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Rise and shine or stay down and hide

A letter from my five-year-old son on the issue of school mornings.

Dear mom and dad,

Ugh.

Why do you have to wake me up for school EVERY MORNING? Am I not the only one thinking this routine is getting old? You HAVE to be getting as annoyed as me. It’s a battle of wills that nobody is winning so let’s just call the whole thing off.

No? Impressive. Then let’s compromise. I’ll let you get me up at whatever ungodly hour you insist upon and you dress me and take me to school Weekend at Bernies-style. I will open my eyes when there’s a breadstick in my mouth. Yes, I know that’s not usually until lunch. And I only know about this dumb movie because dad won’t stop talking about it as a “classic.”

First of all, I think it’s adorable you have the expectation I’m going to get up the first time you come into my room. When do I ever do ANYTHING the first time you ask? Just because dad can get up the instant his radio goes off like some kind of psychopath doesn’t mean that normal humans can. By mom coming into my room every five minutes, it’s like having a human alarm clock that progressively gets louder and angrier every time it goes off. Who needs an iWatch when you have an AngryMom?

Secondly, I don’t understand the mixed messages. First you want me to “GO TO BED!” and now you want me to GET UP? Make up your minds!

At this point it should go without saying that I haven’t moved or acknowledged your presence in any meaningful way. You may as well have been talking to a potato. The difference is at least a potato can me made into something useful within 30 minutes.

After two more human snooze alarm trips later, I begin to gain sentience. Bacteria have formed into Leonardo DiCaprio faster. Fifteen minutes later you’ll be relieved to notice I’m no longer in bed. Progress!

Except I’m under the bed now. And I’m naked.

I don’t know why you’d expect me to be dressed by now. It’s only been 40 minutes and you haven’t even brought out the threats yet. People do things without threats?

I can hear mom coming back, so that means it’s time for the Threat Wheel. What will it be today? Take away juice privileges?! Just cut off my head why don’t you? FINE!

Now I begin to get out from under the bed, which I know is your favorite part because squirming out butt-first makes it look like the bed is giving birth to a fleshy Mickey Mouse. Now I can finally get dressed and come downstairs. That’s over.

Haha, no it’s not. My arms don’t work. They just don’t. I mean, look at them. Are those even arms? You don’t even know what arms are. I’m too weak. Can you dress me? I’m going to keep asking you this while making naked snow angels on my floor.

I WANT CAAAAAAKE!

It’s too hard. I don’t know how to pick out clothes. What are clothes even? This is too hard. Where are you going? Stay wiiiiiittttth meeeeee! I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to be audience to my performance of Dressing Boy Presents: I Can’t Do It!

20 minutes later…

OK, I’m downstairs now. What is so important that this couldn’t have waited until graduation? Yes, you’re astutely observing me wearing four t-shirts with a tank top over the top of all of them. You SAID get dressed. I did. Your mistake was you lacked specificity. Jenga! I’m also wearing mittens from two years ago.

It’s Christmastime so that means ADVENT CALENDAR!! Time to be distracted by a Christmas pencil for 15 minutes instead of eating.

As I stand here hanging on the pantry door like I like to do even though you tell me not to every single morning, I have to ask the question: where is all the food? Sure, it’s full of food — food purchased FOR me THAT I LIKE — but that doesn’t really answer the question, does it? This is similar to when mom looks in her closet full of clothes and complains she has nothing to wear. Dad, why don’t you love us?

I don’t want any of the things you say every morning I can have. Those are terrible things. I’ll have a sucker, you know, the thing I say I’ll have every morning that you won’t let me have? No? Well, you miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take. I’ll just pour myself a gallon of cereal, spill it everywhere, open a Pop Tart, demand juice, eat one bite of the Pop Tart and leave everything on the counter because apparently it’s “time to go!” That can’t be right. I just got down here!

By “put your shoes on” do you mean “DON’T put your shoes on?” I hate shoes that aren’t boots with spurs on them. Can I have a horse?

I can’t put on my shoes because I have these mittens on. You’re going to have to do it. I love these mittens. They are now my permanent hands. I’m going to call them my fands (fuzzy hands). They’re so fuzzy. Here feel them on your face!

Why would I get in the car when there’s a WHOLE WORLD OUT THERE? I’m going to go exploring while you get your lunch.

Dad? Why are you crying? Cheer up! We almost made it out on time. And guess what? We get to do this all tomorrow!

——

Kelly Van De Walle can be reached at vandkel@hotmail.com

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