So for all of us moms, it’s been the back to school jazz lately, and that seems to fall into one of two categories.  Category one –  moms and their kids who had lovely summer vacations, and now the little tykes are kind of bored and missing their friends, and ready to go back to school.  The moms really enjoyed their great summers, but are looking forward to having a little “me” time and getting back to the gym every day – plus, why not get started on some Halloween crafting and baking ideas?  Then there’s category two – the mom that tells her child that the it’s back to school time in a few days to which there is immediate crying, fussing, why-oh-why’s, anxiety, stress and all the other.  And that’s from the mom.  Which puts me solidly in category TWO.

So here we are on Day 6 of what feels like 1,783,295 days in this school year and already it’s a complete s***show.  I’m getting up a bit earlier that normal, because now my caboose is in middle school, which starts at some nutball hour that literally begins with the number “7” – we are already realizing this means that we have to get up, get going, get our things together and jump in the car a solid FIFTEEN MINUTES earlier and you might as well gear up to watch pigs fly, because both have about an equal betting ratio.  (Minutes in the morning are like dog years – each one is worth infinitely more than it’s actual value.)   As I drag myself out of bed and start cooking his breakfast (yes, I make him a hot breakfast every day – just because I’m a hot mess doesn’t mean I don’t have some shining glorious moments) my caboose wakes up bellowing that he can’t see and can’t find his glasses and that he needs some help NOW.  His theory is that he can’t see to find his glasses, but the part that I personally find the most perplexing is how he lays there melting down without even attempting to LOOK for his glasses – feel around for them, squint his way downstairs, something.  And in his mind, it’s probably easier somehow to just yell for someone to tidily deliver them to his little hand, instead of actually making any type of an effort.   (At our home, I call this the Prince George syndrome – little guy thinks he’s Prince George and that everyone exists to run around and make his life easier, anticipate his every need, and my favorite, deliver everything that he needs, be a it a meal, a pencil, a Kindle, whatever, directly to him.  And don’t worry, I say this to his face, so I don’t feel like I’m technically disparaging him behind his back – hey, we’ve all got weaknesses.)   My hubs runs along to his rescue before jumping in the shower, and I’m dragging around the kitchen like a homeless person.  (Oh, AND we’re out of coffee and down to the camping pack of Starbucks instant Viva stuff – which, honestly, is surprisingly good.)  So I produce breakfast and little guy is finally downstairs with his glasses, dressed (yes!!) and I feel like maybe there’s some salvation afoot and I might be witness to a part of it.  But no . . . . . . . . . nothing falls apart spectacularly here, except that I feel like Supernanny talking to a 3 year old – “We need to leave in 10 minutes!” – “We need to leave in 5 minutes!” – “We need to leave in 2 minutes!”  Which honestly, just seems to stress him out more, me out more, and my husband out more, who is fussing about me fussing.  I finally give up and 5 minutes before our target pull-out-of-the-driveway time, I go sit in the car and look up Bachelor in Paradise stuff just to stop myself from potential hyperventilation.  (I really feel that someone in the pharmaceutical world needs to invent some kind of xanax-infused coffee drink – think about it, this could be HUGE!!!)  As the minutes tick by, and I don’t see the door from the house to the garage opening, and lamaze breathing is having only a minimal effect, I see the door open and Boom!!  Out he comes dressed and grabbing his binder – Hallelujah!!!  I think – we might just nail this yet!   I hand him the toothbrush in the car and he throws his things together while I peel out of the driveway.  We make it to the main, crowded road before he bothers to tell me that he isn’t even buckled up.  We fix that, I grab the toothpaste out of the glove box and hand it to him – (yes, I keep a toothbrush and toothpaste in the car, because guess what?  We are NOT morning people, people!!!!  Plus, I’d rather have him brush in the car than have horrid breathe, which trust me, if you’ve ever volunteered in a classroom in the morning, you encounter a LOT of).  I find an empty water for him to spit in and throw back the dishtowel I keep in the car that I usually have on my lap to avoid spills whilst drinking my coffee.  We hit enough green lights to keep me from panicking (again) and pull up in time for me to calmly say “Ok honey, here we are, have a good day, I love you!,” as he grabs his luggage sized backpack and heads up in search of higher learning.  It’s only when I drive back home, realizing that I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet (a new low), walk in the door, and see his homework sitting there smack against the toaster that I realize we are not cut out for this regulated, time sensitive world – which includes school!!!

As Homer Simpson would say “Doh!”

Forgotten Homework