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September 22, 2005
School Routine
I normally rouse the boys out of bed at 7 a.m. Sometimes as late at 7:15.
Last year our morning rituals were hectic, to say the least. We had a lot of bitching and moaning. And after the boys were up it was worse.
Well, actually, before the boys got out of bed the things were pretty serene. Coffee-on-the-balcony-overlooking-the-ocean serene (Which is seriously serene if you live in Ohio). After the boys popped out of bed things sort of fell apart with the arguing and fighting. Some mornings it was a trip through all nine levels of Dante's Inferno. Some mornings we stopped at Limbo or even Purgatory. Once we slipped all the way to the unwritten Level Ten: A Weekend In Crawford, Texas with Dubya.
Maybe it was never really that bad -- but the boys made it worse than it had to be. One boy in particular.
This year things are much better. Griping about having to get out of bed has all but ceased. People are getting along better ... one boy in particular is behaving more appropriately. We seem to be moving more like a well-oiled machine. A well-oiled machine with a lot of time on the Hobbs Meter still yet -- but one that has gotten regular maintenance.
This morning I told the boys how much better they're doing this year. Sam wondered if it was worth $6.00 to me. I told them they'd already worked through their allowance, but some sort of reward was in order.
We were all but out the door when Jack announced he couldn't find a shoe. The apartment we live in is small and finding a shoe shouldn't be a problem. The boys are told each night to put their shoes by the door so the expression "I need to find a shoe" should never be uttered. I don't "find" my underwear each morning -- I go to the drawer it is typically kept in and grab a pair. Shoes should be handled the same way.
We looked and looked and looked. I went to the Van and looked, just in case Jack had come in with one shoe off and one shoe on, (His name is John, after all. Diddle diddle dumpling.) We finally found the shoe, but not before it was going to make us late.
We drove through McDonald's and got breakfast burritos and fifty-percent of the Egg McMuffins we ordered and paid for (You hear me Ronald?! You owe me an Egg McMuffin!) As we pulled into the school parking lot Jack announced that he'd dripped breakfast burrito on his shirt. I did not even pretend to be surprised. I asked Jack if he wanted me to bring a new shirt to school. He didn't think that was necessary.
The boys attend Catholic School, pardon me while I genuflect, and wear uniforms consisting of tan pants/shorts and white shirts. More often than not Jack will come home with some sort of big stain on his shirt. Yesterday it was mud (A lot of it. I'm not exaggerating for the sake of a blog entry. His shirt had big brown dirt streaks on it.). A lot of days the stains look like chocolate milk.
The point is I know that when Jack comes home his shirt will need soaked and bleached.
But, I thought, there's no reason to start the day with a dirty shirt. What if Gabriel were to blow his horn just after morning attendance and all the Heaven Bound (you know, Catholics) started ascending before Jack had had an opportunity to get his hands on spaghetti sauce or mustard. Somebody's going to have to hold the Pearly Gates open and I wouldn't want Jack to miss the opportunity just because he had a soiled shirt.
So, I made the trip home and got Jack a nice clean shirt. One that says, "while the new Pope doesn't really rock, he's doing the best he can." Naturally, that's not printed on the shirt, you just have a feeling that's what the shirt would say if it all of a sudden became a sentient being. The only printing on the shirt is Youth - Medium, and if you're in any position to read that you have been a naughty priest; you don't want me to catch up to you -- I'll get level eight on your ass.
So, there I am at St. B with a new shirt in my hand. Jack was summoned and we took off to the boys room. Jack explained more than once that he didn't really want a new shirt. He had not asked me to bring him a new shirt. He was fine without the new shirt. The shirt I brought seems to be too big. And that girls like a dirty boy.
I told him he looked a lot better and Breakfast Burrito stains are not what the girls are looking for.
You are currently using the Internet to read a blog entry. The religious views I express here do not always fall into line with what I really think. I doubt a weekend with Dubya would be anything like any particular level of Dante's Hell. Dubya is a real live person causing real problems for live people. Satan, of course, is something made up to scare children.
I was not taught in RCIA that only Catholics were going to heaven. I do remember thinking, when I was younger, that only Baptists were going -- or the saved anyway. It is my understanding that the Catholics may have, at one time, thought they were the only Heavenbound -- if that was the case, they seem to have chilled out.
The point is, if my views differ from yours to the point that you are angry, well, you need to take a look within. You don't need to write to me to bitch me out. You certainly don't need to pray for me; I was raised Baptist and have that Once-in-Grace-always-in-Grace thing going for me -- soiled shirt or not.
Posted by delmer at September 22, 2005 7:17 AM
Comments
I remember reading the Baptist to Catholic thing earlier. That's unusual and interesting.
Anyway, the point of this comment is to say that McDonald's in Australia doesn't offer breakfast burritos.
Our standard fare, and we love breakfast there once a month or so, is: muffins with sausage, bacon and egg, or sausage and egg; hash browns and pancakes.
Are the burritos any good? Should we be lobbying for them?
Posted by: Michael at September 23, 2005 6:02 AM
I like the burritos as do all of my children. I think they are well worth lobbying for.
They have about 290 calories each (150 from fat) so they're not as bad as some other McDonald's choices.
Posted by: delmer at September 23, 2005 11:39 AM