My commitment to my oldest’s first (full) year of education has waned considerably in the last several weeks. [Months.] Whereas I was relatively diligent at the beginning of the year about getting up at a respectable time so as to facilitate our timely departure and arrival at school, now I lie in bed until the last possible moment. And then wait another five minutes before extricating myself from my warm bed.
The professor was out of town in October or November. I accidentally overslept one morning and didn’t wake up until 7.40am. I panicked, running through the house like a madwoman, trying to get one boy fed and dressed and a lunch packed; exhorting all three to get in the car as quickly as possible. Certain a (late) pink slip would mean the death of my oldest’s academic future.
Fast forward seven or so months, and I find myself waking up around 7.15 (because that’s the time the Hen climbs into my bed – without fail – every morning.) And then I lie there like a zombie, trying desperately to catch just a few more minutes of sleep, until – finally – I force myself to crawl out of bed…...at 7.40am. Thoroughly un-panicked at the late hour. Thoroughly unfazed by the fact that I’ll be driving to school looking like I’d slept in my jeans and t-shirt.
(Which, come to think of it, would be a great idea. It could shave an extra two point five minutes from my twenty-minute-bare-bones-pre-school-routine.)
The Gort has become similarly disenchanted with the whole going-to-school business. Earlier in the year, he would choose his outfit the night before and place it on the floor by his bed. He would jump out of bed between 7 and 7.15 and hustle like a worker bee, asking every two minutes ‘are we late’ and ‘is it time to go to school?’
Now, when I try to shake him awake at 7.40, he mumbles ‘I don’t want to go to school’…with his eyes glued shut.
To further complicate matters, Calgary’s extended daylight hours has created a vicious cycle where the boys are awake until 9…9.30….10 o’clock at night and then can’t get out of bed in the morning because they’re too tired. Well, all the boys except the Hen who will get up at the same time each day. No. Matter. What.
He crawled in bed beside me this morning. I vacillated between a conscious and semi-conscious state for many minutes until finally, I willed myself to look at the alarm clock.
It was 8.00am.
‘It’s 8 o’clock’ I mumbled in the professor’s direction – with just a tinge of ‘we’re actually going to be late today’ concern in my voice. And then, I had a brilliant revelation. I’d gotten up with the Gort the previous day, had prepared his lunch, overseen his preparations and taken him to school. (On time!)
‘It’s your turn,’ I muttered. Triumphantly. And turned on my side for a few more minutes of sleep while the professor stumbled out of bed for lunch-packing, Cheerios-serving and chauffeuring.
The Gort wandered in my room a few minutes later. Dressed, but with eyes closed and hair sticking up in all directions. ‘My eyes just won’t stay open,’ he whimpered, as he huddled on the bed doing his seven year old best to find the resolve to walk downstairs.
Ten. More. Days.