June 8, 2010
The alarm sounded. It was too early. The morning came a little too early. Again.
The alarm sounded. Still too early.
The alarm sounded. Had to get movin’, this time.
“J! Wake up, buddy! Time to get motorin’. Good morning, my prince.”
“Good morning, my queen.”
He stomped zombie-like to his bathroom. Slid his shower curtain back. Washed up.
I walked past the kitchen. Saw last night’s dinner plates in the sink. Washed them.
I jumped into my shower. Knew he’d entered the room. Smelled his Nivea Energy body wash.
“Mom, you need to hurry up. I have to be at school early today. And I need you to pack my lunch. I don’t want to eat the school lunch today.”
“OK, I’m coming. I’m coming. What do you mean you have to be there early? I told you about that. You can’t wait until five minutes before you have to be somewhere to tell me. There’s no way that’s possible, now. See? We go through this over and over and over again. This is what I’m talking about. And, J, I don’t have time to pack your lunch, now. Why didn’t you tell me earlier? You could’ve done that last night.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot.”
I toweled off. Pulled back my eyelid to insert a contact lens.
“Mom, what were you doing while I was in the shower?”
“I washed the dishes that were in the sink.”
“You could’ve done that last night.”