MORNING

I wake up five hours before I have to go to work so I can get my son up, make sure he’s got everything he needs in his backpack, give him a hot breakfast, hug him, wish him a good day and send him to the bus stop. As best I can tell, this pisses him off

Is it possible to describe the way a person walks down a flight of stairs as “resentful?” Can one characterize the intake of toast as “outraged?”

I guess it’s not just the clean clothing and hot nutritious food that makes him so angry. I think he also has a problem with the way I relentlessly call out the time as the morning goes on.

“Six-thirty five! Twenty-five minutes ’til the bus!”
“Six-fifty! Ten minutes ’til the bus. That’s ten minutes!!”

And he lays there. Fully dressed on the couch under a throw, staring spellbound at recorded episodes of Family Guy that even I can quote verbatim. He has ignored his bagel and licked a piece of cantaloupe.

“Eat!! Eat!! Do you have your shoes on? You hair isn’t combed and you need to pack up your stuff. NI-IIINE MINUTES ‘TIL THE BUS!”

The blessed bus. I love the bus. It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Instead of driving him all the way to school every morning, I now have time to walk the dogs, take a real shower, occasionally wash my hair. The school sent us a photo of the bus driver. I put her picture up in our kitchen and I thought about her all summer. Her name is Loretta and it’s because of her that I can exercise. I can straighten the house before I leave. I can be an actual adult working woman instead of a sponged-off raving maniac wearing a baseball cap and one earring.

“FOUR MINUTES!” I see some movement under the blanket. I have aggravated the situation to the point where he may even speak. He rises slowly and moves into the bathroom where he brushes his teeth and grows two inches.

“Time’s up!” I call out. And yet, there’s still so much more to do. He needs to find his shoes, do a little dance, pet the dogs, put on a shoe, pet the dogs, put on the other shoe, check out the t.v… oops, his sock is inside out.

Does anyone else remember that commercial where the businessman races into the mini-mart and asks for a fast cup of coffee and they cut to the back of the store where Juan Valdez stands at a coffee bush counting as he picks… “One coffeeeeee beeeeean….. two coffeeeee beeeeans….” That’s what this feels like to me.

Sweat is trickling down the side of my head. I give up the facade of him getting himself ready. I grab a kitchen towel and scrub it over his face. I throw his I.D. and his phone at him, place his backpack in his hands, physically turn him around and shove him out the front door.

He gets on the bus, and I stand at the front door waving. “Goodbye, Loretta… I love you… have a good day…!”