School Run

BennCapon

BennCapon

I’m up again at an ungodly hour. Even if I get very little writing done my sanctimonious level is high enough to choke a frog.

The problem with getting up early though is that by the time I get everyone else up I’m so caffeinated I’m a little scary. The glee I take in tossing everyone from their warm covers is not attractive.

It’s a full hour and a half from the time I get the kids up to when I push them into their classrooms. They don’t have school buses in London so the onus of getting your children to school falls on you. And so the mornings are a marathon.

Get out of bed, now, now, NOW. Eat, don’t whack your sister, leave your brother alone, eat, drink your milk. Aren’t you dressed yet? Brush your teeth, brush your hair. Stop teasing your brother. I don’t care if he started it….Get your coat on, and your gloves, and your scarves. Shoot me. Book bag, violin, swim bag, water bottles. Shoot me again. Get in the car, get in the car, will you get in the CAR! Oh, no, the car is covered in ice. Get the spatula. It’s in the kitchen. Scrape. Scrape. Great, the defrost not working. I can just see if I lean down like this…. Where did that car come from….Oh, there’s the bell, get out of the car, get out of the car, will you get out of the CAR! Hurry hurry. Hi! Hi! Great weekend. Yes, you too. Smile, smile to other mothers, ha ha ha ha ha, threats muttered under breath to kids. Get in the classroom, get in the classroom, will you get in the… And they’re gone.

A sigh of relief.

Free.

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