Slow Motion

Getting my two youngest out of the house in the morning is an exercise in patience and wonder. There’s a dreamlike quality to their pace. It’s as if everything is in slow motion. Spoons dip into cereal soooo slowly, lift mesmerised to mouths aaaaannnd…in. One mouthful.

They’ve already been up for an hour but it’s taken them forty minutes to appear downstairs. All they have to do is dress, for goodness sake. One school uniform each. How difficult is that. Apparently, really difficult.

Socks that ‘hurt my toes’. How? Why? I’ve checked these things out in the past and I just don’t see how anyone’s toes can be so sensitive that the seam across the toe of the sock ‘feels really jaggy/hard/rough/uneven/just sore.’ These are socks washed and final rinsed with fabric softener. The seam is just there. Socks have them.

‘I can’t find my shoes.’ They wore the blasted shoes last, they took them off in their room or were told to take them to their room. Is there a black hole somewhere in their room that swallows everything they need in the morning to be organised?

‘Where’s your schoolbag?’ ‘Umm.’

I’ve done this enough times to know that everything has to be organised the night before. But, despite my best efforts, they still end up rushing out of the door at five minutes to nine.

Thankfully, school is less than a five minute walk. But still. By the time they have left, I am shattered. I’m annoyed at my own impatience with them but more frustrated that every morning seems to follow the same slow progress.

I’m not here every morning to put them out to school. Sometimes their dad has the dubious pleasure. The same slowed-down movie occurs with him. So it’s not just me.

However, if I were to say, for example, ‘We’re going swimming/to McDonald’s/to the park’, you should see them move. Roadrunner isn’t in it.

So, maybe it’s only with school that they’re like this. And they enjoy school. God knows what they would be like if they hated it.