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Last night, #4 slept in his new clothes for school. He wanted to save time getting ready this morning. Not that he needed to, he bounced out of bed at 5:30, and ping-ponged around the house, checking, double and triple checking his bookbag to make sure paper and colored pencils were in there. #2 and 3 were the same way, all ready with new pants and shirts, stacks of notebooks and paper, shouting “HAVE YOU SEEN MY SCHEDULE? I CAN’T FIND MY SCHEDULE!”
I asked about breakfast, #4 said he’d eat at school (Mom, their biscuits are Really Really Good), the other 2 planned a stop at Chik-Fil-A. Ok fine, it’s your money. #2 said he’d like a lunch, #3 said no lunch for him. I think, actually, he goes to the lunchroom and trolls for food, or his multitudinous girlfriends buy a lunch, eat the grapes, and give him the rest. He tends toward low blood sugar so if he passes out in Shop class it’s not because I didn’t try to feed him.
The bus got #4 at 6:30, reliable Ms Teresa is willing to stop at the driveway and honk if he’s late getting out. We try not to let that happen, but sometimes it just can’t be helped.
I am HAPPY! My kids, they are gone for the day and I can get a Dunkin Donuts bagel without being guilted into sharing. I can put something away and there it stays. The kitchen will remain clean until I fix supper! Wow!
That’s not to say I’m playing hooky or being all self indulgent, oh no. I had physical therapy this morning-the final evaluation before they loose me into the world. Her assessment: “You seem to have an easier time of laying on your back and waving you leg in the air, but the underlying issue that brought you here is unresolved.” Yah think? Exercise *won’t* grow new cartilege or reduce bone spurs? She recommended I find a different orthopedist, one with a more aggressive approach to treatment. I can do that.
I’m doing that most onerous of laundry chores: SD’s shirts. Ugh. Washing and all is fine, it’s the IRONING! Ugh. But I am going to because I am a Good Wife, and he is a Good husband who deserves many clean and pressed shirts hanging in his closet. You can bet I’m going to bitch about it, tho. Frequently and often.
I’ll buy some groceries- Bi-Lo has sirloin roasts and ground chuck for BOGO. Maybe not today. Leslie the Physical Terrorist worked me over, to see what I could do, and movement is, shall we say, rawther limited for the time being. Maybe tomorrow.
#4 will get home around 2:30, and I must sit and listen to him, hear all about his day and his new books and who sits next to him. I expect this information will be given in one breathless sentence, running on for 10 minutes or so until he finally turns blue and falls over. Once recovered he’ll ask for a glass of koolaid and some peanut butter crackers. Then he’ll want to play with The Kid Across The Street ™ only he’ll probably have homework which will cause much angst and droopy shoulders. The wailing will commence, as will the anguished cries of “I NEVER GET TO DO ANYTHING FUN MY LIFE IS MISERABLE!” which is when I tell him to get used to it, it only gets worse as he gets older. Poor kid, 8 years old and it’s all downhill from here.
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