Only 5 More Mornings

This is my older children's last week of school. Well, they have a half day next Monday, which is weird. By my count that means that I only have to get my 8 year old son out of bed 5 more times. Hallelujah!

Last week I embarked on yet another new tactical course in my never ending battle to get him out the door on time. Just one of many I have tried this year. There were the 2 different alarm clocks, repeated turning of his light back on, sitting on his bed and speaking to him softly, repeatedly setting the alarm clock and placing it across the room, dragging him into the hall in his covers, and threatening to drag him downstairs by his hair. This is the 4th time I have written about these morning battles. Even with all of the effort he still has to bolt his breakfast at the kitchen sink most mornings as the carpool waits for him in the driveway.

Last Friday, he and I discussed the situation. For the gazillionth time. It was more in the way of a crisis therapy session. "Son, your momma gets very angry in the morning when you won't get out of bed." "Momma yells, and yells and yells and yells..." "Momma wants to rip your head off and spit down the hole." "Do you have any questions?" "No? Good." We decided to try the "Stand Up" strategy.

At 7 am this morning I turned on his light and raised the shades. "Time to rise and shine", chipped the Momma. My son pulled his covers over his head and rolled over.

10 minutes later I was back. I forcibly peeled the covers away from his warm body. I then slipped a hand under each armpit and HEAVED. Once he was on his feet, I tried to keep him on his feet. I turned my back at on point to help his little sister. When I turned around he was curled up on the bathroom rug. Another heave had him on his feet again. He then headed for his older sister's room. I caught him as he was about to crawl into her bed. Reaching for the closest bit of him, I snagged the neck of his t-shirt and goose stepped him back into the hallway. He then tried the "limp noodle" routine. That didn't fly as I still had a firm grip on the neck of his shirt and he had trouble breathing. He finally gave up and went into his room to get dressed. I watched him get his clothes from his dresser and then went to help his sister again. A mistake. When I returned 2 minutes latter he was, where else, laying on his bed. At least he was naked. We were making progress. I was still calm and in control. I love deluding myself like that. I proceeded to tickle him until he called "uncle". I stood in his doorway until he was fully dressed and then escorted him downstairs. 5 minutes later I found him laying on the couch. Another heave-ho and he was up.

The carpool arrived 15 minutes later and my son was dressed, fed and had a packed lunch box. Except we couldn't find him anywhere. So I yelled and yelled and yelled and yelled his name. His 11 year old sister found him. I'll bet you can guess where. On his bed.

It was 7:45 in the morning and I was ready for a nap or a drink. Or both.