School Daze

Now that Cael is officially four and preschool is in full swing, we are starting to settle into a nice, quiet, predictable routine.

"OUCH!"

At 5:47am, Cael jumps into my bed knee-first with a direct hit to my bladder.  For a kid that is so active, he has evolved to require less and less sleep, and now that afternoon naps are becoming a thing of the past, early morning sleep time will be the next to suffer. 

"Mommy, wake up!  I want to watch a show!"

Cael used to demand a specific movie or television program to watch, but I have learned which of our DVRed movies have loud screams, music or explosions and can now select one for him without actually opening my eyes.

See, progress!

When I've hit snooze a sufficient amount of times, I get up and head to the bathroom to pee since Cael's knee assault left me somewhere between awake and asleep battling the urge to get up and go.  As soon as I set foot in the bathroom, it is Cael's cue to burst in with any accessible toy that makes ridiculously loud train whistles and prevent me from experiencing any personal privacy.

We have the same conversation almost every morning.

"Are you pooping?"

"No, Cael."

"Why you don't have nuts?

"You know why, Cael."

"Because you're a girl."

"Please go out of the bathroom so I can have some privacy."

"La la la.... look at me! I'm in the bathroom!!"

"Cael!"

Once the boys and I are dressed, I try to choose a breakfast that will take little time and won't leave the boys dirty, sticky or smelling like syrup.  If I'm really in a bind, we opt for the "banana and yogurt" breakfast which is actually really healthy and requires no thought or effort on my part.

During breakfast, the boys jabber at one another and discuss many of life's great mysteries, like the afterlife, the gravitational pull of the moon, and why gobs of snot are called "boogers".  Sometimes I try to join their conversations, but most of the time they are way over my head.  These boys are conversational wizards.

We wash hands and faces, brush teeth again and Cael thunders into the bathroom for his daily 8:00am constitution.  I could set a clock by his regularity, but I think I'd be sidetracked by the exclamations he shares as he cleans himself up.

"Mommy!  Come in here!  You've never seen anything like this in your whole life!"

No thanks, Cael.  We buckle into the car for the exhausting two minute drive to preschool.  Once inside, Cael knows the classroom routine by heart.  First he must find his name on one of the hooks (the placement changes daily) and hang his coat and backpack.  Then he takes the nametag and shoves it onto the "who's here today?" board, and gets in line to wash his hands.


This is the point at which I usually slip out, and for many reasons.  Firstly, I am not needed anymore.  Secondly, and most importantly, I don't know how this next part will play out.  You see, Cael is a bit of a wild card in the bathroom.  With two stools at the sink for a pair of children to wash up simultaneously, there is great "wet t-shirt" potential and I don't want the parents of the well-behaved children to see me laugh at his antics and not be able to discipline him when need be.  They should be grateful it's me taking him to preschool, however, because Daddy would probably be high-fiving out the door.

From 8:30am - 11:00am, I am the parent of one child.  And let me tell you, one child is WAY less than half the work.  Separating them seems to drastically reduce the drama, noise and bathroom humor, so I'm currently considering a rental property for one of them.  Or maybe just a masking tape line down the floor... as yet I'm undecided.

Graham and I, along with Papa, usually enjoy a trip into Cedar Rapids to run errands and get out of prison the house, where Oscar is often pacing in fear of any and all future thunderstorms that may take place and appliances and pipes burst at will.  It's not that leaving home will prevent a flood, it's just that a chocolate turnover from Arby's makes me care a little less.

At 11:00am, I retrieve Cael from preschool and ask him the typical after school questions.

"How was school today?"

"Good."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that.  Did you play?"

"Yep."

"Did you read?"

"Yep."

"What was the book?"

"Don't know."

"What was it about?"

"Stuff."

It's only weeks later that bits and pieces of information about his life at school begin to ooze out. 

"Hey Mommy?  When I went to that pumpkin patch-- not the big pumpkin patch, but the other pumpkin patch, we were looking at the animals and there were lots of animals, we saw the chickens and I said 'hi chicken!' and I stuck my finger through the fence and the chicken was walking and he just comed over and he bite me! Why he bite me, Mommy?"

I guess I'm just glad he didn't bite the chicken's finger.  I can totally see it going that way, too.

Once home, our days are much the same as any other.  We play, we battle over meals and toys and bedtimes.  Cael asks fifteen times whether he will go to preschool in the morning, and when I lay out the schedule for the week, he looks as me blankly and asks again. 

Once in bed, I clean up a bit, write a bit and prepare to snooze a bit.  Because morning comes early in our house...

"Mommy.  Wake up!"