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Monday Minute: Holiday Hangover
After a packed holiday weekend, I was surprised when James joined me in the kitchen Monday morning at 5:45am, dressed and ready.
Or so I thought.
Monday Minute: The Shoes and the Sockless
After an intensely busy Monday the pressure is on to finish the Monday Minute on Monday. Let’s see how many more times I can fit Monday into a sentence, right?
I’m beginning to think that the Monday Minute series is really my therapy through comic relief. The following conversation, while somewhat humorous, is a painfully all-too-familiar routine 4+ mornings a week:
My responses are in bold italics. Ryan’s remarks are in bold. James is in italics.
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Setting: getting ready to go after breakfast – brushing teeth mercifully done.
Okay James go get your socks on. What? Get your socks on. Ohhhhhhhhh. Hurry up and put one on your foot.
James, put your sock on your foot. (muttering in a soft voice):blahblah. What? James. socks. blahblahblah. James. blah. 1….blah….2…..blah…. 3……blah. Okay – strike 1 against Wii time. No. You need to stop talking back right now. Don’t get more strikes. I hate when you’re bothering me. What? I hate it. Get your shoes on.
(stomps over to hall and gets shoes, slams shoes down on the floor) Just boring. boring. boring.
(Ryan) Stop making unpleasant noises at your mother. (very quietly to self): not even doing anything. James. Mom, he said I’m doing something and I’m not.
(repeats in falsetto): Mom, he said I’m doing something and I’m not. Why are you talking like that? Are your shoes on?
I’m getting them on. (repeats in falsetto): I’m getting them on.
Are they on?
Are they on?
James – mm-hmm. Okay go get a jacket on. Can I bring Diary of A Wimpy Kid? Okay, but get a jacket. Diary of a Wimpy Kid? Ok.
(flicking closet light on and off)
James – coat. backpack. go.
2 minutes later
James, is your coat on? Yes. hi dad. Hi James. Hi dad. Hi James. Hi dad. Stop, okay. Oh good grief. gooood grief. good grief. goood.
Grief. Mom would you help me zip? Sure, come here. So I need a travel mug of coffee for the way. What? a travel mug. No. you just brushed your teeth. how about a big kiss then? Okay. Yuck. What? Your lotion is on your face. gross.
James put your backpack on and go down to the lobby. backpack backpack. backpack backpack backpack. (swishswishswishswish) Ryan: James, what are you doing? (to me): Is it the floppy sleeves? No, it’s the swishing noise. What? The swishing of the material – he’s freaking out. (James continues to spastically swish his sleeves together)
(to Ryan): Have fun walking to school with that jacket.
Okay, mom!
Because I’m Behind On My Thank You Notes (also read this if you can’t get your adolescent special needs child out of bed in the morning)
Dear Nancy,
You might not remember this, but about 6 months ago when I was complaining to you about how rough of a time I was having waking James in the morning, you suggested buying him his own alarm clock. I thought that was a splendid idea – make waking up objective, let him take it out on the alarm clock rather than his mother. So, thank you for the stellar idea!
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Dear Laura,
I owe you a serious note of gratitude for the amazing alarm clock. IOU. Seriously. Totally indebted. Best. Gift. Ever.
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After another rough start to the school year morning routine, I was reminded of my conversation with Nancy and asked my mother-in-law Laura for an alarm clock as a birthday gift for James. And not just any alarm clock, but the Hot Wheels Snore Slammer alarm clock so that James would not realize this was anything other than an awesome present.
For me! The first morning the alarm went off, “Start Your Engines!!! VVVrrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooommmm…. Screeeeeeeecccch. He’s over the checkered flag!” James was out of his room in less than 5 seconds. He appeared in the bathroom door looking startled, and frankly, kind of sad. Brushing my teeth, I nonchalantly said, “Cool alarm, did you press the snooze button?” “Yeah,” he said. “That alarm scared the living daylights out of me!” “Well, it’s over now – it sounded awesome,” I replied.
Next morning. Same thing – maybe 3 seconds alarm-to-door time. I did a silent dance of glee with Ryan in the hallway as I heard James rush to turn the noise off. This time though, on return to his room James started dawdling on his bed. Naked. “If you don’t get dressed fast enough the alarm might go off again,” I said casually. “Just press the snooze button again.” James was dressed without another prompt. It’s a miracle, I tell you!
We are four mornings in now and no sign of letting up – the announcer is still as enthusiastic as ever and James is definitely not getting used to race cars squealing around his room at 7am. It’s becoming hard to believe that we fought with him practically every morning for the last 5 years about getting out of bed. But tonight when I went to set the alarm James asked, “Could you put it on music and not the car noise?” So of course I did, assuring him that the radio would come on tomorrow morning.
I also turned up the volume a little, just in case.
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