Biomom and I, used to Big waking us up on the morning with his mumbling and grumbling, woke up late today because he decided to slept in.
Seven has to be at school at 7:55 (really, 8:00 a.m.), so waking up at 7:40 makes it a bit of a rush. I followed Biomom downstairs to find Seven (who gets up somewhere between 5 a.m. and 6 a.m.) just hanging out in her pajamas.
I thought to myself, on the verge of her eighth birthday, at what point in a child's life can they be expected to recognize that they need to take responsibility for themselves and a) get dressed without being asked and b) grab something for breakfast out of the fridge without it being made for them?
In anticipation of this possible rush, the night before, I had reminded her to get ready for school first thing when she gets up. Get dressed before you go play or read or whatever. I've been attempting to instill this Catholic notion of getting the bad out of way before enjoying the good -- eat your veggies before dessert!
When I saw her, still in her PJ's at 7:40, I reminded her that I had reminded her to get dressed first, the night before. Her response (which, incidentally, has clouded my morning still and it is 9:50--hence the early and unusual blog post on a Thursday, a teaching day) was: It was a suggestion. . . You suggested that I get ready first!
She had, apparently, decided the suggestion to be unworthy of attention or follow-through. Alas.
Getting her out the door was followed by going upstairs to retrieve Big from his crib. I walked in to him exclaiming: Poop!
Yes, I thought. It certainly smells of it!
When I turned on the light, I found, to my horror, him holding on to a little brown ball, not unlike Bill Murray in Caddyshack, but this, unfortunately, was not a Babyruth.