6
“AIDEN!” I shout, for the seventh time in five minutes. “LET’SGO!”
Of course, my son chooses today, the first day of school, to be the slowest, pokiest, slowpoke on the planet. Usually, he’s up and at ’em by six thirty or seven regardless of what time he went to bed, but today? Oh no. Today, he slept in. And I, not wanting to wake him until necessary, let him sleep. Figuring we’d make up the time by hustling a little bit. Only, he’s foiling those plans by doing everything as slowly as possible. He ate his eggs at a sloth’s pace. Hung around over his toast for ten minutes. Took another five minutes to drink his juice; all the while, I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off, trying to get myself ready, get all his stuff ready, and eat my own breakfast while scurrying this way and that, forgetting things.
And then—AND THEN…as we’re heading out the door, already running five minutes behind schedule, he says he has to go to the bathroom.
And stays in there for FIVE MINUTES.
“Aiden Daniel Thomas, what in the world are youdoingin there?”
“I’m poopin’, Mama. I’m almost done.”
I facepalm myself. “Now? You had to gonow?”
“When you gotta go, you gotta go. That’s what Papa always says.”
“Yeah, and buddy, we have GOT to go! You are going to be late for school!”
“So? It’s the first day. It’s not like we’re gonna actually do anything important.”
“That’s not the point. You can’t be late the first day of third grade.”
“Okay, okay, keep your pants on. I’m coming.”
I hear him wash his hands, flush the toilet, and then he comes out, still wrestling with the zipper, which is stuck at the bottom.
I glare at him when he stops messing with the zipper and glances up at me. “Donottell your mother to keep her pants on, Aiden. It’s disrespectful.” I sigh. “Let me guess, Papa says that to Grandma?”
He shrugs, not willing to rat out his Papa. “I plead the second.”
I laugh. “You mean, you plead the fifth. The second amendment is gun rights, buddy.”
“Oh. Whatever,” he says, still trying to get the zipper to work. “The fifth, then.”
“And that just means you’re not willing to say anything which might incriminate you. It’s basically admitting guilt.”
He sighs and gestures in frustration at his zipper. “Can you help, please? It’s stuck.”
I fix his zipper and then hand him his backpack, which is stuffed to overflowing with the mind-boggling amount of folders, glue sticks, crayons, Kleenex, more glue sticks, colored pencils, markers, more glue sticks, a pencil box, a binder, packets of colored construction paper, and did I mention glue sticks?
“Are you finally ready, now?” I ask him.
“Yep.”
“Are you sure? You’re not missing something? Like, say, oh…I don’t know, your shoes?”
He glances down and wiggles his toes, which are clad in socks, but not shoes. “Oh. Oops.”
I hand him his shoes. “Put them on in the car, champ. We have to go. You’re going to miss the first bell at this rate.”
“Okay, Mama.”
I ruffle his hair as we leave the house. “Good thing you’re cute, Aiden.”
He just gives me a saucy grin as he climbs into his booster and buckles up. “Grandma always says I’m gonna end up catching me a world of trouble with this grin of mine.”
I sigh. “And they encourage it.”
