Get - In - The - Dang - Van . . . oh wait, there you are
Monday morning was brutal. The kids were on "let's drive mommy over the wall today" mode and they were doing a good job. I found myself yelling at them for every - dang - step involved in getting from the bathroom for one last face/hair check, to being successfully buckled up in the van. Put on your boot. It's right there. Put it on. And your jacket. Leave the dog alone. For the love of all that is holy, it is NOT time to disappear and play piano.
It took almost 20 minutes to put on outerwear. We got the school and I was still seething.
Then one of the kids innocently asks "Mommy, can we play?" This meaning "Can we play on the playground until the bell goes." To which I gently said "NO YOU CANNOT PLAY. IT TOOK YOU 20 MINUTES TO GET YOUR BOOTS ON YOU ARE NOT PLAYING. And I'm going to phone the school so if you even think about waiting for me to drive off before coming back outside to play, I'm gonna know about it." Scarily, I saw a light bulb go off in a few faces, so I'm thinking they don't ever actually do this, but now they probably will. Awesome.
Yesterday morning I told them that if they wanted to play at school they would have their lunchboxes in their backpacks, all their outerwear on (mitts and tuques included) and be out the door in ten minutes or less. I told them that it was an all-or-nothing deal. All four kids had to be ready or nobody would get to play. No, life is not always fair. I set a timer.
Six minutes. All four kids were completely ready to go and had exited the house in six minutes.
Part of me was overjoyed. Actually, all of me was overjoyed. A tiny part of me is annoyed that they purposely drove me crazy at departure time for the last thousand years when they are clearly able to put on their boots.
Today I set the timer again. Again, out the door and in the van in under ten minutes. Little buggers.
What? It's -40 with the windchill and you want to play? Sure! Get your stuff on. Ten minutes or less.
Folks, the Verwey family has found its morning salvation.
It took almost 20 minutes to put on outerwear. We got the school and I was still seething.
Then one of the kids innocently asks "Mommy, can we play?" This meaning "Can we play on the playground until the bell goes." To which I gently said "NO YOU CANNOT PLAY. IT TOOK YOU 20 MINUTES TO GET YOUR BOOTS ON YOU ARE NOT PLAYING. And I'm going to phone the school so if you even think about waiting for me to drive off before coming back outside to play, I'm gonna know about it." Scarily, I saw a light bulb go off in a few faces, so I'm thinking they don't ever actually do this, but now they probably will. Awesome.
Yesterday morning I told them that if they wanted to play at school they would have their lunchboxes in their backpacks, all their outerwear on (mitts and tuques included) and be out the door in ten minutes or less. I told them that it was an all-or-nothing deal. All four kids had to be ready or nobody would get to play. No, life is not always fair. I set a timer.
Six minutes. All four kids were completely ready to go and had exited the house in six minutes.
Part of me was overjoyed. Actually, all of me was overjoyed. A tiny part of me is annoyed that they purposely drove me crazy at departure time for the last thousand years when they are clearly able to put on their boots.
Today I set the timer again. Again, out the door and in the van in under ten minutes. Little buggers.
What? It's -40 with the windchill and you want to play? Sure! Get your stuff on. Ten minutes or less.
Folks, the Verwey family has found its morning salvation.
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