My alarm goes off at 6:35 a.m. -- unless it's a gym day. Then it's 6. (And you can shoot me now.)
Why 6:35 and not 6:30? *sigh* I don't know. It just IS, ok?
First things first, you know. I grab the laptop and check my mail, seeing how many love notes I have been sent from my
And then it really begins.
I poke my head out of my bedroom door, and within seconds of the first creak of the hinges, I am greeted by two rat dogs.
This is a relatively new thing. Usually they can't be bothered with me (and I with them, frankly).
But ever since rat dog no. 1's close encounter with snail bait, she has been on medication (to be given on an empty stomach ... wtf?? This is a DOG!) and I have been cleverly hiding it in a piece of CHEESE.
And because we're all about sibling rivalry here, rat dog no. 2 ALSO must get a piece of cheese (sans pill).
Guess why they greet me at the door?
In fact, the other day, when Wonderhubby was the first out, they came running -- and when they saw it was HIM and not ME, they turned tail and skittered back to their warm bed with the Roo-girl.
He laughs. I moan.
But anyway ...
When the cheese has been administered, I head back up the stairs to act as Roo's human alarm clock.
Yes, she is going to be 14. Yes, I am an enabler. Whatevs. I enjoy the brief moment of physical contact as I gently shake her awake.
THEN is the best part. I go BACK to bed and snuggle up with my laptop, where I read blogs, instant message with friends, catch up on my Scrabulous games, check out the umpty-thirty OTHER word games that Blue Momma or AFF have started with me, and generally be a slug until I realize OMIGOD, I'm going to be late and I rush to take a shower and get ready to take the child to school by 9 a.m.
One of the traditions of this morning ritual is the appearance of a sleepy Roo-girl, asking what the weather is going to be. I dutifully type *our city weather* into Dr. Google, meteorologist, and read off the answer.
This tradition has undergone a brief change in the last couple weeks. Now she comes in, finds my iPhone, punches the icon for weather and does it herself.
Ah, self-sufficiency. Ah, technology. Ah, shucks!
Then there is the "will you iron the cuffs of my Abercrombie shorts that I got at the children's consigment shop and have issues with not folding right?"
Or "will you braid my hair?"
Now, if you have made it this far through this post, you are surely asking: Who cares?
Maybe no one. Maybe just me.
But some slight variation of this routine has been going on for three years.
Today, I will wake Roo-girl up for middle school for the final time. When summer school starts next week, she will have to be at school at 7:30 a.m.
For high school.
I'm mood-swinging back and forth from an incredible high to an incredible funk.
She has been absolutely a shining star academically for the last three years. Her higher-than-3.5 GPA got her a Presidential Academic Award, as well as recognition for her achievements in pre-algebra at the awards breakfast on Monday.
I have never had a child like this in my home. My boys are freaky-scary brilliant, but each of them had their mind-boggling reasons for why they underachieved. The Roo-girl? Probably not freaky-scary brilliant, but bright and a HARD worker.
I have never had a child on the honor roll until Roo. I have never been to an awards breakfast until Roo. I have never been so proud of anyone in my life.
And so scared.
After today, I am going to have to change my description on my sidebar. I'm no longer "all about middle school (yuck)" ... I think I'm "all about high school (oh noooo!)"
And my morning routine, so carefully crafted over the past three years, will be shot to shit.
You can think of me at 5 p.m. this afternoon. I will be sitting on the middle school field, with my husband, my other children and my parents, watching as my youngest babychild receives a diploma stating she has fulfilled the requirements of her K-through-8 years.
I'll be the one who is crying -- and grinning like a Cheshire cat.