I admit it: I'm the mom who's kids are late for school.
Chronically.
We generally roll up five minutes late in the hybrid like we own the place - in a gentle, non-ecosystem-crushing way, obviously - and I walk into the school exasperated with two kids and a bad case of stress face. The gremlins scuttle off to class and I head back to the car, all growly-like. When I drive off, all the little forest creatures wave and throw petals, but I hardly notice; I'm too busy being annoyed and embarrassed and feeling like a failure. It makes the bunnies cry, as they've undoubtedly put a lot of effort into finding flowers this time of year.
Like pretty much every other parent who sends their children to school, I want mine to be on time. I do. I really, really do. Not only for their education, but because I have precious few hours to get my work done. I'm juggling blog posts, articles, screenplays, meetings and social media marketing, and I try to do most of it within the 6.5 hours I'm not being repeatedly asked for juice.
Also, I don't enjoy being that parent.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know that parent. Every school has one. You can always tell who they are by their appearance:
- dishevelled
- frantic
- about to burst into tears at any moment
- holding everyone's school bags like a two legged pack mule
- dragging children behind them in a rather humorous speed walk-like fashion
- possibly uttering idle threats
Take that image, slap some boobs and a bad case of bedhead on it, and that's yours truly nearly every morning. But I'd like to think I'm helping people by being that parent. I mean, statistically, there's at least one at every school, right? I'm filling an important demographic. Now all the other local families can be on time. I'm a damn humanitarian.
I want this chronic lateness to be my fault. If it were my fault, I could fix it. Maven, you're not getting up early enough. Maven, you need a better morning routine. Maven, maybe don't do all those disorienting hits of meth before you try and make breakfast. But it's none of those things.
And it's not like I don't have help in the mornings. Intrepid gets his teenage self to school with little to no guidance from us. Geekster does his best to reign in the chaos alongside me. He's my sidekick. I asked if we could call ourselves Captain Amazeballs and Lover Boy, but he said no. Spoilsport.
The issue is that a certain ten-year-old does not get up for school. He can't get to sleep easily and he has a hard time staying asleep even when he does. He doesn't function well in the mornings as a result. It can take several wakeup attempts and a solid hour to get him out of bed despite everyone's best efforts. We've tried all sorts of things both at bedtime and in the morning. Nothing works longterm. Gutsy has even come up with his own ideas, and they work for a little while before the novelty wears off.
Spawnling is up and at 'em in no time. He would never be late for school if it were up to him. As we're only a few blocks from the school, we've taken to driving him in first and coming back for Gutsy if need be. Then only one of them is late.
Hmmm... Maybe my that parent status can be timeshared with someone else.
If we push Gutsy too hard with raised voices or discussions of consequences, his anxiety flares and he shuts down. He's unable to do the simplest task at that point. It's then at least twice the effort to get him out the door. But if we don't push him enough, he won't leave his bed. There's a very fine line we have to walk each and every school day. I don't do well as a pudgy tightrope walker. My heart feels like it's going to explode by the time they're out the door.
Report cards came home yesterday. Spawnling's was glowing. Gutsy's was not. His grades have slipped each year, and right now he's very disengaged at school. He tell us he hates it, and that he doesn't want to be there. He won't offer up an explanation beyond "it's hard" and "it's noisy."
My unofficial mom diagnosis? He's exhausted from chronic lack of sleep and can't function, can't learn, can't focus. The extra pressure from doing poorly makes him anxious and he has an even harder time falling asleep. He wakes up tired and the cycle continues.
We have an appointment with our family doctor on Monday in which we're going to address this sleep issue. I won't leave without a solid commitment from her that we're going to resolve this. I'll chain myself to her examining table if I have to. We can't deal with any other problems until we see if they're caused - at least in part - by fatigue.
Monday can't come fast enough.
Until we can cure what ails him, we're doing our absolute best each day. I get up far earlier than I 'd like and put on my patience hat when dealing with a moody, tired gremlin child. We celebrate small victories, like the few times he's woken up with a smile on his face, or gets his outwear on without yelling at anybody. And we try to avoid making eye contact when we arrive at the school.
Stuffed inside Gutsy's report card envelope was a note about the importance of a child getting to school on time. At the bottom was a note from the principal, asking parents to let her know if she can be of assistance.
Geekster and I talked it over, but ultimately concluded that coming over at 6:30 a.m. to coax Gutsy out of bed is probably not the type of assistance she's referring to.
Which is pretty unfortunate. Sigh.
