Morning Routine

(This is a random piece I wrote back in June 2008, with the thought that I’d include it in my blog someday.)

Every school day morning, I help Ty get ready for the day. There have been a few more steps involved since his wrist became injured.

First, I knock on his bedroom door to make sure he’s awake: “Good morning, Babe!”
“Hi…” comes the often sleepy reply.

I go into the kitchen and begin prepping breakfast. He emerges in a minute or two, with his eyes still half

I-Mei Egg Rolls from Taiwan

closed, and puts his injured arm out. Sometimes he grunts a little to get my attention if I happen to have my back turned. I wrap his arm/cast with Seran, and he heads back down the hallway. About 2 minutes after the shower starts running, I knock on his bathroom door and enter. I wait for his hand to appear from behind the shower curtain, and squeeze some shampoo into his palm. Next comes his blue shower scrubber, onto which I dispense a healthy dollop of body wash. Then I leave him to finish and return to breakfast preparation.

Usually, by this time, if there’s something in the toaster oven, it’s about done. I try to make sure he has both protein and carbs, be it a breakfast sandwich with turkey bacon, or a croissant with fruit and cheese. I sit
down with him while he eats. It often amazes me how some of our best conversations happen during the somewhat hurried morning routine. I get up from the dining table a few minutes before he finishes, to get a fresh bottle of water and pack some snacks for him. Yesterday, he took a package of Taiwanese “egg rolls.” They’re little rolled-up crepes baked to crisp, slightly sweet, and sometimes with sesame seeds. Of course, his snack drew the attention of several curious classmates, and he had a good time sharing with his friends. It’s just so typical of him. Once, I gave him a bag of crackers and he brought it home at the end of the day. I asked if he didn’t care for them. He said he didn’t want to open the bag during break time because he knew one of his classmates is allergic to basil. I gave him a hug and told him I’ll remember that next time.

At 6:40 a.m., he goes down the stairs and puts his shoes on. At this point, I always ask: “Keys? Phone? Wallet?” He always responds with a cheery “yep!”

“Have a good day! Love you!”

“Love you, too!”

I close the front door and race back upstairs. From a window near the balcony, I watch as he approaches the bus stop and greets his friends. I don’t leave the window until the bus picks up the kids and pulls away.

It’s pouring down rain this morning. He only had on a fleece vest over a tee.

“Do you want to wear a hat?” I fretted.

“No, it’s okay.”

“Are you warm enough with just that vest?”

“Yes, the vest is plenty warm.”

“Do you want me to drive you to the bus stop?” I kept on.

He stops and looks at me: “Mom, I’ll be fine.”

I wish I could tell him how much that little sentence meant to me, but I’m sure he already knows.