With very little provocation, I grew a second head this morning. A demon head. It blossomed out of my neck, stretched and roared at my oldest son in a deep, threatening voice.
This child of mine, so beautiful in a million different ways, will not get ready in the morning. He must be dragged from his bed, given his clothes, and reminded constantly of the same four tasks that he's been required to do every weekday morning for six years.
He is not a morning person. And neither am I.
All of this is compounded by the fact that we must leave earlier now, so that I can get the bus. Each morning I have the kids, my friend shows up, drives me to the bus stop, then ushers my kids off to school with her own. And despite the fact that mornings were not much smoother when I could drive, I still feel guilty for subjecting them to a more complicated morning.
The whole morning drama only lasts 20 minutes, but it takes me the 30 minutes on the bus for the demon to calm itself, tuck its horns back in and disappear completely.
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