When Nolan was a baby, and we were new parents, I remember a time when it took two of us to accomplish a somewhat simple task.
Changing the poopy diaper should not have seemed such a challenge, but when you are doing it on a newly circumcised baby, it seems impossible. With the added fun of postpartum hormones...in retrospect, I think I cried more than Nolan did.
I was thinking of this one morning last week, as Mr W and I shuffled around the house (and each other) in the predawn-5 am-quiet.
In theory, it shouldn't take two parents to wake up one teenager and get him ready for school. But it does.
I make the boy something to eat and get the lunches going for everyone. Mr W does the initial wake up and makes sure Nolan is moving around. Everyone is resigned to their fate, we all have our roles, and there is no grousing allowed.
Nolan stumbles to the table, and pretends to eat, and then Mr W drives him to school.
Nolan is in marching band. Which means he has "zero hour." I am appalled to report that means he has to be at school at 6 am so he can be ready to go at 6:15.
On the bright side, it's good to get up that early and get ahead of the wake-up-get-to-school routine.
On the not-so-bright side, it's waking up at 5 am, indefinately. *yawn*
I am learning the Tao of the High Schooler. The Tao of the Band Parent.
At the same time, I am coping with turning 40 this month.
Throw in some hormones....and it'll explain why the words "call time" can bring me to tears.
I swear, those are the two dirtiest words I've ever heard.