Chronically.
 |
| I am time's bitch. |
We generally roll up five minutes late in the hybrid like we own the place - in a gentle, non-ecosystem-crushing way, obviously - and I walk into the school exasperated with two kids and a bad case of stress face. The gremlins scuttle off to class and I head back to the car, all growly-like. When I drive off, all the little forest creatures wave and throw petals, but I hardly notice; I'm too busy being annoyed and embarrassed and feeling like a failure. It makes the bunnies cry, as they've undoubtedly put a lot of effort into finding flowers this time of year.
Like pretty much every other parent who sends their children to school, I want mine to be on time. I do. I really, really do. Not only for their education, but because I have precious few hours to get my work done. I'm juggling blog posts, articles, screenplays, meetings and social media marketing, and I try to do most of it within the 6.5 hours I'm not being repeatedly asked for juice.
Also, I don't enjoy being that parent.
Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about. You know that parent. Every school has one. You can always tell who they are by their appearance:
- dishevelled
- frantic
- about to burst into tears at any moment
- holding everyone's school bags like a two legged pack mule
- dragging children behind them in a rather humorous speed walk-like fashion
- possibly uttering idle threats
Take that image, slap some boobs and a bad case of bedhead on it, and that's yours truly nearly every morning. But I'd like to think I'm helping people by being that parent. I mean, statistically, there's at least one at every school, right? I'm filling an important demographic. Now all the other local families can be on time. I'm a damn humanitarian.
I want this chronic lateness to be my fault. If it were my fault, I could fix it. Maven, you're not getting up early enough. Maven, you need a better morning routine. Maven, maybe don't do all those disorienting hits of meth before you try and make breakfast. But it's none of those things.
And it's not like I don't have help in the mornings. Intrepid gets his teenage self to school with little to no guidance from us. Geekster does his best to reign in the chaos alongside me. He's my sidekick. I asked if we could call ourselves Captain Amazeballs and Lover Boy, but he said no. Spoilsport.
The issue is that a certain ten-year-old does not get up for school. He can't get to sleep easily and he has a hard time staying asleep even when he does. He doesn't function well in the mornings as a result. It can take several wakeup attempts and a solid hour to get him out of bed despite everyone's best efforts. We've tried all sorts of things both at bedtime and in the morning. Nothing works longterm. Gutsy has even come up with his own ideas, and they work for a little while before the novelty wears off.
Spawnling is up and at 'em in no time. He would never be late for school if it were up to him. As we're only a few blocks from the school, we've taken to driving him in first and coming back for Gutsy if need be. Then only one of them is late.
Hmmm... Maybe my that parent status can be timeshared with someone else.
If we push Gutsy too hard with raised voices or discussions of consequences, his anxiety flares and he shuts down. He's unable to do the simplest task at that point. It's then at least twice the effort to get him out the door. But if we don't push him enough, he won't leave his bed. There's a very fine line we have to walk each and every school day. I don't do well as a pudgy tightrope walker. My heart feels like it's going to explode by the time they're out the door.
Report cards came home yesterday. Spawnling's was glowing. Gutsy's was not. His grades have slipped each year, and right now he's very disengaged at school. He tell us he hates it, and that he doesn't want to be there. He won't offer up an explanation beyond "it's hard" and "it's noisy."
My unofficial mom diagnosis? He's exhausted from chronic lack of sleep and can't function, can't learn, can't focus. The extra pressure from doing poorly makes him anxious and he has an even harder time falling asleep. He wakes up tired and the cycle continues.
We have an appointment with our family doctor on Monday in which we're going to address this sleep issue. I won't leave without a solid commitment from her that we're going to resolve this. I'll chain myself to her examining table if I have to. We can't deal with any other problems until we see if they're caused - at least in part - by fatigue.
Monday can't come fast enough.
Until we can cure what ails him, we're doing our absolute best each day. I get up far earlier than I 'd like and put on my patience hat when dealing with a moody, tired gremlin child. We celebrate small victories, like the few times he's woken up with a smile on his face, or gets his outwear on without yelling at anybody. And we try to avoid making eye contact when we arrive at the school.
Stuffed inside Gutsy's report card envelope was a note about the importance of a child getting to school on time. At the bottom was a note from the principal, asking parents to let her know if she can be of assistance.
Geekster and I talked it over, but ultimately concluded that coming over at 6:30 a.m. to coax Gutsy out of bed is probably not the type of assistance she's referring to.
Which is pretty unfortunate. Sigh.