take the last offending kid or two's stuff (shoes, backpack, jacket) and throw it out the front door and shove the kids out after it so that I can lock the door and start the van and buckle up whoever is in there instead of having to stand in the door way and wait while the kid sits and looks at his/her feet in wonderment for three minutes before finally putting on one shoe . . . . and eventually . . . . the other.

Although I can't really do the "shoes out the door" thing in the winter. Dang it.

Only 7000 days until summer holidays. Hallelujah.


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